Saturday 26 September 2015

Whatever Happened to the Hero?

Whatever Happened to the Hero?



Mrs. Sanchez, having digested  my humble organ for once, has taken me to task for not writing much about the Romería last week except for 'all that baby nonsense'. 
I van tell you that it was a lot of fun as usual.

                                       

                           La Virgen de Flores passing a popular apartment block


             A mobile chiringuito (lots of pork products AND exercise).
 
                                   
                              The Jesús gang whooping it up at the El Señor chiringuito

                                        The IU paella (very nice too! and FREE)

Once The Virgin of the Flowers arrived at El Convento, almost everybody headed for one of the chiringuitos that had been set up. These are bars run by the hermandades and  cofradias, political parties and other groups trying to raise money.  They sell beer, refrescos (soft drinks), tinto de verano (red wine with fizzy lemonade),fino (a dry sherry drunk by real men) and water. Food is available too -  tortilla, paella, pinchos de gambas (prawns on a stick) etc. The routine is that you buy tickets to the value of what you want and then push your way through to the front (no queue) to trade in your tickets for food and drink. As the tickets are only valid at the chiringuito where you bought them you usually find a few unused tickets in your pocket the day after. It's all in a good cause, if you're fond of politics or religious processions. 
The best chiringuitos do a big paella which is very popular. We started off at 'El Capirote' which is run by the hermandad of Dolores Coronada, then we had a drink  at the Partido Popular bar (The Spanish Conservatives) and then another at the Izquierda Unida (United Left) to balance things up. The IU one was giving out free beer (and not just for the workers), olives and free paella. (We'll be voting for them at the next election). 

To round off the afternoon we went up to join the fun loving gang at the  El Señor de las Torres chiringuito which was heaving. Lots of flamenco, singing, dancing, eating and more drinking. 


This happens every year and I've never known it to rain. I don't know why they don't do it twice or three times a year. It always happens on the first Sunday after September 8th. if you want to book your flight early for next year.

Hundreds of happy pilgrims followed the vigin through town, turned left at the roundabout with the big arch, and surged up past Mercadona on route for El Convento which La Virgen de Flores calls home.




Just before they reached El Convento they passed La Venta de La Higuera. Ventas are restaurants which are usually found on  the roads between towns and villages. Most of them serve comidas caseras (home made traditional dishes) and are very popular at weekends. 
Next to the Venta La Higuera is La Fuente de La Higuera, a free flowing fountain where people used to queue up to fill containers with the spring water which flows from two pipes all day and night. I used to go up there with my plastic containers before dawn to avoid the crowds and still found a queue there . The water comes from deep inside the mountains and is regarded as the best in Álora. The tap water here is drinkable but it used to taste a bit like formaldehyde which gives a gin and tonic a bit of an 'off flavour ' and carries a whiff of the mortuary about it. It tastes all right these days but old habits die hard and people can still be seen filling up their bottles, containers and car boots with the stuff.

                                                  La Fuente de la Higuera

Last year someone noticed that the pipe that supplies the fountain is uncovered for some distance and is being polluted by a variety of unpleasant organic substances of animal origin. The ayuntamiento (town hall) decided that the water was a threat to public health and declared it 'no potable', which every Spanish person and millions of non Spaniards know to mean 'undrinkable' and they put up a sign to that affect. But you can't kid the Perotes. Many local people thought it was either a mistake or a hoax and continued to use the water for drinking. You can see a couple of people doing just that in the  photo. At considerable expense a much bigger sign was put up.



You can't get more explicit than this, in my opinion. It says,' Water not drinkable. Not suitable for human consumption.' It even has the official crest of Álora in the bottom left hand corner. Nah! must be a mistake.



That reminds me. Did I mention that we got our drains fixed? Turns out there was a 3 metre stretch with no pipe so it had all caved in. What a relief !

Yesterday Mrs Sánchez and I went to meet 'The Spanish Robin Hood'. He is Juan Miguel Sánchez Gordillo and he lives in Marinaleda a small rural  town 95km. (59 miles) from Álora where he has been the elected alcalde (mayor) since 1979 when the first local elections were held after the death of the Spain's best known dictator Generalisimo Francisco Franco. He is also a History teacher and leader of the political party Candidatura Unitaria de Trabajadores (Unitarian Candidacy of Workers)(CUT). Despite the similarity in name, looks and professional background Juan Sánchez has no familly connection with me nor with Mrs. Sánchez.


                                    Juan Miguel Sánchez Gordillo, Mayor of Marinaleda.

Since becoming alcalde of Marinaleda Sr. Sanchez has reduced unemployment to 5% (Spain's average is 25% and 34% in Andalucía). Everyone is paid the same wage, property is owned communally with no need for mortgages and there is no local police force. No wonder the Guardian newspaper described Marinaleda as a a 'communist utopia'.

In 2012 he led an attack on Carrefour and  Mercadona supermarkets in nearby Éjica and Aguilar de la Frontera where  supporters carried out a 'Supermarket Sweep' and 'confiscated' trolleyloads of basic foodstuffs which were then  redistributed among food banks. No wonder he gained the moniker 'The Spanish Robin Hood'. In 2013 he was sentenced to 7 months in prison for breaking into some unused land owned by the military, with the intention of using it for food production.

                                                              San- Che and his crew

Mrs. Sánchez and I were really looking forward to meeting 'San-Che' (geddit?) as we drove through Sevilla province in the baking heat of a September afternoon. Unfortunately we had left it a bit late (1.25pm.) and all the streets of Marinaleda were deserted. A very friendly lady interrupted her mopping to tell us where we could find the ayuntamiento (town hall). This was shut too. We should have made an appointment.



                                                 The town hall was closed

We looked around for a bar in case he was having his lunch break. The only one open was Bar Texas.. He wasn't there so we ordered drinks and had some fried calamares and asked the owner if Juan Sánchez was around.
'He doesn't come down here much', she told me, 'Try further up the road.' This wasn't specific enough for further serious investigation so we got back in the car and went home.





At the risk of over egging the pudding, dear reader, you might be interested in this little performance that Mrs. S and I witnessed in Casarabonela (once you learn how to say it you can't stop) last Sunday. Followng the great success of their village production of 'Scenes from the Spanish Inquisition' two years ago (see 'Nobody Expects the Spanish Inquisition'. 23rd. Sept 2013). Casarabonela (try saying it. It really does roll off the tongue once you've got it) has  cranked up its act, renamed the weekend 'Visperas', hired a van load of costumes and roped in nearly all the village for a massive 3 day event. (I was told the costume in the photo wasn't among those in the van).





 Last time we were there I was locked up and bought some cheese that I can still taste. This year every ounce of energy was put into staged episodes depicting  a visit by the Spanish Inqisition in 1569. Some people like dressing up a bit too much, I feel. Next year's performance is going to be called 'Heretic Pride'.

Mrs. Sánchez and I arrived a bit early so off  we went  to Cafe Nuevo and had some delicious Conejo con Ajo  (Rabbit and chips) (sorry Clive). By the time we emerged it was nearly all over so we just watched the 'curtain calls' (which lasted half and hour) and went home. No sign of a cheese stall this year. 






                                          Everyone  gave a bow - all 321 of them




                                                Lots of chairs but no cheese!

An English neighbour of ours turned up at his holiday home  last week without telling the chap who was looking after his house for him. It was being used as a marijuana farm.


He wasn't sure how to proceed so he went to the Manhatten Bar down by the station where he was advised, so I'm told, to call in the Guardia Civil in a few days. The caretaker has not been seen recently.  

Juanito Sanchez. September 26th. 2015



 

Wednesday 16 September 2015

Now you see him. Now you don't. The Case of the Disappearing Baby Jesus.

Now you see him. Now You Don't. The Case of the Disappearing Baby Jesus.


Last Sunday was the day of the Romería de la Virgen de Flores (The Pilgrimage of the Virgin of the Flowers). The annual celebrations for Álora's Patron Virgin ended, as it does every year,  with a great procession from La Parroquia (Parish Church) in La Plaza Baja to El Convento out on the Ardales road where she spends the rest of the year. Nine days of misas (masses)and exploding rockets (remember those, Tommy?)  form the build up to the second biggest local event of the year. (Semana Santa) (holy week) will always take the number one slot.)

                                         La Virgen de Flores entering La Fuentarriba


Mrs. Sánchez and I live next door to Lina who is in charge of the whole show, so we feel almost involved. The Virgin of the Flowers, as you would expect, is yet another version of Mary, the mother of Jesus. 

There are hundreds, possibly thousands of these virgins scattered around Spain and South America, all with special names like 'The Virgin of the Miraculous Medal', 'The Lady of Carmen', 'The Black Madonna of Montserrat' and 'The Virgin of the Macarena'. Most of them are used in the Semana Santa processions but all towns and villages in Spain have a special one to protect them.

Alora's patron virgin, La Virgen de Flores' ,is adored by everyone and the celebrations have none of the solemnity, pain, suffering and death that comes with Holy Week. It's all about flowers, dressing up, music, happiness and, of course, eating and drinking. Despite the obvious connections between Mary, Jesus and Christianity you don't see much overt religious fervour on the day of the Romeria. The village priest walked past while we were watching the procession this year . He was wearing a  t shirt and chinos and had a cigarette on the go. The Church knows when to keep a low profile.

The bars in the Fuentarriba (Top square) shut down on the day of the Romería; partly out of respect and partly for safety as later in the day there are a lot of fino-fuelled horsemen wandering around. Paco, the boss of Bar Alegría, once had some of them ride into his bar on big horses demanding drink. It's all good fun.

As usual on the Sunday of the Romería our street gets busy, noisy and smelly before dawn as smart mounted señoritos, la carreta (the cart) and two massive vacas (cows) pass our door, all heading for the end of the street where the horses and cows crap all over the place and the cart and the virgin are dressed up. I usually go down there with a bucket and shovel to see if they want any help and to check how things are getting on.


 La carreta (cart) and decoration team



Las vacas (cows)

 By the time everybody in Casa Sánchez was up and about La Virgen was already decked out in flowers and ready to ride up Calle Atrás pulled by the two beefy vacas. These sturdy and often reluctant beasts  are encouraged to progress up the steep hill by men wielding long poles with nails in the end. By the time I'd got everybody out of the house we'd missed the start. Cows, cart, virgin and followers on foot and on horseback were already up Atrás and entering  Fuentarriba (the top square). I legged it up Calle Zapata and Calle Parra just in time to take some pictures of the rapturous welcome.




     La Virgen de Flores enters Fuentarriba (showing happy man with a pointed stick)


No self-respecting Virgin Mary would be seen in public without her  little baby Jesus, unless it's Easter and she's holding the body of Christ or weeping. 
I've no idea why, but all the baby Jesuses I've seen, and I've seen more than a few, I can tell you, tend to look a bit on the mature side.

Anyway, when I found Mrs. Sánchez and the family she immediately pointed towards the virgin and, in a fair imitation of Miss Marple, exclaimed,

'Something's up!' 
'Up? What's up?'
'Where's the baby?'
'What baby?'
'The baby Jesus. He's not there.'

'Some mishtake shurely', thought I but she was right! The baby Jesus had disappeared and nobody else appeared to have noticed. All Mary had in her arms was a bit of cloth. Everything was going on 'como si nada' (as if nothing had happened.)
'We'd better tell someone', says Mrs. S.

.

                                              La Virgen de Flores (sin El Niño)

'No. Wait!' says I. 'Perhaps this has happened every year but we've never noticed.'
 I checked my camera for the earlier pictures and there he was, safe and sound in his mother's arms. 'The incident must have happened on Calle Atrás'. declared Miss Marple.



                                            La virgen de Flores earlier (con El Niño).

 We watched the lone virgin pass through the square followed by a parade of Carrozas (decorated floats packed with beer, fino, ice and nibbles), mounted caballeros (horsemen), señoras and señoritas dressed in beautiful figure-hugging flamenco dresses and a long line of peregrinos (pilgrims).

                                               Some señoras and señoritas.

Then we went home for a proper breakfast.

The next day our drains backed up and sewage started seeping out through the patio tiles. I called a couple of reliable builders and one arrived within the hour to sort out the problem. We'd planned to take the family to the beach en route to the airport but instead we took a leisurely al fresco breakfast entertained by the builder drilling into the patio and the sight of previous meals.He's coming tomorrow to finish the job. Hey ho.

Yesterday I bumped into our next door neighbour, Lina and asked her what had happened to baby Jesus. Apparently the baby is fixed to his mother's lap by an espiga (spike) (ouch!). As the cart wobbled through the cobbled Plaza Baja and up the cobbled Calle Atrás, the espiga came loose and El Niño almost crashed to an early demise under the wheels of the carreta. Quick thinking and a spectacular dive and catch  by one of the young lads there saved the day. He'd make a good slip fielder.

Juanito Sánchez 16th. September 2015



Tuesday 8 September 2015

Pies to Álora Mission Update


Pies to Álora Mission Update

¡Qué alegría! Paco from Bar Alegría collared me in my office in the Plaza de la Fuente Arriba on Saturday and told me that his wife, Señora Paco had given the  pork pies 'Mas de diez' points- off the scale of scrumptiousness! He scored them 8. Manolo and son sidled over, expecting to have their, in my view, biased and uninformed assessment confirmed. 'Zero' emphasized Javier. But when they heard the scores from Alegría Manolo said,'If Paco says 8, I say 9'. Neither father nor son had come within sniffing distance of the pies. All in all a positive result I think.  Paco asked if I was thinking of opening a shop.
Meanwhile, the ayuntamiento (town hall) has announced that they will take in 200 refugee pies a year to help me out

The toldos shading the top square have been taken down. The steel girders holding them up were dismantled above the heads of Manolo's customers (including me, my sister and Roberto and Cristina). A policía ( local copper) looked on. The umbrellas are still up despite the heavy rain which closed Málaga airport yesterday.


                                                      The Virgin of the Flowers

 Today is 'el Día de la Virgen de Flores'. (The Day of the Virgin of the Flowers) , the patron vigin of Álora. Coincidentally it is also the day of the virgins of all the other villages and towns round here, including Málaga so most of the shops are shut and the bars are filling up. Tonight there will be a big procession round the town which goes past our front door. The lady next door is the Camarera Mayor (head waitress) of the Virgin and so they've been very busy next door preparing for tonight and Sunday when The big Romería procession takes place from La Plaza Baja (our local square) to the Convento a couple of miles away.

No sign of my lemons yet.

Juanito Sanchez.  September 8th (The Day of The Virgin of the Flowers)
 

Sunday 6 September 2015

Melton Mowbray meets Álora. Mission Impossible for Man in Álora



Back in Álora at last. Everyone here is talking about the unusually hot summer. Málaga province had temperatures of 42 degrees in July. (El mes más cálido de su historia). It was still very hot when we arrived and La Plaza De La Fuente Arriba is still shaded by a gigantic red and blue canopy. Calle Carmona is shaded by multi-coloured umbrellas.



Thunderstorms are forecast for tomorrow so everyone is in high spirits.

The bad news is that two of the bars in the square have closed their doors. Cafe Central, usually called 'Salvador' by the local Perotes is going to reopen as a bank! and 'Los Dos Fuentes', nicknamed  'El Bulgaro' by those same wags has moved to the other side of town and is already nicknamed 'La Última Copa´ (The Last Drink) because the building used to be la funeraria (an undertaker's). You'll find it next door to the massage parlour. At least one of the casualties is going to reopen as a bar. Nearly all the bars in town are in leased property and some landlords jump at the chance to raise the rent when they can get away with it.
Regulars followers of this organ may have noticed a change of style in the last blog. One reader descibed it as 'whimsical'. The other hasn't commented. 'Whimsical' is probably about right but it was the 100th. Man in Álora Blog and I was stuck for something to write about.
Do you remember 'Whimsies'?



                              Worth a few bob these days (a shilling in old money).

It was in  a pioneering spirit that I set foot in 'Alora (la bien Cercada)' this time. I came with a mission, much in the same way that Sir Walter Raleigh returned to Britain from the Americas with a potato in one hand and a pipeful of tobacco in the other. My self imposed mission was to introduce pies to Spain.

                                                       Sun Headline of 1585
Walter indirectly introduced the Great British Chip to fair Albion too; that work being completed by J.C.Hegginbotham in 1860 when he opened the first British chipshop at Tommyfield in Oldham, Lancashire. 
Walter's less celebrated  brother, Montague Charles, made a fortune by inventing the bicycle and moved to the South of France where he became known as Monty Carlo Raleigh.


Like Sir Walter I, too, had sailed the Atlantic Ocean to complete my quest.(from Plymouth to Santander in my case). Deep in our luggage was a coolbox containing four British Pork Pies. My mission - to introduce a new tapa to the bars of Álora.




I can sense that all vegetrarians and other eccentrics are a bit fed up with me banging on about pies and pasties all the time so you can skip the next bit if you like (but you'll be missing a treat). Those of you still with me may recall that I have never seen a proper pie anywhere in Spain with the possible exception of Mallorca and Iceland (in Fuengirola) and Mallorca is campaigning for independence.



                           Mallorcan Pies (Panades) (often filled with lamb and bacon).

The Spanish are big pork eaters (3.3 million tonnes produced every year) and so pork pies should be right up their calle (street). A usually reliable scource  informed me that 'pies don't travel well' so the transportation over 1587 miles (2554 km)  of an Asda Melton Mowbray, a Sainsbury's Lattice Gala (with egg) and a brace of Sainsbury's mini pies with pickle was undertaken with the utmost care and with a particular eye on the challenges posed by reported temperatures of 40 degrees Celsius  in Andalucía. Frequent stops at Gasolineras for bags of ice did the trick and the day after our arrival my beautiful assistant (Mrs. Sánchez) and I headed up Calle Algorrobo to Cafe-Bar Alegría to try out  our tasty pastry pork products.
We displayed the pies on the bar, neatly sliced into tapas-sized portions and invited Paco  to sample them.

                                                   'I've just eaten a pineapple'

Clearly,  from the picture,  Paco likes his grub but he politely declined the offer to try the pies.  'I'm feeling a bit full,' he explained, 'I've just eaten a pineapple'. (Hmm)  He agreed to put some in his fridge and try them later. 'I'll be back tomorrow for your verdict,' I threatened. 'Scale of 1 to 10'.
Next stop Cafe -Bar Azahar where Candelaria dispenses larger than average cañas and tapas of Jamón Serrano.


                                 Candelaria adding 'pork pie' to her list of tapas.



 'Care to try a typically English dish?' I offered, noting that some of the other customers were eyeing the door.  She reached gingerly for the Lattice Gala. 'Scale of 1 to 10?'. 'Ocho y media' (8.5), she replied diplomatically. I offered the plate to Pepe Rojas but called him Paco by accident (I was getting  very nervous by this time about how these porky pleasure pots were going down). Pepe quickly scoffed half a mini pie with pickle and shot out of the door. I think I heard him mutter 'Bueno' as he passed. Back in the bag went the pies and off we went two doors down to Cafe-Bar Madrugón for the hardest sell of all - Manolo, master of the snarl and his son, Javier, 'Alora's answer to Oscar Wilde',  master of the untranslatable  witty remark.







                       Manolo demonstrates his interest in a new addition to his bar top.

Manolo refused to risk his gnashers on these 'extra terrestial' interlopers. A dash of Waitrose English Mustard made no difference. Javier, for once, was speechless. Nil points there, I think.



                                  Javier can't even bring himself to look at the pies

That was it, then. I'd eaten about half of the pies by this time in an effort to disguise my disappointment. Incidentally, I scored the Melton Mowbray at 9, the Lattice Gala at 8 and the mIni pies with pickle a low 2It's a pity that Pepe had gone for the worst example. I won't be asking him for a score when I see him again. 
It was with heavy hearts that we made our way down Calle Atrás to the sanctuary of Casa Sánchez, I with a carrier bag hanging from my fingers like a bag of dog poo. Tommy was happy to see us and ate the lot with relish (not literally) Ten out of ten.

On a happier note, Man in Álora fans may remember Juan the Scounger. He has a hard life, roaming far and wide with his rucksack in search  saleable forage.






Well, he seems to have been doing well recently. I spotted him relaxing at a streetside cafe on Saturday.





He's bringing me some lemons tomorrow.

Juanito Sánchez September 6th. 2015