Marbs again ...

Another trip to Marbella, pronounced Marbaya by the Spanish, nicknamed Marbs by the local Brit paper ... great conversation along the way with Susie, heading for more acupuncture ... esoteric stuff on spiritual topics ... she is opening up with some fascinating information, now she realises the breadth of my capacity for delusion ... my metaphor is that it is like walking a precipice ( which I did once ... the knife edge path on the Crib Goch route up Snowdon) ... on one side lies all delusion, on the other the deepest Truth ... the only way to see it is to risk it ... and the view is fantastic ...

While Susie has the pin cushion treatment, I'm off round the block ... along the promenade ... observing the holiday makers from the tower blocks behind, toasting their skin, while very dark skinned young men wander up and down, selling handbags ... in the sea a combination of too many people, inadequate sewerage systems and incoming tide present an unattractive prospect for bathers ... no blue flags around to claim clean water, though there are a few further down the coast ... perhaps they might introduce  brown flags where the fecal count is so extreme ...

the caterpillar resistance ...

One of the most profound metaphors of change is the story of the caterpillar and the butterfly.

The caterpillar, wandering around, ground bound,  munching whatever greenery can be found ... dodging airborne predators, oblivious of the transcendent future it has in store ... if it avoids the birds and chemically armed humans ... resting in chrysalis state appears as death ... the caterpillar matter mutates into butterflyness ... ostensibly a completely different creature, one that flies, fertilises the next generation of caterpillars and flowers ... and fascinates us (apart from the chemically armed humans determined to eliminate them) ...

The problem for the caterpillar in this story is that it is stuck in caterpillar consciousness (as far as we know!) so in our imagination prefers to hang on to that lifestyle, not knowing the glorious, if brief, future waiting beyond the chrysalis ... 

Which brings us to the rather tender subject of British politics, European politics ... and since the world is so clearly interconnected politically and economically, world politics .... 

Not so long ago, indeed in the short lifetime of this blog, the big story was the Greek resistance to EU tyranny ... the financial terrorism waged on countries pushed into penury by structural failures of capitalism ... the consequences borne by the poorest citizens of all the countries .... in Greece they voted to resist, but democracy has its limits ... so that was ignored .... interestingly a similar scenario is emerging in UK, where previously progressive politicos propose the same fate for the vote to leave the EU. One of the anarchist slogans at election time is: If voting changed anything, they would ban it (along with the more amusing:Don't vote, it only encourages them) .... as it turns out we can have our cake and eat it too ... every vote counts, as long as it produces the result they want ....

The question here is: who are They? ... a tricky one since the Pro and Anti EU camps both contain ostensibly Establishment players as well as revolutionary and progressive ones ... untangling it all may require time and patience ... as well as allowing that all is rarely as it first appears ... and maybe the plan was, is to distract us from the stench of old systems decaying while the chief players desperately search for ways out of the mess ... maybe glimpsing the butterfly future that lies beyond the current caterpillar resistance will inspire us to find our wings, to transcend the acrimony, to look beyond the Us and Them, to join the Butterfly Brigades already at work in the marginal lands, returning to basics with better technology, showing the Haters, filled with Fear, that Love is our birthright and the underlying Truth of the universe... or is that universes?

Another perspective ...

One of the group of friends regularly reading the blog and emailing their thoughts ... helping to keep things grounded as the perspective occasionally goes crazy ... Colin has lived experience as a Labour Party and trade union activist in north east England over many years ... recently retreated to a rural life in south west France ... and since my lived political experience was as trade union and Marxist-Leninist party activist in London, with a cynical view of social democracy, a commentary on the latest sub-plot in the political drama in the UK is better from him .... delighted to say: here is the first guest blog on Wear & Dao .... hopefully the first of many!

I have just read your latest posting on your blog and found it quite interesting. In many respects I would agree with you about the referendum result being a spur to those who consider themselves superior to their fellow people who may be from a different race/country. But for me the conclusion to be drawn is that they have been fucked over by a political system that has not valued them as people with interests that did not coincide with those of the political party that should have championed their interests and held a dialogue with them. Labour has failed the working class (again) but this time it has exploded in their faces with calamitous impact. Although the result has massive implications for the Tories which may see them either split or adopt the UKIP agenda, it is Labour which has the biggest challenges to face now. For 30 years they adopted the Mandelson strategy of ignoring the working class vote in favour of pursuing the interests of those in marginal seats. The inference was always that these votes had nowhere else to go and thus would more or less fall in line at election time. Not any more they don't boy! By refusing to enter into a dialogue with their base, it has been allowed to fester and fed by a few simple messages constantly from  the fascists has now erupted and will be a massive problem for the Labour movement over the coming years. A few token campaigns will not alter this which can only take place with a longer term political project.
In short the labour movement now has a major credibility issue in its own backyard as it can no longer be seen as the voice of working class people in its heartlands. It has been usurped by the fascists who have taken on the role of articulating the concerns of those people who have been left isolated by the neo-conservative agenda of the past 30-40 years.
For Cameron, it would appear that his legacy will be the break up of the U.K. with Northerm Ireland moving in with the Republic and Scotland wanting to be independent within the EU. Poor old Wales will get stuck with being the last remaining province of England and the mugs who voted for Brexit will wait in vain for the jobs, services and investment to flow back to their communities. They have already started rowing back on their campaign promises and in a few months/years time there won't be a single promise left for them to disown.
Suckers!!!!!
Here in Ciblat the peas & beans are doing well, the tomatoes and aubergines are recovering from their 2 week neglect and I'm enjoying the football.

Rain

Last night saw a splendid electrical storm, though only a little rain ... this morning was overcast and a decent shower arrived mid-morning ... welcome after weeks with barely a cloud and 30+ degrees forecast tomorrow ...

A trip to Russ on his bus, a cup of tea and interesting chat ... enrich my understanding of the Andalusian character ... quite greedy, he said, and incredibly generous ... other significant differences with the English stereotypes ... he is not keen at all on England or being English ... confident of surviving in his beloved Andalusia, EU or no EU ....

Russ  is also a seasoned explorer of inner space, mostly chemically propelled, and his insights are incorporated in his world view ... though not easy to explain, of course, since our current languages are not evolved for the task. .. still, we resonate ...

Back at the Casa the ants provide endless entertainment ... the team work is most impressive as they carry out their task of digging out the foundations of the house over a centuries long timescale ... this 70 year timeframe the rational and atomised human mind is stuck with is a real problem ... older civilisations constructed buildings still standing today ... ours seem sometimes built to throwaway ... with or without ant armies assisting ...

In Britland the furore continues ... political dramas unfold ... friendships implode ... football distracts ... for a while ... sometimes sitting in decadent luxury in the sun seems like dodging the revolution ... inner space, however, has also to be explored ... inner peace may influence outer peace ... and outdated arguments transcended ...

look over there ...

One of the great gifts of this assignment in the sun, away from the everyday dramas which distract us, is the time, space and silence to examine what's going on .... and to explore possible alternatives to the carnage of decaying capitalism ...

Eschewing television, radio and newspapers, those powerful tools of mind control, clears the way for broader perspectives. One of the tricks of those who would manipulate us, is to shift our attention from the real issues to spurious, divisive ones .... which can be presented in simple stories, promoted in emotive formats, pushing us into one camp or another, there to cheer our team, sneer at theirs.

Let's take a look at a topic guaranteed to generate more emotion than analysis - the National Health Services of England, Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland. Set up in 1948 as a socialist project, it was always compromised by the power of the senior doctors (its founder Nye Bevan said he stuffed their mouths with gold to get them to agree to it). Since the mechanistic model was in full swing, pharmeceutical companies found willing customers amongst doctors looking to fix symptoms ... indeed the relationship was corrupt throughout as the drug business sponsored conferences in exotic locations (plus golf) to curry favour ... any amount of freebies followed to remind prescribers who and how to thank for the largesse.

Notwithstanding all that, the NHS became the envy of the world and rightly so ... no longer did we have to count the pennies to see if we could afford to see the doctor. .. and so, like any successful business, it grew ... and since the lifestyle factors, the main determinant of health, were working against well-being, with massive marketing budgets promoting poisonous processed food, sedentary lives, meaningless lives, there was an ever growing market for what became a National Illness Service ... and opportunities for corporations, taking over socialised utilities and services ...

This process, part of the neo-liberal trend of the past three decades, went on remorselessly and seamlessly, whichever political party or coalition held power ... yet somehow the Labour Party positioned itself as the friend of the NHS ... and things became more bizarre in the recent referendum on EU membership, when outlandish claims tying together EU budgets and NHS budgets were cynically plastered on campaign posters ... and swiftly denied after the vote ...

This referendum, composed of supporters and opponents of EU membership from across the political and apolitical spectrum very soon polarised into "liberal status quo" and dangerously radical right wing ... as if the EU was a steady ship, with stable economies, sailing smoothly into a prosperous future ... which it palpably was not ... decaying capitalism takes a while and the wealthy folk of all countries are hanging on to the money as if it is real and not just the expression of economic power backed up by armies ...

The left wing argument against the EU, long supported by the Labour leader (who half-heartedly switched sides to present an establishment status quo) was lost in all the racist rhetoric ... and fear came to the fore ... fear of the foreigners on one side, fear of change on the other .... in the end the out voters, suffering economically, socially, politically felt there was less to fear in change than in the status quo ... and left wing organisations in other EU countries are emboldened to challenge the status quo too ... as, of course, are the racists  ...

This drama has a long way to go, with lots of plots to play out ... the warring Tories working out how to salvage something ... the Labour establishment ganging up on their leader (who, to his credit, never wanted the job in the first place), the revolt sparked by the son of socialist icon Tony Benn and who betrayed his leader and party members by supporting air strikes on Syria ... unforgivable ringing in the early hours to let him know, grounds itself for a sacking ... surely it could wait until after breakfast ....

So, this momentous decision has changed the landscape across the world, since the UK is still a major economic power and the City of London a centre of financial shenanigans ... widening the perspective, maybe this is the start of the end ... the messy breakdown of an economic system past its time ... narrowing the perspective, this blogger is a tenner down on a bet with a good friend and Daily Telegraph reader (and sometime writer) ... and, parked in Spain, finding fewer euros for the pension pounds ...

Brit Buffoonery ...

Regular readers of these ramblings will have noted the preoccupation with a certain strand of Brit behaviour abroad ... wandering along the Algarve a certain antipathy was detected, though it was hard to elicit any overt expression from the locals ...

Now a very incisive blog appears from a Portuguese bloke living in Manchester long term, where he nails it with this: "... that omnipresent racist British superiority that is all over this society".

You can read the whole thing at: 1pennyand2cents.blogspot.com 

The same thing shows up here on the Costa del Sol and triggers something ... which has crystallised significantly politically with a referendum yesterday in the UK, which polarised people around quite narrow issues, fear tactics to the fore, progressive arguments for a different politics buried in a toxic narrative ... doubtless things will settle down and carry on, more or less the same ...

Talking to integrated expats expands the critique ... the Andalusians very welcoming, very appreciative of the money coming to the area from the expats ... happy to charge special prices for those not bothered to learn local language and culture ... Susie suggests they see us typically as buffoons, which is perhaps a word more for the English than other Brits ... like Bertie Woosters trickling down the class system (and this stereotype does aspire to rise above the commoners,embrace shallow symbols of ostentatious wealth) ...

Well, this xenophobia has to work its way out of the national psyche eventually ... collapsing 3D worlds will see to that ... just checking that shadow from time to time, looking to transcend it through embracing international structures ... not necessarily bureaucratic ones reinforcing Northern European hegemony ... Global Eco-village networks maybe ... building from the bottom up ... 

Layers of delusion

One of the features of withdrawing from the world as it is generally perceived is the opportunity to investigate what's going on from new perspectives.

Whether or not that is a good thing rather depends on how the perceiver receives, processes and experiences the new perspectives .... best set aside concepts of good and bad if possible perhaps, though pain may be a clue that a world view is best discarded for now ... which does not mean it's not valid, just that suffering is optional ... caused by clinging on to pain producing thoughts and actions ...

Humans being social creatures, withdrawal may be tempered with occasional discussion ... sharing of views ... the trap here being the tendency to seek out those who share one's current delusions ... and the opposite may apply ... those with information relevant to the new consciousness being drawn into relationship ... for the time being ... the beauty of this process being mutuality, which removes the solipsism from the story ...

It is understood that thought is limited and transcending it necessary to reveal the Truth ... though that's easier said than done and many have glimpsed it and slipped back to thought, albeit at a new and exciting level of delusion ... the trap tempting Gurus throughout time ...

So, the spark for this esoteric essay? ... a narrative which suggests the 3D world as a series of interconnected dramas ... all the world being a stage ... the dramas developed to educate and entertain ... and the players, as actors, directors, script writers, audience and so on all co-creating in this great game ... not to dismiss the pain of the tragedies we write and act out, or the joy of the love stories .... just that from this small corner of Spain in this brief moment in time, television mostly absent, "news"papers too ... it appears unreal that humanitarian crises on epic scale can be created callously and the focus of attention put on the symptoms and not the causes ... blame allocated to the victims and not the perpetrators ... a spurious referendum generated to divide the gullible population around irrelevant issues ... the outcome already decided ... football tournaments where entertainment is secondary to encouraging identification with a section of humanity called "nation", with amusing sub-plots like the "United" Kingdom having three different teams (and two from Ireland) plus another left behind, possibly as punishment for wanting to separate politically as well soccerly ... humans around the world offered at least the illusion of choice - to eat simple food or processed concoctions of corpses and chemicals, to look for the beauty in Nature and co-create with Her or destroy Her work and seek to dominate each other, to be happy or miserable .... and making the wrong choices in huge numbers, deceived to believe we are freely choosing ...

Sometimes it seems there is a script of scripts, a meta-script from which all these dramas evolve, unfold ... maybe many from which to pluck from a field of possibilities ... which opens up the question as to who is writing these scripts ... the "they" of conspiracy theorists ...

At this current level of delusion, seeing all this, seeking to do better, aware of the dramas but not engaged in them ... what to do?

It's work in progress and helping who we can where we are is a start ... in an infinite universe no act of kindness is too small to make a difference ... and whether or not we have free will to choose, it goes better if we act as if we do ... perhaps once all the layers of delusion have been stripped away, what's left is "choiceless awareness" ... words borrowed from J. Krishnamurti, though he has no responsibility for the rest of the ramblings ...

Tarifa again ...

Sloppy research leaves things open and the walking between Tarifa and Bolonia is no exception.

Having failed to identify a clear off road option by desk research or by asking a very helpful Spanish bloke along the way (he told me the incoming tide cut off the beach route at the end of the Tarifa stretch and a short time on the Cadiz road to Valdevaqueros would put me on a beach before picking up a track through the forest ... having neglected Spanish studies it was all above my head, I was nodding and smiling, saying Si, Gracias, and one or two other appropriate words to fool him) ... took the safe but hard option on the hard shoulder ... passing the Tarifa Centre for Drug Dependency ... slogging up the Bolonia Pass ...

At the museum, a map of the Natural Park offers a scenic route through pine woods, well marked with Camino de Santiago style arrows ... pointing towards Bolonia (Santiago?) helpful to check and three other sign posts at critical points ... deep sand slowing me down, wildlife lifting me up ... hitting a back road at Paloma, past redundant military buildings and down to the beach again ... coffee with the windsurfers ... shoes off all the way keeping cool in the shallows, shorts off too, to wade waist deep through the tricky part where incoming tide meets outgoing river ... and so to the Melting Pot again ... one night booked ... the next one open ... check other local options, head back to the Casa .... the handy map produced by Otman at the hostel shows more walking towards Algeciras ... 20 km on the road and a doable stretch for tomorrow or Sunday ... let's see ...

Roman remnants in 2D

Baelo Claudio is the Roman Archaeological site in Bolonia ... well excavated and interpreted with a most impressive museum building, sitting modernly, unpretentiously in the site ... a favourite for school trips at this time of year, since history lessons in the morning are followed by beach fun in the afternoon ...

The setting is superb ... views across to Africa and in antiquity the Phoenician fleet and Roman Galleys contesting Iberia ... and of course the gates to the Med ...  key to conquest since seafaring empires arose ...

There are hints of a three dimensional civilisation here, but as with most ancient Roman sites one has to imagine that from the mostly two dimensional remnants ... sitting in silence by the forum ... eyes closed, short circuiting time, one may go there ... and extrapolating from 2D to 3D one can foresee the possibilities in a multidimensional universe ....

The residents hereabouts two thousand years ago erected a temple to Isis ... Goddess numero uno and making a comeback in the Age of Aquarius. .. about time after all that murderous macho madness ... the meta script writers, employing dark humour to taunt us, create late stage capitalist barbarians, finance them in a desperate attempt to save earth destroying empire ... set them loose and hijack the name of the divine feminine ... Isis ...

Meanwhile, as Roman antiquity inevitably decayed, Andalusia entered its own dark age ...barbarian tribes ... until, across these waters a new civilisation, Islamic, makes its mark with wonderful architecture, mathematics (the number 0 without which where would we be?)... later ousted by the Christians and their gold plated cathedrals, thumbscrews and other instruments of shock and awe ... and so the spiral turns ...

Purpose ...

Having recklessly abandoned a simple life in Stanhope, with wonderful walks all round, daughters nearby, friends ... a project providing purpose, serving the elders ... reflecting on the relationship between server and served ... the energy exchange ... the danger in serving unthinkingly ... in wars perhaps ... setting off new chains of cause and effect in the seeming endless violence at all levels of this relative reality ...  reflecting on this current posting at Casa del Puente .... freely chosen, apparently, yet responsible also to the family, keen to close the book on the Casa story and rather stuck with a crumbly asset in an overcrowded market ... no regrets, thanks to Edith Piaf and equanimity ...

What's the point? Releasing Juliet from servitude has its own reward ... and there will be others happy to live rent free for a while when this house sitter itches too much for another adventure ... the settled Stanhope life was fine, yet something itched ....

The Casa has seen some suffering ... the Costa too ... maybe this is a place and time for sanity, a simpler life amidst the decadence ... its intended resurrection as luxury villa for visiting polo people possibly passed ... maybe a place for therapy .... healing ... spiritual growth ...

The Bolonia break has focused things .... Santiago calls ... or the wandering amongst philosophers perhaps ... who knows what's coming? Staying open to opportunity ... and maybe creating purpose around the life arising ...

Speaking of which ... a long and deep conversation with departing respite house sitter Vicky suggests the opportunity at the Casa may indeed lie with the need for peaceful places in the sun where healing may happen ... through mutuality ...

As for purpose, presently waiting for neighbour having Chinese medicine treatment in Marbella ... since the car and driver are free and the trip is not practical when her five dogs are waiting for her back at home ... tapas on the terrace in shady Marbella, blogging, reflecting and passing time ... is enough for now ...

Tarifa, Bolonia ...

Even house sitters need holidays and since previous caretakers of the Casa, Vicky and Steve, are over for a week, this one is wandering round the bend to the Atlantic coast, the rather hip Tarifa, home of surfers, and the quieter and very beautiful Bolonia ... both visited before in another life and fondly remembered ...

The Disco is staying home and it's a 9am start for the bus to San Roque, a brief wait for Algeciras, where it is really warming up .... 30 something degrees ... and an hour and a half for the last leg ...

The Melting Pot hostel in Tarifa is a cool return to the convivial hostel life ... a room shared with Teo from Bilbao, touring Spain on his motorcycle over the twenty days of his holidays ... Jean-Paul, friendly Frenchman, fluent in English, from Paris, but now London based, working in financial services  ... assures me that money is real, though is a player in that drama ... then Eric, another Parisian ... a traveller, who tells of his stay at Sunseed, a community near Almeria and seeks information about Tamera, where he is headed next ... and Findhorn ...

All of which is counterpoint to my extended solitude in the decaying Casa ... reflecting that, whilst offering deep training and is manageable, is not what is needed long or medium term ... and questioning whether one really exists without relationship ... the Melting Pot, like most hostels, has conviviality whether you want it or not, of course ... a late night with the young people ... and an early start ( since the summer minibus service to Bolonia only starts in July) and breakfast with Christina going home to Naples to continue her guitar studies ... who offers me an apple for the trip ... 20 km walking, route not entirely known, though the hard shoulder is the reliable option .... research has not established seaside options, though it soon becomes clear that cliffs intervene and with another hot day forecast getting lost is best avoided ... so, four and a half hours brisk walk takes me to the Hostal Rios ... clean and simple beachside room for three days writing, reading, walking and swimming ...

wandering around the Guadiaro ...

Having spotted a circular route, the Ruta Guadiaro-Genal, from Secadero up the right bank to the Genal confluence and the Hermitage and back to Tesorillo on the left bank ... 18km, which is a steady 4 hours if all goes to plan ...

An early start, though some time spent with the ants and Poppy, ending with an agreement that cat food will not be on offer in the kitchen, but on the patio, whilst any leftovers at the end of the day will be put out the front for the ants ... let's see if that works ...

Which makes departure a little late and breakfast is postponed until Secadero, which is reached by car before 8 and before any breakfast serving cafe is open for business ... never mind, there is water and we should be back by 12 ...

Passing an inland expat riding a stationary bike quite fast on the well equipped adult playground, a little information is gathered about the route and it is swift and mostly traffic free to the beautiful Hermitage, despite a perverse northerly extension of nearly an hour ... now, to return the known way or seek out the left bank, with no sign of a bridge ... continuing north on the right bank through orange groves and vegetable fields, all fenced in and on a large scale, it is hard to ascertain when this river can be crossed (the junior partner, the Genal is easily bridged near the Hermitage) ... until a couple of blokes working in a field tell me it is as quick to go back as forward ... that the bridge is still 3 or 4 km north, though happily there is a cafe there ... hooray!

A substantial sandwich for lunch at 12.45 is fuel for a hot return down the left bank ... which follows the metalled road as it meanders on the edge of the flood plain, not wishing to get its feet wet in the odd cases of overflow ... and on and on like a long camino day on the plains ... soaking the towel and wearing it on head and shoulders, topped by sun hat ... practical if rather bizarre for passing drivers .... and into Tesorillo at 5, which is 5 hours later than planned and proof once again that the map is indeed not the territory ... given a generous hour total breaks and a fair pace on flat roads, that's looking like 40km at least ... the most since Santiago and great training for legs and mind.

As for Poppy and the ants, all food is eaten and no sign of ants on the patio, Poppy's food or the kitchen ... let's see ...

Sabinillas

Across the campo on now well known route coastwards  ... pushing past previous walk, up the deserted dual carriageway to a great  view of the inland town of Minilva and a rear entrance into La Duchesa, an extensive urbanisation favoured by Brits ... a little shopping centre complete with mini-market, cafe, several vacant units and Kelly's Bar, which is favoured with my custom ... not that the young scouser seems particularly keen, but it has been a couple of hours brisk walking and the appearance may be rather rustic ... skip the full English option and settle for coffee and a rest before dropping down to the coast road and the surprisingly pleasant Sabinillas.

Since there is a bookshop, the search is on for a functional teach yourself Spanish book ...eliciting  a handy conversation guide and directions to the charity shop next door ... raising money for local children and staffed by women of various nationalities ... no luck with the book, but directions to another charity shop where a phrase book, dictionary and Spanish PDQ are purchased for one Euro. .. a bargain even at double the price ... and reflections on the wonderful institution that is the Charity Shop ... source of disposal of unwanted goods, source of cheap wanted goods, social centre for ladies of a certain age, and purpose in life, raising funds for those in need ...

Time for a wander, a coffee on the front and a warm wait for the bus ... only 20 minutes late here, but loses another 10 on the way to Torreguidiaro, where the Russian cleaning lady gets on ... wondering if the day we decide to go to the stop late, it will run on time ...

Well, the ants have been swept (mostly kindly, but suspect quite a few must have perished on the way out) ... lunch eaten, emails read, messenger messaged ... better stop prevaricating and start on these bargain books ...

Return to Algeciras ...

... last visited some decades ago, en route to Tangier ... fond memories of three days' philosophy with a Canadian traveller, Paul ... philosophy student in Vancouver ... a fine teacher standing in for those dodged back in Wimborne ... cakes the other memory and these are still plentiful ...

Two buses required from the casa. .. to San Roque, pretty town on a hill overlooking La Linea, the refinery and Algeciras ... and Gibraltar, from where the founders of San Roque fled when British and Dutch sailors came calling in 1704 ... a wander round town and on to the city ... full of character ... a bustling port ... ferries to Africa ... Arab voices and Moroccan spices ... backpackers. ... trains to Madrid, Cordoba, Granada ...

Apart from exploring the aim was a teach yourself Spanish book, since online learning is not working well ... remarkably hard to find considering more than a million Brits have settled here ... finally a proper bookshop with an authentic Andalusian bibliophile ... engaged in bookish banter, buy Espanol Correcto Para Dummies ... possibly painfully poignant, since there is not a word of English in it ... never mind, supporting local bookshops has its own merit ...

As there is a while to wait for the bus, an empty chair and scraggly hair,  it's in for a trim and barberly chat ... some Spanish, some English, some French since he is Moroccan. ..none of which is his first language ...

Back at San Roque for the San Enrique bus and the bloke waiting shows a real time bus app ...worth finding ... and his distaste for Algeciras ... angry, he says ... prefers Estepona. .. comes from Ceuta (Spain's piece of Morocco ) ... which just goes to show ....

more exploring ...

After yesterday's brave foray into Marbella. ..some soul soothing ... wandering early across the campo ... finding the pre-tarmac roads ...

The Marbella trip was good for research ... good for Susie, who had a full summer wardrobe session at Mark's and Spencer's in the Canada Centre .... like malls everywhere ... shopping as a leisure experience ... seduced by psychologists to buy shiny stuff to try to fill the gaping existential hole ... this place has a special story, funded with dirty money by several of Jesus Gil's successors ... now doing time ... Marbella itself conjuring an image of a gold plated turd ... is this negativity coming through prejudicial processing, over sensitive perception, out of sync vibrations?
Research suggests corruption endemic throughout the Spanish construction industry ... probably not just Spain ... when local politicians can hike the value of scrubland many times simply by rezoning, the scene is set for temptation ...

This crazy building led boom was widely supported whilst most people profited ... now that austerity is demanded by central banks, calling in the debts, accountability is required ... thousands of illegally built properties are set for demolition ... the pendulum swings ...

Consolidating the previous exploration, under the motorway, with the coast and the bus back more or less known... honey and banana bun packed like a Camino snack and musing about building strength for the Via de Plata from Sevilla to Santiago later in the year ... up ahead more relics of abandoned urbanisation ... dual carriageways going nowhere ... the one aiming for the coast abruptly reverting to a footpath ... then scrub ... thorn bushes to navigate to add to the surreality ...up a hill to an old well ... under a fence to a lane and eventually connecting with the other end of the intended road ... an established suburb... this is building boom and bust on an epic scale ...

Back to the coast ... a wander along the sentido for coffee at the Tubilito ... and greeted like a local settling down in the shade for some blogging ...some slightly disturbing conversation with a German hippy, resident here for 17 years ... a good life ... not as good as it was ... war coming in Europe ... ermm pardon? Which part of the mind is this information coming from? Sorry, my English is not so good ... what are they planning?

Back to the blog ... another coffee ... a hot sun and cool breeze ...   ... pondering wandering home to complete the circuit ... wondering how Poppy's getting on with the ants ... it being ant season and ants being very keen on cat food ... and Poppy used to running buffet ... they have launched four incursions so far ... fascinating to observe ... sending scouts ... then the advance party ... followed by the platoon ... marching like an army ... any empathy not effective so broom disrupts the hordes ... sorry folks but not indoors please ... their dismembering of a deceased salamander on the sunroof was epic to observe ... three days work from corpse to nada ...

A stop in San Enrique to join Russ at the bar ... review the news ... his feed includes French revolt ...not prominent in mine, though resident sister and pal may update ...

Expanding ...

... connecting ... wandering ...

Since tomorrow is set for Marbella with Susie ... Marks and Spencers ... an unexpected pleasure, but all good ... this morning's idea was wandering ... staying open ... so, equipped with walking shoes, sun hat, water, but no breakfast ... out on the track to Secadero ... maybe eat there, maybe 9 am bus back to Guadiaro ... passing the Cortijo the black labrador which followed me home last week, spots me, finds its escape hole ... bounds up to say hello (which is different from barking) ... hello, are we walking, follow me ... after last time, trying to persuade her to go home, decide to walk with her, see when she might turn back ... of which she shows no sign ... and at the cows' gate she looks at me from the other side and says, well I'll soon find a way round that!

So, bearing in mind the fear of cows with calves and dogs ... unsure whether the dog plans to spend the whole day ... we turn back ... in time to find her humans driving out of the Cortijo ... yes, she's always doing that ... don't worry ... hmmm ... the assumed scenario possibly disproved (sloppy black lab, Brit owners) as the friendly young blokes turn out to be Romanians ... or to be accurate, when asked if the dog, called Holly, spoke English or Spanish, said no, Romanian ... more information required on this and doubtless Holly and I will meet again ...

Thanks to Holly, a change of plan ... back along the lane and at the polo road a left up an unknown route, parallel to the previous, past posh finca until the road appears to finish in an impressive entrance ... until, on closer examination, an ancient portal appears ... a path winding up and through thorn bushes, trodden by cows ... and at the top reunited with the Secadero route ... by which time the idea has formed to swing south along the ridge and try to link with yesterday's road ... and back to San Enrique ...

At the top the possibilities expand again, a lane swings east ... heads for a tunnel under the motorway ... towards the sea ... declining coffee at the services ... the old road meanders past a goat farm and into signs of new drainage systems ... and the rear entrance to an abandoned urbanisation ... quite a find ... an unintended return to the shallow Costa ... wondering about some alternative uses for all these dwellings ... maybe prison cells ... since the architecture looks similar from this aspect ... residential driving lessons ... the roads all laid out for parallel parking, reversing, three point turns, emergency stops ... refugees obviously, though probably less likely ...whoever writes these meta scripts lacks compassion and common sense ... prices still seem high and the Bank appears to own it all now ...

Across the coast road in search of coffee at 10am ... the first chiringuito closed, the next with folks sitting around making party decorations ... hola! ... 'ello mate! ... err, how did you know I was English? ... I didn't, I'm English, I don't speak Spanish ... fair enough ... some questions ... it's a wedding, no chance of a coffee, the beach bars don't open 'til 12 ... who is getting married ?... the groom's son joins the conversation ... friendly, interested ... the older bloke, the groom's friend is spooked by the questions ... what are you, a detective? I desist, share no names here, request no photos ... in the Cockney culture of this, my generation, relations with the law were not always cordial ... who knows? ... maybe a place to gently discover how that game is playing out in the sun ...

At the Chiringuito Tubalitas.... a shady spot for breakfast ... starting the blog ... then back along the beach, hot now, in time for the 12.45 bus from Torreguardiaro to the brothel ... which arrives at 1.15, to the increasing consternation of a Russian woman, living in La Linea, cleaning flats here, just finished work and wanting to get home to her daughter ...

So, a wonderful off road route across the campo to start the day ... a chat with Holly, the very friendly dog ... Romanians, Russians and Cockneys ... and all set for the joys of Marbella tomorrow, power base of Jesus Gil, colourful criminal, three term Marbella mayor, president of Athletico Madrid ... long since left the stage, but not forgotten ... his legacy lingers ...