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To The Finca - Part Iii
Read on for the next installment of Mel Morris' Finca adventure. If you haven't read these before you might want to catch up on the story so far...We made some new discoveries this week, some good, some bad. The first discovery was that thankfully, the brambles have not returned to cover the house (everyone who worked so hard to clear them back in May will be glad to hear that), the second was that someone had taken our beer that we'd left in the well. Oh well, I suppose it was just a bit too tempting!
Having worked hard to get mosquito nets ready for the hut and the gazebo I swelled with housewifely pride to see them hung in place, the gazebo looking for all the world like it belonged in some hot country during the years of Empire, (I just needed the long frock and Jamie a pith helmet to complete the illusion) especially when all the candles were lit. Even the fox who came to pay us a visit seemed impressed with our camp. Our first evening back on the finca passed pleasantly reminiscing about the past year and looking forward to the next when we could hopefully, finally, set a moving date.
The next day we called in a favour at the agent’s office and secured a meeting with Carlos, the architect. He has been somewhat elusive the past few months and I was keen to nail him on exactly what work had been done. There is a confusing system in Spain where there is a kind of project manager or ‘architect technical’ and an architect who does a similar job to architects in the UK and produce drawings etc. We'd been introduced to and had a long meeting with our architect technical, a lady called Tere, last November and had assumed all would just go from there having agreed with a quote for the work. She had appointed Carlos as architect for the project and then everything had gone quiet, with Tere on maternity leave we hadn't known quite what to do. Now Carlos was here in front of us. It appears he never got my email asking him to go ahead with the work or the following three asking what was happening. I am not quite sure on the believability of this but at the end of the meeting everyone seemed happier, he felt it should take about a year to get all the permissions in order and the drawings finalised, then we can start to build.
Grape picking was well under way in southern Catalunya at this time of year and with the hottest and driest summer for somewhere between 60 and 120 years (depending on who you are talking to) the farmers were keen to harvest all they could, if wine connoisseurs are correct then the conditions should produce fantastic wines for the 2005 vintage. Everywhere we saw tractors with trailers piled high with rich purple grapes and at the co-operativa, where a co-operative of local farmers and workers produce olive oil, wine and vinegar there were queues of tractors waiting to have their grapes weighed and judged for quality. The art deco arches of the co-operative rang with the shouts of the farmers, many with their families on the tractors too and the clanging of the great hoppers as the grapes piled in. But inside the co-operativa shop all was cool tranquillity. This is possibly the best way to buy the local wine. For a few cents they will sell you a plastic container in 2 or 5 litres or you can bring your own and then it is filled with your choice or vi negre (normal or especial), vino blanco (normal or gran reserva), vino rosado, mistal, rancie, olive oil or vinegar all at around a euro a litre with the gran reservas and the especials being a little more. I think that mistal is a type of sweet grape must often used as a base for country liqueurs but I have no idea what rancie is - answers on a postcard please! On the Saturday night we were also privileged to see some of the self same farmers all scrubbed up and with their wives in elegant dresses walking up the steps of the shop to attend a reception celebrating the harvest. Wouldn't it be great if one year we could join them?!
The next day we discovered one of the best views in southern Catalunya on top of the Monte de Santa Barbara. To be truthful it is a little shy of being a fully fledged mountain but the very steep walk/scramble up it was very rewarding. At the bottom of the, well lets keep calling it a mountain for romance’s sake, is an impressive ermita which is still in use, a grand staircase to the church would be the dream of any gothically leaning bride and a more modern wing where the small windows for the inhabitants cells look out down an avenue of Cyprus trees. A narrow track leads you up through pine trees and round a corner, here spread out beneath is almost an alpine view, of meadows and distant hills and to complete the feeling the melodious clanging of cow bells could be heard. The track now got steeper as we wound around the mountain again, reaching a small and abandoned ermita. This old building had been used a front line clinic during the Spanish Civil war and just behind was a cave that looked like it had been shored up to provide shelter for those protecting the injured in the clinic from the opposing forces on the other side of the valley. It didn't take much imagination to see the advantage this position would give the resisting communist fighters and to imagine the terror of being on this sprouting of rock prepared to die for your beliefs. Further on the track becomes steeper and more of a scramble than a walk and then like the opening credits of ‘The Sound of Music’ you are on top of the peak and the whole of the province is spread at your feet. It was so peaceful, eagle type birds circled on the eddies above and butterflies played around the grass and bushes. I could have stayed there forever.
Other things we discovered were that gazebos and windy evenings don't mix after wee nearly lost the entire thing one breezy night- our empire days were over; some more of Peniscola, where we had enjoyed the sun and the sand in May, with it’s charming old town, winding car free streets and fine sea views which even the touristy shops and tapas bars could not distract from; and other lovely walks, along a river and a circular walk from the finca, along a ridge top that unfortunately a badly twisted ankle prevented us from completing but we hope to return and do so one day very soon.
Then of course there was the eclipse. The alarm was set the night before, sources on the world wide web suggested it would take place shortly after sunrise. At this time of year it is very cold at night and with the wind it felt quite wintry before sunrise but as we were planning on staying out all day I dressed in layers ready to peel them off as the day warmed. Off we set to a viewing spot we picked out earlier in the week. Now Jamie and I have a bit of history in going to viewing spots on holiday and seeing absolutely nothing due to cloud and fog but the morning looked clear and cloudless, stars still twinkled, and I was looking forward to my first eclipse. We sat and shivered on the top of a very high hill for over an hour. The dawn was beautiful, rays of pink and gold broke across fluffy clouds, but no eclipse. Maybe we couldn't see it this far from Valencia, maybe I had the time wrong, maybe NASA didn't realise you didn't get sunrise in that part of the world until 7.30 at this time of year, maybe despite using projections onto a wall with a pair of binoculars it had happened but we just hadn't been able to see it. We trundled home via the bakers. When I got out of the car at the finca I was disappointed by how cold it was here compared to in town, I was going to need my fleece on to have breakfast. I set off walking and then Jamie called me back, I ran back to the car ‘Look, look’ he called focusing the light through the binoculars onto his hand ‘Its happening’. Sure enough a little crescent showed up on his had - So that was why it was so cold, even though just a small amount of the sun was obscured it was enough to create a noticeable temperature drop. And yes, the birds and the crickets weren't cheaping. We made tea and sat down with breakfast to watch this miracle of nature. We didn’t get totality of even really a proper annular eclipse but I reckon the moon finally hid about 90% of the sun. The light was very eerie, washed out but without the greyness of evening, the shadows still sharp and certain flatness in the colours. Then the moon got on with its path and so did we.
There was one final discovery on the last morning. The previous night we'd seen the fox again, very close and it was hanging around the camp seemingly unafraid. It was a lovely looking creature, very sleek and with a wonderful tail. We knew there were foxes around as they scavenged rubbish bags before but now we had a fox proof bin to try to prevent rubbish being strewn everywhere and now here one was and seemingly as curious in us as we were about it. Then, at about 5am Jamie got up to go an put rocks on the rubbish bin as the fox had woken him up with its repeated efforts to get into it. When returning to bed he said ‘Where are our shoes?’
‘They're just outside’ I replied
‘I can't find any, I think the fox has taken them.’
‘I can't believe that’ I said sleepily
But the thought played on my mind, two pairs of boots and two pairs of walking sandals were a lot for a fox to take, had someone been down here and taken them or was Jamie still drunk from the night before?
Soon after dawn I needed the toilet and so I threw on some clothes and stepped outside. Surely enough there was no footwear to be seen but flapping on one of the rosemary bushes just round the corner was one of my bright blue socks. I went to retrieve it, then here was a pair of Jamie’s trousers and another sock, then a boot of mine with half the lace missing. Like following a trail of clues I managed to find 3 pairs of socks (two with big holes chewed in them), a pair of trousers (also chewed), my left boot and Jamie’s left boot (chewed). No sign of any right boots or sandals! What were we going to do? We couldn't go and get a flight with only two left boots between us and we had no way of knowing where the fox’s den was to see if we could recover our things. If only one of us had a pair of shoes we could go and buy some flip flops or something for the other.
In the end we decided to brave the strange looks and with socks on one foot and a boot on the other we walked with as brave a face as possible through Tortossa to the outdoor sports shop. We knew that the chap who runs it is friendly, had probably heard similar stories before and was more likely to stock the size 12 boots Jamie needed than your average Spanish shoe shop. On the way we looked up the word for ‘fox’ in Spanish, it was ‘zorro’ - how appropriate! Now we could laugh imagining this masked fox liberating our sandals with a whoosh of his cape and a flick of his sword. The man in the shop chuckled at our plight but yes he did have some shoes in the right sizes and we were soon respectable on the streets of Tortossa once more.
So if you are a Marquis and are bathing in the lake close to the finca don't expect puss in boots to steal your clothes expect ‘zorro en sandalias’!
Mel Morris
Written: 11th Oct, 05
Read: 2624 times
