Fiestas and Siestas

Events and circumstances have made The Green Bogey Down Under all topsy turvy like, crossing continents for over 12,000 miles to arrive in the northern hemisphere, where it is summer (in mainland Europe at least), and England are romping away with the Ashes (why couldn’t that happen when there are lots of Australians around me?). The last week or so has seen me in the Costa Rickeeee and Bianca of Spain, as Spanish as a Pork Pie and Pint of Boddingtons, but warm, blessedly warm, something which unlike most of the Brits around here I am not going to whinge about.

Opportunities for sights and sounds have been limited mostly to the supermarket and evening walks around the flowery whiteness of the casa complexes of Cuidad Quesada. Like all the expats I managed to squeeze a round of golf in with the relo’s, trumping the closest challenger by one shot on Quesada’s famous putt putt links.

I’ve been here a week now and have yet to put my feet in the sea, the closest coming on my first couple of hours here down at Guardamar, which even though I compare unfavourably to Australia, didn’t look half bad. The pool has been more frequented, the lilo and I sneaking some quiet moments together before the brat pack arrive on their school summer holidays from England. Siestas have been common, culminating in two on the same day (it must’ve been a day when the golf was on TV). Surely of all the things given to us by the Spanish – Maracas, Sangria, Scorchio, the last big influenza pandemic – the siesta has to be up there as the best.

Half the reason the Spanish take a couple of hours for a nap in the arvo are the late nights, out partying, dancing to Las Ketchup Song and dressing up randomly for the weekly fiestas. We stumbled upon a fiesta in nearby Benijofar on Saturday night, which was as random as it gets, from pink frilly hats, supermen costumes, rubber rings and plastic turds surrounded by Spanish flies.

A more sedate location on Sunday morning was the town of Elche, home to a bewildering and fascinating park that comprises a large and supposedly ancient palm forest, planted by the Moors many moons ago. It was a rather lovely place, seemingly endless pathways wiggling around palms and cacti and bright flowers, a fountain here and a little café there. Navigating to the edge of the forest you then stumble upon the main town square, complete with all the usual trappings, i.e. catholic cathedral, crumbly Castillo, a few fountains and little cafes, and a monument or two.

So there’s a little sampler from Spain, a bit of a tapas plate, perhaps some patatas bravas. There might be some more to come, depends how hungry you are… possibly the fried baby octopus, or more likely round here, the steak and kidney pie with mash and mushy peas. Adios mate.