Leaving Haza del Trigo

The pictures: Mutley and his friend, Cookie, Steph's kitchen, Avacado orchard in bloom, another view of Haza del trigo, and a doorway in Granada.

Leaving Haza, and Finding Granada

Another leap. Out of the comfortable and by now familiar home in Haza del Trigo, very hard choice to continue on as planned in light of the invitations to stay on after Catherine and Johnny returned from their vacation in Cannes. I really came to feel like I could stay- and I was getting to practice Spanish every day! Emilia and Jose both made a habit of stopping by to talk every day. And both were very patient with my limited vocabulary and ‘hearing impairment’ (not able to hear the separate words in Spanish, especially the local dialect that leaves out half the consonants).
Steph and I were invited for dinner in Polopos, cooked by Chrissy, an American from Seattle, married to Alex, a Londoner 30 years her senior, and living in this remote village…with internet. Polopos is very beautiful, and from its place higher up the mountain, one can still see the Mediterranean but the hills block the view of all the ‘plasticos’, the blighted spread of giant greenhouses on terraces dug out of the rocky hillsides. In this part of the coast there is very little flat land, as the steep fingers of promontories reach down from mountains to the beach. Even in the recession, there is government support to build ever more of these greenhouse terraces, giant replicas of the ancient ones that are considered picturesque. Local expats cringe as the hillsides are scraped out-even under roads and reservoirs- knowing as already happened this past rainy spring, the steep grades will not hold in the winter. Many roads are still sliding away, even the new highway under construction through the area. And not much sign of repair yet.
The different relationships between the locals and the expats interest me- some expats treat the locals with various degrees of disdain, while many are respectful and try to understand their attitudes. That this region has been so desperately poor for so long, and that the ‘plasticos’ are the first real opportunity most have had to make a go of anything, might be taken into account.
There is so much to be said about so many things, so many stories that emerged in that little corner of Spain, I can only touch on the highlights. I learned mostly that while it is a poor area, and not the most scenic by a long shot, it has much character and a thriving social life.
On this southern coast of Spain in general, the recession has had some unexpected effects- like the number of dogs that had been ‘adopted’ by expats, then re-abandoned when the expats could no longer stay due to the horrible red tape and expense that is imposed on any such endeavor. So many of them do take in the strays, which are plentiful anyway, mutts like Mutley, my little charge at Haza del Trigo. All sizes and breeds are abandoned but mostly mixed and small. How the locals treat their animals is a constant point of contention- but now it isn’t just them.
An article in recent newspaper mentioned a goatherd who was sentenced to 14 years for seriously beating up three people. I heard of another case where a goatherd around Polopos beat up a woman, a childhood friend, and left her for dead because she complained that he let his goats devour the young trees she had been nurturing. Steph told me about her own careful interactions with the goatherd that drives the 400 goats past her place everyday, trying to build a good relationship as her trees, and her water pipe, are vulnerable to the herd’s activities as well. As if she didn’t have enough to worry about, up there by herself trying to manage a generator and maintain a small farm. She is one who can seriously benefit from helpxers if she can just find the right ones!
Now, today- I hopped the bus and found Granada. I had instructions for the buses, had to change a couple of times, and that was the hard part. Granada feels so very different, candy for the eyes, I keep thinking I am back in Italy! But no, still in Spain. The Alhambra does take one’s breath away. I found a hostel for 11 euros per night, called the Flophouse Vegetarian Backpackers Hostel (!) which happens to be up on the hill, right in the middle of the Albaicin district. A few steps fom the door, and I have a fantastic view of the Alhambra, and the fantastic streets and plazas of the old city. Not only that, I pretty much have the hostel to myself- an big old house nicely painted and clean. Interesting.

I walked the streets of the Albaicin this afternoon, and managed to get good and lost. Which is of course the perfect thing to do in a new place. I found a café in Plaza Largo which I hope to return to for dinner later, if I can find it again. Some people don’t like the outdoor cafes that post a sign with all the photographs of the dishes, but I find it helpful. Haven’t eaten out here enough to know what they mean by the name of it.
I am planning to see the Alhambra palace tomorrow, and other sites, be the normal tourist. Then on Monday I take another bus down to Malaga, and find a lady named Isabela in a nearby town called Alhuarin el Grande, and spend a week helping her with small jobs. Now I just have to find the manager kid of this hostel and see if there is internet as promised. He wasn’t feeling well when I arrived, so I hope he is ok.