The Ending

It took a few years, but this blog was indeed finished. Catch up on the rest of the story under Wild > Spain at https://cosmofalcon.wordpress.com/

Woof!

A fleeting shade...

I am still alive. This blog is not yet done. Updates coming soon...

The New Routine

There is an organised schedule here which makes it much easier to get into a routine. We're up for breakfast at 8:30 then out to work around 9ish. Get those beautiful chestnuts gathered up until lunch at 3pm. After that, the day is yours.

Buen Vino is primarily a guest house rather than a farm - like everywhere else so far - so sometimes we're expected to help serve the guests in the evening. Lucky for us there aren't many booked to stay at the minute so we have plenty of free time.

Four of us wwoofers are staying in a cottage down the road from the main house. It's a great little place except for several leaks and a bit of a fly infestation in the bedroom. I'm happy though; we have heaters for the cold nights and fine comfortable beds.

The other day, we finished harvesting early due to a torrential downpour and brought ourselves back to life by sitting at the fire and roasting panfuls of freshly-gathered chestnuts. Knob of butter, pinch of salt - delicious!

So far the food has lived up to my hopes. Particular highlights have been goat's cheese on toast with honey dressing; succulent Iberian pork stroganoff with creamy potato bake and green beans; potato curry and pork curry with an amazing mango, banana and pickled lemon chutney. And, of course, plenty of buen vino.

After dinner, we had a good chat with hosts Sam and Jeannie. They're nice folks and have some great tales to tell. I was impressed to hear when Jeannie was younger she travelled across the USA, squatted in Hugh Hefner's mansion and went on a VIP tour of Disneyworld with the Osmond brothers! There was a glint of mischief in her eyes as she recounted the experience, no doubt recalling some outlandish shenanigans which she wasn't so keen to have us all know about. 

Donny Osmond, or Justin Bieber?

The glitz and glamour of California seemed a universe away as we shuffled back down the silent moonlit lane to our cottage. It's no bad thing. I'm looking forward to a relaxing weekend of quietude in the leafy hills.

Third Time Lucky

Finca Buen Vino, near Aracena

When I close my eyes I see chestnuts. It's only been two days but many, many conkers have been gathered.

So far, I'm happy with this new farm. We were collected from Aracena bus station by Jeannie Chesterton, one of our new hosts, and whisked away to their hilly farm estate. Originally from Scotland, Jeannie is an amazing cook. She holds cookery courses at the house several times a year. I was looking forward to my dinner!

Later we met husband Sam, a writer, and their son Charlie, who is also a qualified chef. 

Our reception was much more relaxed and down to earth than that of previous hosts. We grabbed a grateful bite of breakfast then headed out to find the other wwoofers and get harvesting. 

Another immediately notable difference here is the climate. Although we aren't too far from hot, dry Seville, there is a lot of rain in these parts. The area is at such an altitude that it has its own micro-climate. I'm told that it gets the most rainfall in Spain. Looking up some figures, it seems that December in Aracena can see over 300mm of precipitation. That's almost half what "rainy" Manchester gets in a year. Rain in Spain.

Needless to say, it was raining when we started our great chestnut endeavour. I was never more glad of my trusty mac-in-a-sac. Finding our wwoofing companions James and Mons already tackling a steep, chestnut-studded slope, I tightened my hood and became one with the conkers.

Mude aber Stark

Julius told me an amusing joke:

Why does a bear have red eyes?

So it can hide in cherry trees.

How does a bear get down from a cherry tree?

It floats down on a leaf.

A real thigh-slapper!

The rest of our stay in Tarifa was spent walking the beaches, wandering around the quaint old town looking for a decent place to eat, and trying to get coffee from shady dealers on street corners. No luck.

We did however manage to arrange our next farm. There's a place up in the mountains near Seville with lots of chestnuts to harvest. Let's do it.

Strollin'

Playa de los Lances is a satisfying beach. At the eastern end there is one of those outdoor gym areas which seem to be everywhere in Spain. Basic metal exercise frames painted in bright primary colours which spin or pivot. I think they're designed more for old people than anyone else.

Walking along the water's edge I lose myself in the retreating waves around my feet and the amazing shadows underneath. Amazing visuals as the sunlight reaches the ground, moving through the ripples and bubbles of the sea onto the miniature landscape of the sand beneath. Like cells through a microscope.

An old man came wandering along. He was clutching his cane behind his back, leaning forward with every step. He reminded me of that old man on the mountain in Legend of Zelda: Link to the Past. I had to nod to him as we passed. He placidly returned the gesture, but didn't show me a safe path up through the mountains.

Last night the four of us found a bench overlooking the Strait and the lights of Tangier in the distance. Darkness had fallen but there were still a handful of men fishing from the shore. We had a little wine and cheese as we watched the ferry coming in. "Glug, glug, glug. Die Piraten saufen wieder..."

If you're not into (or can't afford) wind/kite-surfing then prepare for a quiet time of it in Tarifa.

Here you can see Morocco. And a kitten.

Tourists in Tarifa

Thanks to Julius and Katja, I have a few delightful pictures to share. I've added some to previous posts Amongst Olives, Animal Bullies and Rockface.

We're now having a little break in Tarifa, staying in a beautiful Moroccan-style apartment. Buzzel's finca had its wonders - like the outdoor bathroom where you could gaze across to Africa - but this place is a welcome spell of hot-water, flushing-toilet luxury. It's also great to have some other (relatively) sane people to talk to.

Tarifa is a pleasant little town clearly focussed on being a wind and kite-surfing hotspot. Its other tourist attractions are clean sandy beaches, whale-watching tours, and the ferry to Tangier. The ferry crosses a time zone so, as it only takes an hour, you arrive in Morocco at the same time you left Spain.

The town's other claim to fame is supposedly being Europe's most southern point. Strolling along the seafront we came across a narrow land-bridge leading to Isla de Tarifa. Despite the tiny island being off-limits, the bridge is worth wandering along. As you walk south, you have the Mediterranean Sea on your left and the Atlantic Ocean on your right. You are between the Pillars of Hercules!

There was a striking difference between the two seas. The Med seemed calm and inviting, the Atlantic ferocious and formidable. Wind-surfers were sailing out into the Med's waters while kite-surfers flew all over the place in the Atlantic, seemingly at the mercy of the capricious Levante wind and the thrashing crush of the cold waves. I could taste the sea salt on my lips as I watched them, a touch baffled.