Tapas

Thursday afternoon and 2 heads pop round the office door and ask if I would like to join them "for a few beers" in the town later. I cautiously agree knowing that I have to pack and depart the next day. I plan an early departure in my head. 

So at the appointed hour one of the heads calls for me at my hotel. We walk down the road to join 2 others and make our way to the main street.  Later the last of our party arrives, it appears our destination is well known. 

Green fruits - that I just happened to snap growing on a tree.
What is it? answers on an email to me. Ta. (It's not olives)

Now in England, a few beers could involve a few pubs too. But this is Spain. "They have beer without food in England? How do they do that?" I am asked. So here, seated outside a restaurant, the beers turn up with snacks. It's "Tapas" I am told, but no one knows the English for what exactly the Green fruits are, and the taste is no help either. 

More beers later (I skipped one round) and more food arrived. This time on a large plate and we have a fork each. Pork in almond sauce. And very nice too. 

And so the evening passed very quickly. One can't leave until the end because only then is the bill presented. I realise that I have spent a happy 2 or 3 hours with out noticing the time or having any idea of the cost. €13 as it turned out. 

So there is a Spanish pub crawl. Very relaxed, outside in the cool of the evening, and supper thrown in too. I am grateful for the invitation. Without Spanish friends I could never have experienced this sort of evening out. But I highly recommend it, if you get the chance. 

Cordialement 

Terry

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Adventure Driving

Or "The Narrow Way" or "Nissan Micra, Off-Road Car of the Weekend".

None of this was planned, by the way.

So I visited Córdoba. It is pretty, I was told. And so it was. A good place to shop, and nice shady parks to stop and read a book in.

Then it was time to leave. I thought I would visit the lake on thé map on the way home.

I set off. At the end of the street, right only. Then forces right again, and at the large junction at the bottom, right again. After that one is forced back into thé road where I started. After a second lap, I let the car behind pass me and resolved to follow it.

We did a third lap together.

So on the fourth lap, when the car in front turned down a narrow street, I followed, unwilling to be alone. The sign warned 1.80m restriction.

And so it was slow progress with twists and turns between the unforgiving walls of houses. The car in front folded its wing mirrors in 3 times, and once had to reverse to manage a left turn. I began to be glad I had a Nissan Micra! All this time, there was no option but to continue.

At last my GPS worked out where I was and announced a right at the next junction. I saw a taxi cross from our left and take the indicated road. My "guide car" went straight on into more narrow lanes. I finally parted company.

And so it was easy for a while. The country roads to the lake understandably small but ok. I reached a bridge with lots of cars stopped and people enjoying the water, and I stopped for a while but I had planned another location so I carried on.

Picture of the sort of terrain - actually from the next day that
was intended to be "safe". I had followed a tourist sign but the
road was anything but "safe", and always a long way from home!

By now the lane was one car wide and twisty as a snake. But I met no one and the valley was picturesque. At last I came to the point I had found, and it turned out to be a hydro-electric dam.

After taking photos and admiring the lake created by the dam, I drove over it to find a poor steep road as the only way out. I programmed the GPS who announced a return over the dam.

I began to contemplate the narrow snakey road when the GPS lady said " left". It was not the best road I had seen, but worth a try.

It was potholed and sometimes steep but ok. Then it became narrower but at last reached a wider road that we joined. However it was not long before that road turned left and my lady said "right".

I had to look to find the right turn. "That?" I thought. But the last had been ok and I could end up miles out of my way otherwise. I took the plunge.

One of the better bits of road.
Otherwise I had both hands of the steering wheel.

My road soon turned to an earth road. Rutted at times but clearly people lived down here. I reach a drive and the road, what there was of it, turned left. Impossible to return, I followed on. It got no better but I had passed a house.

Now if I owned a house there I would chosen a 4-wheel drive LandRover and I would keep a spade and those things for under the wheels in it at all times. And spare fuel, drinking water and a short wave radio able to call the mountain rescue. Not chose a Nissan Micra and an SLR camera.

I turned a corner. The dirt track made its rutted way steeply down and appeared to end in a dry river bed. I could see that it continued out of the river, which was not wide, on the other side. "As long as it does not go up like it is going down I'll be ok" I thought. With little option I descended in as controlled a way as I could. The car bumped up out of the other side of the river bed as if it was built to do so. So far so good.

No hills challenged the progress which was still narrow and rutted, then suddenly there was a wider metalled stretch. And then: we'll I could see the main road. And someone had helpfully thrown some road stone onto the hill to show the way down. At the bottom it joined a road that had white lines and signage! I descended. Civilisation at last and only another hour to home!

But all praise to the Micra which took it all in its stride!

As for which was the most challenging, I am not sure if it was the never-ending lanes of Córdoba, or the muddy descent to the riverbed. 

But on reflection, I think the riverbed just has the edge.

Cordialement
Terry

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Et mal à ça! - when I read this blog I found half of it missing. Fixed now. You needed to know how it ended!

Eating out

Muddle of Pasta

My experience with Spanish food is not great. But it has been boosted this week by the little restaurant round the corner from where I am working. Recommended as "normally serving good food" I trotted along the first day with some expectation.

Hamburgers and Chips

The short list outside in Spanish told me there was a choice, but little else. Inside, there were tables but little activity. But I was seen and invited to sit. The waitress arrived with a pad and an expectant look. Clearly I should have already chosen, so the menu from outside was helpfully brought in. But it did not help! I chose at random!

It was ok. I had managed to ensure I avoided fish just in case I still proved alergic, but for preference I would have also avoided mushrooms in oil. The next course was chicken. I also remember having melon and ending with coffee. There was a coke too.

Since I did not have a lot of cash, I began to wonder of they took cards. By the look of the place I could not be sure. But the guessing was over when I retrned from the toilet (an experience I repeated only once when desperate). The bill was already there. €9. À nice round figure.

frozen

The next day I went armed with a 'dictionnaire' from the internet. With this aid I decided one of the starters was cheese and one of the main courses was "muddle of drunkenness". I didn't have the courage to order it!

But I did order the cheese. It turned up as a fried egg in a tomato and veg sauce.

In the next two days some of the "pot luck" has gone out of my choices. So here was today's selection for £7.76

• "Muddle of pasta"
• "Hamburgers and chips"
• "Frozen" 

The first time I chose 'frozen' I got a lolly, this time a cone.

Spain

My view. The Hotel owns the bull ring too I was told.

Well the hotel is very interesting, and my room has a direct view into and over the Bull-ring. It is a mixture of old world style (Spanish and some eastern) with modern bolt-ons like the aircon with the outside unit taking up 1/2 of the balcony.

Some food has arrived. I ordered speciality soup, I appear to have 2 side dishes of bread and meat. I am not sure if I should eat it now or wait for the soup. Since I am the only one in the restaurent, I can't copy anyone. I wait.

Earlier tonight I took a walk round this small town. Lots of small streets. I thought I found the way back, but was recognising less and less. So I asked in my best Spanish "Place Toros? Directiona?". I understood none of the answer, but the waiving arms told me I was walking up the wrong side of the valley. I retraced my steps and finally found the hotel again.

"Restaurant open?" I asked. "Si" but I was the only one. When you are the only one and you hear the microwave Ping, you can be sure who it is for.

The soup arrived. "For the soup?" I asked pointing to the side dishes. "No" she said pulling a face, "for vino". She went into the kitchen only to return 5 seconds later and say "for soupa" in the most complete and unapologetic turn a round I have ever seen.

The next dish was 1/2 a partridge. With chips and salad. To my surprise, the meat was cold*. And by the way, it is hard to see partridge bones among the same coloured flesh. "Good?" She asked appearing from another direction and using one of the few English words in her vocabulary. "Yes", I said, "very interesting". She looked happy with that. Perhaps the kebab house tomorrow? The desert was "cake of cheese". It turned out to be roughly what I hoped for.

"Tomorrow closed", she announced with the coffee. Kebabs it is then!

Cordialement
Terry

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* Cold partridge in vinegar is a local delicacy, I was told, on account of the numerous birds to be found among the olive plantations (and perhaps due to the quality of the local wine?).

Busman's Holiday

It takes time to settle into a new country; even one so similar as is France. It is not just the language and currency that are different, but the customs too.
For example, I have just started a new job. Now that has its complications but I assumed when they said I accumulated 2 days holiday per month, that I might be able to use the holiday.
Wrong!
That is, I can use it next year, but not now.
You see, in France you store up holiday for use the year before you use it. It is measured from May to May. My business engineer, Natalia, explained it to me. It took her a while to get her head round it too, as she is Spanish and had to learn the ropes in the same way I am.  So as I joined in April, I have 4 days from 2012/13 to use in 2013/14. An I have already used most of them!
So what about the 2 weeks in August when the client company shuts down?
Ah, well then we borrow holiday from next year (but not, as I recall, if it happens to be in May). So since the 2 weeks are forced on me, they can be borrowed. I found this out only when I booked another weeks holiday in August, and I did that, only because it was a mandatory condition of my company to take 3 weeks before October (another bit of French law).
The holiday I wanted would have had to be unpaid.
But what about the legal requirement? Well that is only for people with enough holiday to take three weeks in the summer. Then you have to. I don't have to, so that 1 week holiday got quickly cancelled.
And the 2 mandatory weeks? Oh, well Altran want an engineer for a couple of weeks to do some analysis of a customer project resourced internally. Conveniently, these 2 weeks would do very nicely; or have I already booked holiday? No, I was expecting to look for flats, perhaps move in, perhaps visit the cottage, but nothing booked. And so, since the work sounded interesting, and I will need to 'borrow' a week for the Christmas shutdown, I agreed to a busman's holiday.
They say a change is as good as a rest, and the offices and work will be different for 2 weeks.
I feel rested already.