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!

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.

Barcelona City Break

Just when I felt I was getting to know the ropes and making progress with the hosts, they dropped the charade. At a group meeting, they made it clear that some of us had to leave. Fair enough, there were too many people. However, this poor organisation was solely their fault so it was very disappointing to be indirectly asked to leave via unfair criticism and backhanded insults.

This is always the risk with non-contracted work. Objective fairness has to be observed by all parties otherwise it simply won't happen (or exploitation will occur).

With no alternative farm immediately arranged, we chose the logical course of action: city break! So off we went on our merry way to Barcelona.  

A few days in the city provided an impressive contrast to the previous ten on the farm. In particular La Rambla, which is bedlam. After the warm tranquillity of Sella, I felt like I'd been dropped into an icy whirlpool of noise and confusion. It's amazing how loud people can be.

Following a stroll down the slightly calmer Passeig de Gracia, past two of Gaudi's buildings, we wound up in El Barri Gòtic - the old city. We entered the quarter through a gap in the ancient Roman wall. Still preserved are the remains of the aquaduct which watered the settlement Barcino, as it was known.

The area now is a labyrinth of narrow passages which open onto plazas crammed with cafés, tourist shops and quaint artisan boutiques. We found a tapas bar and sampled some chorizo, tortilla and sangria. Pricey but delicious. A perfect madalena bun with apple and cream from a tiny bakery, followed by coffee and "focaccia xocolata", rendered the indulgence complete. 

It was a struggle to get back to my feet after that, but I was restored by the slow walk back up the hill to our hostel. That and the sight of a rigid yuppie fellow marching along with a tiny white fluffball of a dog trailing apathetically behind.

The Miller

Mark and I went for a wander around the hills to reflect on our options. On our way back to the farm, we passed by an old mill in the valley. It looked to have been converted into a house and was fed by an ancient stone canal system. As we hiked past, an old man appeared from nowhere and hailed us. In perfect Spanglish, we greeted each other and he introduced himself as Amable, the miller.

I felt like I had somehow slipped into a Cormac McCarthy novel. Amable, accompanied by his beautiful little cat Nica, launched into a speech about the centuries old mill, millennia old canals, and how dangerously unforgiving he is when anyone tries to dump rubbish nearby. He has spent several decades and many thousands restoring and maintaining the waterways. There was a mischievous spark in his eyes as he repeated his warning about respecting the land.

It seemed to me like there was more wisdom to this man. As we parted ways, I was contemplative of his simplicity, dedication, and stubbornness. I later heard from Mrs. Host that he was known to fire rifle shots in the air when he took a dislike to someone. 

Rockface

A routine has developed. The olive trees aren't quite ready to be harvested so the main task is to feed them. They like goat manure. A huge pile of which has been dumped on one of the terraces. So, armed with shovels, buckets and a wheelbarrow, the wwoofers get stuck in.

The manure has been sitting in the sun so long that it has mostly degraded to a fine brown powder. It gets up your nose and sticks to your sweaty skin. Before you know it flies are everywhere and you've turned into a giant walking turd. If you want to work on an organic farm, be prepared to get your hands (and everything else) filthy.

Julius with a fresh delivery.

In the evening, I had my first experience driving on the right side of the road. It was a good challenge: navigating a small van past a truck on a narrow winding mountain track. With no fence before the sheer drop. And a couple of Swedish rock climbers in the back quick-firing me questions about the Irish economy. No bother!

Spending so much time on a remote farm can feel isolating, especially for habitual urbanites. So it was refreshing to get out for a beer that night, even if it was just to the village. We were a gaggle of wwoofers and climbers, exchanging opinions about our various home countries and occupations.

Everyone seemed tired as, before long, conversation was replaced by The Angry Game. Fellow wwoofer Julius, from Germany, initiated this ridiculous entertainment: two people lock eye contact with angry expressions - you laugh you lose. The champion was probably Arvidh from Sweden whose face was simply closed, devoid of weakness, much like the cold, impenetrable rock he spends so many hours scaling.    

Wwoofing Begins

Bewildered, Mark and I shovelled down a quick bite of lunch while attempting to remember the names of the handful of other wwoofers in the kitchen. It was an international mix, with young people from Sweden, Germany, USA and South Africa. 

We were then led out of the main house, up the winding path to our accommodation. This was, in theory, a wooden room extended on the back of the hosts' cottage. But it was clear on entering that the four beds were already claimed. Great stuff. We threw our packs down and set off to find our evasive hosts.

Assured that we would be sorted out, I was asked to get to work. I had hoped for a little time to settle in and rest up first, but if work was needed then I was happy to pitch in. Alas, my helpfulness was unappreciated by Mr. Host who I quickly found shouting in my face. I'd done what I was told, transferring several loads of almonds into a storage container, but this wasn't good enough. Supposedly we weren't meant to stop working whenever we'd finished a job...

The rest of the day passed largely without incident and was spent helping prepare dinner for a dozen guests. As well as the washing up, of course! I should mention that most smaller organic farms in Spain seem to also operate as guest houses. So there is plenty of hostel/catering style work.

We eventually finished for the night. It had been a stressful and exhausting day. We trudged back up the path, threw together a tent that had appeared for us, and fell asleep to the sound of chirping grasshoppers and snuffling dogs.