Help! There’s a snake in my well in Posadas — and Idries Shah too…

Hi folks! I’m back again and I hope this finds you all well!

I just wanted to share this photo with you: it is what my son was confronted with when opening the well on his olive-tree finca. It might not be very clear at first sight, but if you take a closer look you should be able to see a nice, fat, juicy, khaki-coloured snake coiled up and half-hiding under one of the water tubes. Luckily it didn’t raise its ugly head (poor thing!) so the well lid was immediately dropped back down and hasn’t been reopened in a while. I’m not exactly sure as to what type of snake it is (there are no diamond markings on its back so it’s not a poisonous viper). It could be the mildly venomous Malpolon monspessulanus (Culebra bastarda — sounds rude, doesn’t it?!), or a Macroprotodon (Western false smooth snake), with a pretty harmless bite.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, and before moving onto another longish story (if you have the time and patience!), this event brought to mind one of Idries Shah’s tales, entitled The Man, the Snake and the Stone, taken from his Caravan of Dreams.

So here’s the man:

**Idries Shah**
16 June 1924 (Simla, British India) — 23 November 1996 (aged 72) London, UK (Wiki)

And here’s the story:—

The Man, the Snake and the Stone — Idries Shah, Caravan of Dreams

One day a man who had not a care in the world was walking along a road. An unusual object to one side of him caught his eye. ‘I must find out what this is,’ he said to himself.

As he came up to it, he saw that it was a large, very flat stone.

‘I must find out what is underneath this,’ he told himself. And he lifted the stone.

No sooner had he done so than he heard a loud, hissing sound, and a huge snake came gliding out from a hole under the stone. The man dropped the stone in alarm. The snake wound itself into a coil, and said to him:

‘Now I am going to kill you, for I am a venomous snake.’

‘But I have released you,’ said the man, ‘how can you repay good with evil? Such an action would not accord with reasonable behaviour.’

‘In the first place,’ said the snake, ‘you lifted the stone from curiosity and in ignorance of the possible consequences. How can this now suddenly become “I have released you”?’

‘We must always try to return to reasonable behaviour, when we stop to think,’ murmured the man.

‘Return to it when you think invoking it might suit your interests,’ said the snake.

‘Yes,’ said the man, ‘I was a fool to expect reasonable behaviour from a snake.’

‘From a snake, expect snake-behaviour,’ said the snake. ‘To a snake, snake-behaviour is what can be regarded as reasonable.’

‘Now I am going to kill you,’ it continued.

‘Please do not kill me,’ said the man, ‘give me another chance. You have taught me about curiosity, reasonable behaviour and snake-behaviour. Now you would kill me before I can put this knowledge into action.’

‘Very well,’ said the snake, ‘I shall give you another chance. I shall come along with you on your journey. We will ask the next creature whom we meet, who shall be neither a man nor a snake, to adjudicate between us.’

The man agreed, and they started on their way.

Before long they came to a flock of sheep in a field. The snake stopped, and the man cried to the sheep:

‘Sheep, sheep, please save me! This snake intends to kill me. If you tell him not to do so he will spare me. Give a verdict in my favour, for I am a man, the friend of sheep.’

One of the sheep answered:

‘We have been put out into this field after serving a man for many years. We have given him wool year after year, and now that we are old, tomorrow he will kill us for mutton. That is the measure of the generosity of men. Snake, kill that man!’

The snake reared up and his green eyes glittered as he said to the man: ‘This is how your friends see you. I shudder to think what your enemies are like!’

‘Give me one more chance,’ cried the man in desperation. ‘Please let us find someone else to give an opinion, so that my life may be spared.’

‘I do not want to be as unreasonable as you think I am,’ said the snake, ‘and I will therefore continue in accordance with your pattern, and not with mine. Let us ask the next individual whom we may meet – being neither a man nor a snake – what your fate is to be.’

The man thanked the snake, and they continued on their journey.

Presently they came upon a lone horse, standing hobbled in a field. The snake addressed him:

‘Horse, horse, why are you hobbled like that?’

The horse said:

‘For many years I served a man. He gave me food, for which I had not asked, and he taught me to serve him. He said that this was in exchange for the food and stable. Now that I am too infirm to work, he has decided to sell me soon for horse-meat. I am hobbled because the man thinks that if I roam over this field I will eat too much of his grass.’

‘Do not make this horse my judge, for God’s sake!’ exclaimed the man.

‘According to our compact,’ said the snake inexorably, ‘this man and I have agreed to have our case judged by you.’

He outlined the matter, and the horse said:

‘Snake, it is beyond my capabilities and not in my nature to kill a man. But I feel that you, as a snake, have no alternative but to do so if a man is in your power.’

‘If you will give me just one more chance,’ begged the man, ‘I am sure that something will come to my aid. I have been unlucky on this journey so far, and have only come across creatures who have a grudge. Let us therefore choose some animal which has no such knowledge and hence no generalised animosity towards my kind.’

‘People do not know snakes,’ said the snake, ‘and yet they seem to have a generalised animosity towards them. But I am willing to give you just one more chance.’

They continued their journey.

Soon they saw a fox, lying asleep under a bush beside the road. The man woke the fox gently, and said:

‘Fear nothing, brother fox. My case is such-and-such, and my future depends upon your decision. The snake will give me no further chance, so only your generosity or altruism can help me.’

The fox thought for a moment, and then he said:

‘I am not sure that only generosity or altruism can operate here. But I will engage myself in this matter. In order to come to a decision I must rely upon something more than hearsay. We must demonstrate as well. Come, let us return to the beginning of your journey, and examine the facts on the spot.’

They returned to where the first encounter had taken place.

‘Now we will reconstruct the situation,’ said the fox; ‘snake, be so good as to take your place once more, in your hole under that flat stone.’

The man lifted the stone, and the snake coiled itself up in the hollow beneath it. The man let the stone fall.

The snake was now trapped again, and the fox, turning to the man, said: ‘We have returned to the beginning. The snake cannot get out unless you release him. He leaves our story at this point.’

‘Thank you, thank you,’ said the man, his eyes full of tears.

‘Thanks are not enough, brother,’ said the fox. ‘In addition to generosity and altruism there is the matter of my payment.’

‘How can you enforce payment?’ asked the man.

‘Anyone who can solve the problem which I have just concluded,’ said the fox, ‘is well able to take care of such a detail as that. I again invite you to recompense me, from fear if not from any sense of justice. Shall we call it, in your words, being “reasonable”?’

The man said:

‘Very well, come to my house and I will give you a chicken.’

They went to the man’s house. The man went into his chicken-coop, and came back in a moment with a bulging sack. The fox seized it and was about to open it when the man said:

‘Friend fox, do not open the sack here. I have human neighbours and they should not know that I am co-operating with a fox. They might kill you, as well as censuring me.’

‘That is a reasonable thought,’ said the fox; ‘what do you suggest I do?’

‘Do you see that clump of trees yonder?’ said the man, pointing. ‘Yes,’ said the fox.

‘You run with the sack into that cover, and you will be able to enjoy your meal unmolested.’

The fox ran off.

As soon as he reached the trees a party of hunters, whom the man knew would be there, caught him. He leaves our story here.

And the man? His future is yet to come.

Moral of the story? Perhaps something like: you never know what might be under a rock, or in a clever man’s mind… (although knowing the Sufis, it probably isn’t that simple!)

—————————————————————————————————————–

Well, thank you for bearing with me — take care! xxx

The Convent of the Barefoot Carmelites of Our Lady of the Sierra in Hornachuelos (Cordova, Spain)

Hello again everyone! Sorry for the break, but as I explained previously I’ve been rather busy translating lately and couldn’t spend more time with my eyes glues to the screen.

However, today I took advantage of the cooler (28 °C) windier weather to go for a long drive up to the local sierra of Hornachuelos to visit a convent, Nuestra Señora de la Sierra in the area of San Calixto, lying almost in the middle of nowhere.

It’s surrounded by vegetation that ranges from open fields, olive groves, shrubs such as wild cistus, pistacia mastic and terebinthus, as well as old holm oak trees and cork oaks that have recently been stripped of their bark. (For more about the vegetation of the Hornachuelos Nature Reserve and its haunted monastery you can see my previous blog.)

The story of this particular convent goes back to the 16^th century. It is said to have been founded by two monks who, after wandering the Sierra looking for a suitable place to make their sanctuary, finally came to rest in a hilly area full of thistles (cardos), high above the flood zone of the Bembézar River. Knowledge of their fervorous, holy pursuit spread, and they were soon joined by other hermits.

For shelter, they made a hut out of rockrose branches where they placed their image of Saint Michael. Eventually, in 1543, they founded the Monastery of San Basilio del Tardón. (It is said that Tardon derives from Cardón, which was the name given to this area by the monks. It is a derivative of cardo, or ‘thistle’, and refers to the thistle-covered hill where they lived.)

The monastery was inhabited by monks until 1808. A few years later, Francisco Sánchez, a Knight of the Order of Charles III was granted permission to build a hamlet on all the surrounding (thistly) land of Cardón/Tardón. He named the area San Calixto. Over the years the hamlet grew in size, and by the mid-19^th century its population rose to a hundred and fifty. The village now boasted its own town hall, prison, communal oven and a posada (an inn). (San Calixto lies at about eleven miles above Hornachuelos, passing the visitor centre, Huerta del Rey.)

However, bit by bit the area and monastery fell into abandonment, perhaps due to its isolated location. It was not until 1940 that the hamlet and all the surrounding areas were bought by the marquis. As a result, the desolated, spiritual ground was resuscitated. This time though, a convent was constructed over the ruins of the ancient monastery, and was baptised Convento de las Carmelitas Descalzas de Nuestra Señora de la Sierra (Convent of the Barefoot Carmelites of Our Lady of the Sierra—a bit of a mouthful!).

Today, the convent serves as a spiritual retreat and tourist attraction, alluring many visitors with its fascinating charm and beauty. Two important guests included the former Belgium monarchs, King Balduino y Queen Fabiola. (They were related to the marquises via Fabiola, who was originally a Madrid-born Spanish aristocrat). The royal couple spent their honeymoon there in 1960.

Additionally, another attraction of this convent is the handiwork products that you can purchase, which are made by the nuns. These ladies-of-the-cloth are extremely talented in needlework and other crafts, employing local materials such as cork from the indigenous alcornoque oak trees, as well as wool, fur and antlers from the animals that inhabit the land. They also grow their own vegetables.

(A little word of advice here: if you do ring at the door of this convent wanting to have a look at their products, don’t be surprised when you are answered by a thin, delicate voice that glides out from the holes in the iron-grate window; it greets the visitor while at the same time pays homage to the Virgin Mary, murmuring piously, ‘Ave María Purissima’, to which the knowledgeable visitor is expected to reply, ‘sin pecado concebida’, meaning ‘conceived without sin’. However, if you are not so well-versed in devotional greetings—like I wasn’t—then you might just reply with an irreverent ‘¡Buenos días!’ So be warned!)

Well, that’s all for now folks! Thanks for bearing with me and my fabulous photography (ha ha!).

Take care xxx

Cats, thirst, Cocteau and Rumi — and all from Posadas (Cordova)!

“I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul.” — Jean Cocteau (France 5 July 1889 – 11 October 1963)

Cocteau was a French poet, playwright, novelist, designer, filmmaker, visual artist and critic. He was the director of Orpheus; other works include Les Enfants Terribles and Beauty and the Beast film.

To read more about this fascinating man, his literary and art work, involvement with ballet and his association with notables such as Proust, Picasso, Modigliani, and Satie etc. see here

But on a more philosophical note and carrying on along the same lines as one of my previous blogs, here is quote from Jelaluddin Rumi (1207 – 1273) about THIRST:

‘Not only do the thirsty seek water,
The water too thirsts for the thirsty.‘

Food for thought and reflection! (Bearing the author in mind, think along the lines that the soul thirsts to be one with God, and vice versa, with ultimately the two becoming one).

So on this note I shall leave you. Thank you for visiting!

Bye for now — take care! xxx

Easter Week in Posadas (Cordova, Spain)

It’s an intense week here in Spain being Easter week. Unfortunately the numerous processions which take place every day in almost every city, town and village have been cancelled for the second year running due to Covid. However, there is a lot that the church has organised that you can take part in, in a controlled, safe way, complying with all the regulations — meditations, contemplation, talks, prayers, retreats, expositions, just to name a few.

So for now I would just like to share with you some photos of the statues and floats that are usually paraded along the streets; these are typically accompanied by the brass band and rows of hooded penitents that quietly shuffle along. To see more photos and read about the processions you can visit my previous blog which I wrote last Easter Sunday.

The above statues are housed in the 18^th century chapel, La Ermita del Niño Jesús in my local village of Posadas. The chapel has an interesting past which I mentioned in the last illustrated paras of one of my previous blogs.

This huge poster hangs from the façade of the parish church, Santa María de las Flores in Posadas. It reads:

‘Padre en tus manos enconmiendo mi espiritú…Yo soy la resurrección, la vida: el que cree en mi aunque haya muerto, vivirá… El que quiera siguirme, que se niegue a sí mismo, tome su cruz y me siga…’

which translates as:

‘Father into your hands I commend my spirit… I am the resurrection and the life: he who believes in me although having died, will live again… Whoever wants to follow me, let him renounce himself, carry his cross and follow me…’

The above photo is a representation of the Last Supper table. This is inside the parish church, Santa María de Las Flores in Posadas.

The above is housed in the chapel, ***La Capilla de la Vera Cruz*** which is close to the Ermita mentioned previously

The following impressive statue of Mary, La Virgen de la Misericordia is in San Pedro church of Cordova.

I understand that all this might not be your cup of tea, but one just can’t help but appreciate the amount of artistic work and total devotion and dedication that these processions involve — take, for example, Mary’s cloak which is richly hand-embroidered — and that’s nothing to say about the woodwork, flower arrangements and craftsmanship in precious metals. Nor does it involve just this outward expression: it is accompanied by a quiet strength of faith, prayer, reflection and interiorism. It is a week of living and breathing the Word — a poignant and emotive time which culminates and comes to fruition on Easter Sunday.

Well, this just leaves me to early wish you all a Happy Easter and to wish you well.

Bye for now! xxx

The Arquito holy arch of Posadas village (Cordova)… and gold leaf in painted glass

Today is the 13^th and this reminds me of the legend of the mystical arch — el Arquito — that we have here in our local village of Posadas. This Little Arch, dating back to the Gothic 13^th century was also known as Puerta del Levante, The Eastern Gate of the castle that once stood on this land. It is located in the Morería neighbourhood of Posadas village, which dates back to 500 AD, and was an area formerly occupied by the Jews and Moors. In 2006 it was declared an Asset of Cultural Interest (BIC), also forming the stage set of many films such as Guerreras Verdes (Green Warriors) starring Carmen Sevilla and Sancho Gracia.

El Arquito — the medieval arch which once formed the Eastern Gate of a former castle

Below this medieval archway lie the remains of an old door of the former medieval castle, the last towers of which fell in 1791. There was also a window with a turntable where, in more recent years, abandoned children destined for the Charity Hospital were placed. They were either adopted or left to suffer a worse fate…

You can see the little window with a grille where there was once a turntable on which abandoned babies would be placed

Above The Arch there is a balcony with a railing behind which is a little shrine presided over by the Virgen de los Remedios(The Virgen of Remedies).

The statue dates back to the 16^th century, and the shrine adjoins an old former chapel also of the same antiquity, La Capilla de la Caridad (Charity Chapel). This now houses the beautifully-kept, whitewashed, rustic, wooden-beamed tourist office. (I wonder if I’ve got my adjectives in the right order?…)

The building with the old wooden door was once the Charity Chapel, La Capilla de la Caridad, and is now the tourist office. You can see the green ribbons hanging from the shrine above

Certain mystical qualities are attributed to this Arquito and many fervent prayers are offered to The Virgin Mary by devotees asking for cures and protection from bad luck.

The special day to make such supplications is any Tuesday that coincides with the 13^th, on which day the devotee will pass under the archway three times, each time reciting the Hail Mary before making their petition. If their prayer is answered, then they hang a green ribbon from the balcony railings in acknowledgement and gratitude. (Sure enough there are numerous little strips of green material fluttering from the balcony!) Flowers are also deposited before her on her saint’s day, and on each second Sunday of October she is paid a visit.

There still exists the saying in Posadas: ‘Ese es más viejo que el Arquito’, which means ‘Him — he is older than the Arch’.

For a more detailed and very interesting account of the Arquito and its intriguing history based on authentic documents from the early 19^th century (as well as more on the history of Posadas village) see the blog of Gabriel Martín entitled The Abandoned Infants of the Foundling Home of Posadas in the 19th Century. (Good practise for your Spanish but I think you can use Google translate. The black and white photos do summarise its sad story.)

There are other mystical legends pertaining to the neighbouring villages of which I have already written about in previous blogs: Hornachuelos (the enchanted convent of Santa Maria de los Ángeles) and Almodovar del Río (the haunted medieval castle). However, suffice to say that these villages (as well as Cordova town) have their share of intrigue and certainly a lot to offer, be it in the way of nature, sport, culture, history and tales. The people — a very interesting mix of Latin-Iberian with strong Arabic roots (seen also in their cuisine) are warm, friendly, welcoming, laid-back, though at the same time hard-working.

However, to finish on a similar spiritual note, I just wanted to share with you the effects of gold leaf behind glass painting, such as a religious-themed one I did yonks ago and am thinking of repeating (this technique — that is, if my glass paints haven’t all dried out over the long, hot 45°C summers!).

Gold leaf behind the painting (which is painted with glass paints on an old pane of glass) really illuminates the rich colours, especially when the light falls on it.

I stuck the gold leaf with mixtion behind the glass once I had finished the painting (using glass paints applied via a pipette, and lead contour paste). I then sealed the gold leaf with a couple of coats of shellac varnish. The gold leaf has the beautiful effect of illuminating the jewel-coloured paints when the light or sun falls on it and is reminiscent of the golden letters in the Illuminated Manuscripts which were produced in monasteries between 500 AD and 1600 AD, and the highly-decorated Book of Hours — a devotional book ‘crucial to the development of Gothic illumination’, produced in the 13^th century. Really worth a peruse and serving as an inspiration for colours, gold and intricacy!

Happy painting! Take care xxx

My walk along the Ruta del Cambuco (The Route of the Ravine) between Posadas and Hornachuelos (Cordova)

Being a nice, sunny day, my legs were just itching to go for a walk — and so for a walk I went…

This is what I was supposed to see, and yes, I did see the ruins of the old flour mills and canal system, the fast-flowing river and the waterfall, but no, I wasn’t lucky enough to spot a kingfisher or otter…

This time I followed the Sendero Ruta del Cambuco footpath which lies between Posadas and Hornachuelos. ‘Cambuco’ is of Celtic origin, meaning ‘barranco’, or in English, gully, ravine and steep riverbank.

This picturesque path passes by waterfalls, rivers, poorly-preserved remains of old flour mills and along former canals harking back to the Moors and al-Andalus.

The **Guada**lcavarejo River starts in the hills and it is full and fast-flowing at this time of the year. (‘**Guada**-‘ is from the Arabic word ‘**wadi**‘, meaning ‘river’.)

With a bit of imagination you can see a waterfall here, though from this photo it’s a bit difficult to appreciate the depth and steepness of the gorge. I didn’t want to stand too close because the cliff edges were quite crumbly!

This is the roof of the old flour mill. To the left is a wide well and behind these, the canal which channelled the water to the mill complex. This particular mill dates back to the time of Ferdinand I, the Holy Roman Emperor (1503-1564), but some of the other mills that are in the vicinity are of the earlier Islamic age. (Ferdinand, by the way, was the uncle of Catherine of Aragon, first wife of King Henry VIII.)

The path then wends its way through agricultural land planted with orange groves, olive trees and arable crops, and also passes stretches of ‘monte’ or wild land populated by small dwarfs, asparagus bushes, fig trees and loads of wild flowers and thyme.

The fields were already full of wild daisies, chamomile and dandelions! You can see the orange grove ahead — now is the time to pick the oranges.

Me standing under a very broad wild fig tree, near two of the natural caves.

The rock type is predominantly limestone-rich baked sandstone which has eroded in places to give karstic scenery and features like this natural cave. The whole area was under the sea at one time and there are many fossils dating to the Miocene period.

The remains of the Moorish bridge, *Puente Quebrado*

The path then passes close by an old Moorish bridge, Puente Quebrado which crosses the river. (‘Quebrado’ in English means broken, uneven or irregular.) Originally there were five arches, though only this one now remains. The design of the arch was typically Arabic. The bridge, together with the path formed part of the X^th century Arabic Route known as la Yadda (la ‘Gran Ruta’ — the Great Route) that led from Cordova to Badajoz (near the Portuguese frontier), running close to the extensive Cañada Real Soriana cattle track.

The Bembezar dam and reservoir in Hornachuelos — part of the extensive National Park which is home to a large diversity of fauna and flora.

The path then led towards the huge Bembezar reservoir (the one with the haunted monastery, Santa Maria de los Ángeles, perched high upon the cliff). It then turned up towards the B road along which we walked a short while til we got back to the car.

The haunted monastery of Santa María de los Ángeles

It was supposed to be a half-an-hour walk according to the information board, but I think we must’ve missed the path coming back because in the end it took about an hour and a half!

Nevermind, it was all great fun!

Thank you for reading — as usual, comments and questions are always welcome.

Take care xxx

Me and my pre-war Land Rover (yikes!) A short story from Posadas, Cordova (Part 1)

When we first came to live in the countryside of Posadas, I needed a car. I never drove in Cordova, though I did help drive down to Andalusia from London in an open-top Alfa Romeo Spider, which was very classic, very old, very draughty and rather unreliable. It was also automatic, crunching back and forward into gears. It was the one I passed my driving test in even though the tax disc was way out of date and the open top roof was flung all the way back. How I drove in it to Spain I don’t know (though I was young and brave all those many years ago!).

Here’s an old, faded photo of the Spider I drove down part of the way to Andalusia 30 years ago. I can’t think for the life of me though what it was doing here in front of olive trees and on top of a load of freshly-picked olives…

However, due to Cordova being a small-sized provincial town and therefore easy to negotiate on foot, we soon sold the English reg. car to some expats who were living on the Malaga coast (and who as yet didn’t realise the complications and costs of legally importing a car, which, needless to say, involved a lot in order to deal with all the bureaucratic red tape and greasing of palms—a process helped by the presenting of gifts such as a wheel of queso curado cheese, a leg of jamón, litres of the best-quality aceite oil etc., etc., etc.). In those days it was much simpler and cheaper to do things illegally (and still is in certain cases, such as declaring, or rather not declaring yourself as a self-employed entity etc.).

Once we moved to the country though, we did need a car—not a delicate Italian vehicle, but one that was solid and sturdy and able to sustain the effects caused by a country track full of grooves and potholes. This track was also flanked by a river-filled gorge on one side and a steep cliff rising on the other, and so in times of rain turned into a perilous, muddy rink due to the set of streams, rivulets and rivers that formed on the surface. This was definitely a track which only hunting aficionados and other incensed country enthusiasts would use in time of hunting! In other words, one that was totally unsuitable for the Alfa Romeo!

No, this isn’t actually me and my Land Rover, though the track was very similar on rainy days the car’s much better than mine — as you are about to see…

So it wasn’t long before we sold it.

As a replacement, I was ‘presented with’ a khaki-coloured, clapped-out, pre-war Land Rover that jittered and shook like a jitterbug. It was also void of modern luxuries, such as power steering, heating, air conditioning, good visibility etc., and although it hadn’t done too many miles, the ones that it had done were certainly off-road, over very rough terrain—something that had definitely taken its toll of the suspension. It also boasted an open-ribbed, rusted-steel roof rack as its crowning glory. After all, it was only the family’s second car, just for me and therefore didn’t need to be so good…(Poor overworked, underrated, full-time, round-the-clock, stay-at-home mothers! I’d be a millionaire by now if I had charged for services rendered!)

Well, the seats were ripped and there were still knots of wool from the sheep that had previously been transported in the car. We had bought it in Castro del Río (another town famous for olives, in the province of Cordova) and considering the way that it jittered and shook, and the amount of play in the almost unresponsive steering wheel and brake pedal, I had been too frightened to test drive it. Also, noticing the dubious looks directed at me from the two pre-Civil War brothers who were selling it not only didn’t help, but were positively unnerving, and so I made the initial mistake of relying on my husband (an enthusiast of off-roading!) to test drive it.

As you can see, it was also useful for hauling things about (when the solid roof was taken off)

The roof of the Land Rover lying listlessly in the shade of an olive tree — but at least my ten cats use it for their shelter!

That was definitely an error, because after doing a couple of rounds in their stony field, during which he had to dodge the sheep (and where the driver’s seat lurched backwards every time the brakes were applied), he seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed the challenge. So when he got out of the car, the sentence was delivered, deeming this relic very suitable for me:

‘Just needs a little getting used to, that’s all!’

Famous last words!

By the way, Castro del Río, where we did eventually buy the jeep, does have some interesting history attached to it, as do most of the towns and villages that lie within the province of Cordova. This village forms part of the ‘ruta califal’—Caliphal Route—which traces the history of Islam in Spain and links Cordova with Granada. It also dates back to the Metal Ages, encompassing the Neolithic, Iberian, Greek, Roman, Visigoth to the more recent Napoleonic French invasion (War of Independence, 1808) etc. It has one of the oldest and current cockfighting pits in Spain—the excuse that pardons the cockfighting is that this ‘sport’ is beneficial for the breed, while improving the stock!—and the previous ground-floor prison in the town hall was a temporary home for Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (1547–1616), the famous novelist, playwright and soldier. It is claimed by the locals that it was here that he started writing his famous Don Quixote.

The town is also linked to former president John F. Kennedy. It was from this very town (well-known for its furniture made from olive wood) that the he ordered two wooden rocking chairs to be shipped home to him. (This added to his collection of rockers that he regularly used in order to alleviate his back problems.)

Anyway, getting back to my Land Rover… So we were on the verge of accepting or rejecting the deal, (I secretly wished for the latter), and all my hopes were dashed when I heard my ‘better-knowing’ husband pronounce the words:

‘¡Vale! ¡Trato hecho! Lo cogeremos por 400.000 pelas, nada más, nada menos.’ (‘Great! We’ll buy it for 400,000 pesetas, nothing more, nothing less!) — roughly equivalent to £2,140.

(‘What a waste for that clapped-out, old piece of junk’, I thought to myself!)

Anyway, to cut a long story short, the deal was signed and sealed and paid for in those very pesetas (though from the look of the car, it should have been paid in reales or maravadises). The aged brothers drove and delivered it to our country abode (only because they were going to look at some sheep that Mateo was selling in one of the fincas just off the Cañada Real Soriana).

I dutifully dedicated the next few weeks to driving round and round the only flat plain that there is outside our house, and getting used to gear-crunching, unresponsive steering and the lurching seat.

However, the day finally dawned when I felt ready (or rather I fooled myself in to feeling ready) to take on Posadas with my new old Land Rover: I had to take the kids to the nursery otherwise I probably would have stayed a recluse in my country abode for a little while longer. Also, I needed to get back to painting furniture, ceramics and glassware in the workshop that we had set up in the village.

So how did it go? Well, in order not to make this blog too long, I will continue with the following part in my next post…

(I am not purposefully making this a teaser, I just know that time is precious to all of us and I do not want to ask too much of your time…)

So next time I will describe with all the embarrassing details of how I got down to Posadas and what fate waited for me once there!

One of the roundabouts leading into **Posadas** — you can just make out the lettering, ‘**al Fanadiq’** in white, which was the Arabic name for Posadas, during the time of the moorish occupation of **al-Andalus**

Thank you for reading — comments and questions always welcome.

Hope you are well — take care! xxx

Cats, crochet and the Ermita de Jesús in Posadas (Cordova, Spain)

“In a cat’s eye, all things belong to cats.” Unknown

Hi folks! I hope this finds you all in good health and spirits.

It became a little cooler last week, so after working hard all day, what with giving my online English conversation classes and working on my next art & craft project, I thought I’d take an evening break and indulge in another one of my favourite pastimes. Crochet!!

Just as well I only thought about it, because as you can see from the following photos, my progress was soon hindered…

Little Grey jumps onto the swinging chair and manoeuvres herself into a comfortable position next to me and my crochet pattern

Then she gradually sidles her way closer until she is right on top of the instructions and looks up at me seeking my approval — or rather, disapproval!

Then she makes a bold move, taking advantage of me having put down my bit of crocheted sleeve when I reach for my mug of Tetley’s (the tea, not the beer variety)…

…and tries her hand (or paw!) at crochet. Is that a guilty look in her innocent-looking eyes I spy? And did I get far with my crochet that evening?

Well, that’s how my crocheting usually goes. I wonder if I’ll ever finish my cardi on time for this winter, especially since I’ve had to do one of the sleeves twice — the first time it looked more like a mutton leg!

Anyway, while on the subject of crochet, I just couldn’t resist showing you the following photos of a little bit of the work that the local crochet group do, here in my neighbouring village of Posadas (Cordova). (I will be posting much more of their work as Christmas approaches, as they do up the whole village in crochet, from Christmas trees with baubles and buntings, to the Nativity Scene, the Holy family and baby Jesus, a village scene of Jerusalem etc., etc., etc. But that’s all to come later.)

The ladies have crocheted a big ‘banner’ that has been hung on the façade of the chapel ‘**La Ermita de Jesús’** which lies at the end of the **‘Paseo de Pedro Vargas’** walkway and gardens. (Read on for the history and legends of this little church)

And further down the gardens they have covered the base of the trunks of tall palm trees with their colourful work.

Here’s another, this time on the trunk of a Melia (Pride of Persia tree)…

…and yet another on a similar tree. You can tell we’re in autumn! (In the background you can see a palm tree which is so typical of Andalusia)

But coming back to the 18th century Ermita de Jesús — the little church in the first photo: I would just like to give it a mention as it has an interesting background:

Firstly, the belfry is not the original, but substitutes an earlier one which was situated adjacently, on the former Camino Real (The Royal Road). This route linked Cordova with Seville, and during the Moorish occupation of al-Andalus it formed part of the extensive Ruta Califal. Subsequently, after the reconquest of Spain, this was the route used by catholic monarchy, such as King Alfonso X ‘El Sabio’ (‘The Wise’) in 1262, or more recently by King Alfonso XIII (who reigned from 1902 till 1931). King Alfonso X was not the only monarch to travel along this Royal Road and lodge in Posadas del Rey: it is recorded that in 1438 Queen Juana stayed there prior to her marriage with Henry IV. Hence the name for the village, Posadas del Rey, which literally means Posadas of the King.

Below the chapel’s floor there are remains of Roman thermal springs, brick canals and cisterns with brick vaults, roofs and walls of mortar. The medicinal water from these springs was exploited at a later date. There were also remains of the walls of a pottery workshop that were constructed from rows of stone, brick, and finished with mortar edges.

It is thought that the Ermita de Jesús dates back to the 15^th or 16^th century, when it was probably called San Sebastian. During the early 17^th century it fell into ruin, but was reopened soon after. However, in 1755, the great Lisbon earthquake seriously destroyed the belfry and roof, and so in 1786 (during the baroque period) the chapel was totally rebuilt. This was not the only damage the chapel suffered: during the Civil War, various religious icons and works of art were destroyed; however, these have since been replaced by new replicas.

The Ermita de Jesús is not without its legends. There is the story that recounts that in 1658, a donkey carrying the statue of La Virgen (The Virgin Mother) was led from Granada towards a certain destination. However, on crossing Posadas the donkey suddenly fell ill and died. The locals (Malenos) interpreted this as a sign from the Virgen Mary that the donkey and the icon of Our Blessed Virgin should stay in the village, and as a consequence they were placed in the chapel. At that time, the population of Posadas was in serious decline because of an outbreak of the plague, but after the arrival of the donkey and the statue of Our Lady, there was widespread recovery and so they named the statue, La Virgen de la Salud (where ‘salud’ means health). From then on, La Virgen de la Salud became the patron saint of Posadas.

Another miracle that has been passed down the generations is that which occurred in 1755, again the result of the Lisbon earthquake. The story goes that when the ground shook violently, the belfry was torn apart and fell heavily onto the adjacent kitchen of the church custodian’s house. His daughter was playing with an acorn in the kitchen at the time, but miraculously, she escaped unharmed, as he pulled her by the hand to safety.

But more about my local village of Posadas, its history, culture, legends, sights to see — and crochet! — in future blogs…

If you’d like to see and read more about this village, then you can have a look at the council’s webpage which also has an English translation.

And if you’d like to read more about my life here in this neck of the woods, then why not take a look at my humorous, illustrated book ‘An English Lady in Cordova — the Alternative Guide’.

Thank you for visiting me — take good care of yourselves! x

My photo-guided, piggy walk to the mines of La Plata — Posadas (Cordova)

Hi folks! I hope this finds you all in good health and spirits, especially in these difficult and troubling times…

Well, I just wanted to share with you some photos of one of my walks — and yes, it does involve mines yet again! But there is a hint of humour in the last few photos, if you’ll bear with me. There is also a brief description of the mining history of this corner of Posadas which you can gloss over, if you’re that way inclined! So here goes…

As you can see, the only inhabitants of this Victorian building at the entrance of the mine are wild trees — or so I thought…)

The architecture from the Victorian era was beautiful though…

…shame it hasn’t been preserved as part of Andalusia’s National Heritage, or even turned into a cafe/restaurant.

I parked my car outside the mining complex then stepped over the wire which served as a gate. (At that point I didn’t notice any warning signs as to the potential danger of this area, i.e. pot holes, hollows and old shafts that had been covered over by a dusting of earth or a few tufts of coarse grass. Just as well I didn’t step on one or fall down a shaft!)

These were the first two buildings I was met with as I entered the complex. And no, I wasn’t wearing my hard hat, though I had brought with me my geological hammer that harked back to my former days as a geologist in England. (Oh, those nostalgic, bygone days!)

By the looks of that great crack in the chimney I should’ve remembered my hard hat!
**QUESTION**: Can you spot an animal in this picture? (Answer provided by the following photos…)

And here were more chimneys, funnels and a steadily-decaying building. There were lines and patterns of Victorian brick embedded in the earthen floor marking out old pits, former buildings and probably old rails on which carts transported heaps of rock and ore from one spot to another. I was well and truly in my element! (Wish I’d brought a picnic!)

I continued walking up the hill, past the slag heaps, stopping frequently to pick up chunks of rock and stones with glittering, metallic sides, hoping to find my bit of silver, zinc or lead…

Suddenly I heard some scratching and grunting, and lo and behold there was the creature! I continued towards the ‘house’ and as I got nearer, there was now a shrieking mixed with the grunting!

I jumped back in surprise — and so did they!

The sound of my clicking camera startled the wild pigs — they came pouring out of the old windows and doors! *I needn’t have felt worried by their presence*.

They took one look at me and off they went galloping, kicking up the dried up earth in their wake! *It was a funny sight!*

Mind you, some of the braver ones trotted the other way, down the hill — which is just where I was going too…

…and this is what I was faced with! Another funny sight — oink oink!

And those that had already reached the bottom of the hill went to recover under the low-growing tree.

So that was my morning’s escapade, and I loved every minute of it! I will repeat it soon, but this time with my hardhat, geological hammer and picnic so that I can spend the whole day there, picking my way across dangerous pot holes, crevices and tottering chimneys, and sitting astride piggy-smelling slag heaps sorting through the spoils — and all to the sound of snorting and grunting. What an ideal day out that would make!

But before I go, I would just like to add a couple of paragraphs about the background of this area, for those of you who are interested in mining and history:

This group of mines situated in the countryside on east side of Posadas was collectively referred to as Los Cinco Amigos (The Five Friends). They belonged to the Calamón Group and they were mined for lead, zinc and silver. Some of them were originally Roman mines, as ancient utensils unearthed from the sites date the first exploitation back to that era.

The first license that granted use for mining was given in 1692. Subsequently in 1900 the English company, The Calamon Mining Company of Spain, exploited the mines, under the direction of John Power. (There was a lot of English mining in Spain during this era, from 1849 to 1920, totalling about 670 British companies, with the lion’s share, about 196 companies, in Andalusia with 28 mining companies in Cordova province itself. As a result, many English installations were set up, such as hospitals, cemeteries, parks, tennis courts etc., many of which still exist today.)

Likewise, John Power, who settled near the mineral port close to the train station in Posadas, built his villa with gardens and a tennis court, and named the complex ‘Los Menestrales’ (The Craftsmen), although it was popularly known then as ‘Jardin de los Ingleses’ (The Garden of the English).

However, during the First World War production ceased. This was probably due to the fact that the silver blende ores were smelted in conflict zones and there were no other foundries to take them to. Five hundred families in Posadas were left out of work. In 1916 the English company sold the business to the French Mining and Metallurgy Society ofPeñarroya — Société Minière et Métallurgique de Peñarroya, SMMP. (This mining village is situated in the northern part of the Cordova province in the Sierra Morena, about 66 miles as the crow flies. It was also mined extensively for coal and other metals, and consequently this large mining, chemical and industrial centre became a focus for bombing during the war. See here for my slide show of the village.)

Subsequently, due to the after-effects of WW1, such as the reduced market, the problems with transportation etc., these French-owned mines closed for good in 1922, and the associated installations, such as the overhead bleichert tramway and the electric plant, dismantled.

Other important factors for the general decline in British mining and investment in Andalusia as a whole could have been the result of cheap, Australian lead flooding the market; also The Spanish Royal Decree of 1921 required mine ownership to be totally Spanish.

Well, I think that’s a brief overview of these mines. Thank you for bearing with me if you have!

And thank you for visiting me! Take care xxx

PS. If you like what you have read, maybe you’d be interested in reading my illustrated, humorous/factual book: An English Lady in Cordova— the ‘Alternative’ Guide (available from me or from Etsy)

My photo-guided, very rainy walk to the Roman quarry in Posadas (Cordova)

Hi folks! I hope you’re all keeping well.

As you might already know from my last blog, the weather here in Cordova has done a turn. From the 38° C hot, desert-like conditions to today’s 23° C thunder and rain.

The rain has been very heavy, so I did the thing that seemed most logical to me, which was to go for a walk. You know — ‘mad dogs and Englishmen’ sort of thing. (Or in my case, ‘mad dogs and Englishwomen’.) But at least I went armed with an undersized, telescopic umbrella the diameter of which wouldn’t even span my shoulders — and clad in a skimpy muscle tee-shirt despite the gale-force winds.

It had been a long time since I visited the Roman quarry, Cantera Honda, and being a former geologist, I was dying to delve back in the past. A past where after the sea receded from this part of the land in Cretaceous times, the ancient civilisations moved in: Stone Age man, the Celtiberians, Phoenicians, Romans, Moors etc. They left their mark upon the land — higher up on the ridge of the hills there are Stone Age dolmens, while lower down, the Romans quarried the land for stone from which they hewed out pillars that were then used in many of their palaces, temples and buildings. The pillars were rolled down the hill, carted by donkeys and loaded onto boats that then navigated their way along the Guadaquivir River eastwards to Cordova or westwards to Seville. (There are also many other mines in the vicinity of Roman, Moorish and modern age. More about that in another blog.)

Anyway, to cut a long story short, being an enthusiast of geology, culture and history, I thought I would mosey on down there, take some unprofessional, blurry photos in the rain which I could then share with you. I hope you enjoy my ‘walk’!

WARNING: There are quite a lot of photos, and they are rather grey because of the grey weather!

I left home when there seemed to be a ceasefire from the heavy showers

I parked alongside my son’s olive grove, but by this time it had already started spitting. The earth was red from the earlier rain

The path passed by mature olive trees, soon to be harvested…

…and by the many dwarf palms that populate these lower footslopes of the **Sierrezuela**. (You can eat their berries)

The colours became deeper as the sky gradually became more overcast.

This was the sky that was behind me, but steadily moving in my direction…

…but ahead of me, towards the ‘finca’ planted with new olive trees, things looked clearer.

I passed by loads of giant fennel which smelled so fennelly and aromatic after the rain

And there are wild fig trees growing straight out of cracks in the bedrock

I would’ve eaten the figs had they not been as hard as rocks!

I continued to walk westwards along this path, though the light became dimmer

I paused to look backwards over my shoulder, and I saw how the thunder clouds were quickly catching up with me. There was just one single beam of angelic light that was focusing down onto the village of **Posadas** in the distance

Onwards I pressed. I reached the sign directing me right to ‘**Cantera Honda**‘

I stepped over shelly sea fossils, millions of years old…

and then a few steps ahead I came to the first ancient Roman column that had, with time, become half-buried in earth

And then there was a second just lying under a large pistacia bush

This poster told me I was now close to the quarry **Cantera Honda** (which is located on the local footpath of the **Roman Paterna** route)

I reached the entrance of the quarry, and yes, it was raining quite heavily now! (Nothing like taking photos in the rain!!)

Old columns and pillars hewn out from the quarry walls and shaped in rounded form by the Romans were strewn everywhere. (And now it was pouring — you can see the lines of rain if you look at the fig tree in the centre back)

More broken cylindrical rock up the side of the quarry (and more rain too, also noticeable !)

Above the quarry, broken columns just scattered the place, carelessly abandoned as if the Romans (or their slaves rather) had just upped it and left

and even more…still having kept their recognisable form after 2000-odd years. (If only stone could talk!)

I was up at the top of the quarry (being careful not to slip — there is no fence) — and by now it was pelting (as you can see in the photo)

I was thoroughly drenched by now *despite my measly umbrella*, and my photos were becoming increasingly blurry, so I decided that it was time to turn around and leg it back…

I pussyfooted over the squidgy puddles and fast-running rivulets

..and with every footstep I became increasingly *wetter* — and so did my fox!

The fields took on another semblance than that of before — new rivulets, and the higher fields awash with water: (talk about soil erosion!)

I headed back as fast as I could under the rumbling, menacing *sky*…

…until soon I reached my haven. (At least the rains had washed it clean — about the first good wash it’s had all summer — I hate washing cars!!!)

I thought of taking my wet, muddy trousers off, but then again I thought, ‘Better not in case the ‘trafico’ road police are there doing spot checks on the cars. Could be embarrassing… but then I could always reply in my Englishy accent: «¡Oh, lo siento! No sé…» — pronounced, «Oh, low sientow! Know say», meaning «Oh, I’m sorry! I don’t know…»

And just as I started to drive off, the skies started clearing. Sod’s law!

However, it was an enjoyable morning when all said and done, and I’ve been able to share my experience and photos with you, which I hope you’ve enjoyed.

If something can be learned from my little escapade it’s this: have a nice mug of steaming Tetley’s as soon as you get back indoors (the tea that is, not the beer!).

Well, at least I won’t be needing a shower tonight!

Thank you for visiting. If you like what you have read, then you might want to read some more. My book An English Lady in Cordova – the Alternative Guide is available from here. (I’ve finally learnt how to do the ‘Here’ thing!)

I welcome your comments and questions.

Take care and bye for now! xxx

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