When I moved from civilisation to The Land Of The Smiling Mule I wrote a blog, it helped me make sense of all the new things going on in my life at that time. That time was almost five years ago. A lot has happened and, as expected, even more hasn't.
To be honest the long stretches of boredom and nothingness I expected from my new life didn't really happen. Tarting up the house took up a lot of time, and as I got to know my new neighbours and local characters the inevitable happened and little bits of their lives rubbed off onto mine. I started to care. I've decided it's time to put finger tips to keys again in an attempt to understand how I got to this point, and, more importantly, where I am?
Geographically it's easy, The Land Of The Smiling Mule is one of the White Villages of Andalucia, Spain. It clings to a hillside somewhere between Ronda and Algeciras, trying not to be noticed. All buildings are painted white (obviously), and should anybody try to sneak a bit of colour onto their house the white paint police turn up and give them a stern talking to. Life here is tough. The summer temperatures drift in and out of the late 30's and early 40's, the shadows are warm and the hags throw caution to the none existent wind and roll down their pop socks. In the winter the streets are scented with wood smoke, and onions. I still haven't got my head around the fried onions, but from dawn to dusk, wherever you go you'll smell onions frying. The main cultural event of the year is the Feria de Mayo, where the whole village gets together in friendly rivalry to see whose mule can carry the most cork and which dog has the waggiest tail. Life here is tough and competitive.
So, that's the stage, the set and scenery. All we need now are the characters...
To be honest the long stretches of boredom and nothingness I expected from my new life didn't really happen. Tarting up the house took up a lot of time, and as I got to know my new neighbours and local characters the inevitable happened and little bits of their lives rubbed off onto mine. I started to care. I've decided it's time to put finger tips to keys again in an attempt to understand how I got to this point, and, more importantly, where I am?
Geographically it's easy, The Land Of The Smiling Mule is one of the White Villages of Andalucia, Spain. It clings to a hillside somewhere between Ronda and Algeciras, trying not to be noticed. All buildings are painted white (obviously), and should anybody try to sneak a bit of colour onto their house the white paint police turn up and give them a stern talking to. Life here is tough. The summer temperatures drift in and out of the late 30's and early 40's, the shadows are warm and the hags throw caution to the none existent wind and roll down their pop socks. In the winter the streets are scented with wood smoke, and onions. I still haven't got my head around the fried onions, but from dawn to dusk, wherever you go you'll smell onions frying. The main cultural event of the year is the Feria de Mayo, where the whole village gets together in friendly rivalry to see whose mule can carry the most cork and which dog has the waggiest tail. Life here is tough and competitive.
So, that's the stage, the set and scenery. All we need now are the characters...
2 comments:
Welcome back! (Does saying welcome back work if you've moved to blogging somewhere else?)
Awww thanks, yeah I'm sure it counts. Hold on...I was going to wait a while before I told anybody where I was. Ohhh sneaky.
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