So I’m riding my bike in the warm Spanish sun, a soft tailwind helping me along and cooling my skin. Everything I need is with me—two bulging panniers strapped to my bike. My extra tee shirt and two extra pairs of underwear and socks are packed tightly around my various camping gear and other “essentials”. (My laptop is in there somewhere too, but to mention it would detract a bit from the romance, wouldn’t it). Anyway, got the picture? Bike, warm sun, quiet road, and good tunes drifting in from my mp3 player: heaven for me. Then I hear this coming through my headphones:
“…How does it feel?
To be on your own,
With no direction or home.
A complete unknown…
Like a rolling stone.”
Well Bob, just ‘cause you asked, it feels pretty damn good, thanks.
And like a rolling stone, I continued happily one; pedaling through the rural countryside—warm sun, bike; all the time in the world, and not one thing to worry about. I muttered Spanish phrases as I admired the views around me; my exclaims of “que bontia!” and “Ost tía, que fuerte!” being past on (I hope) by the wind.
Bob wasn’t entirely correct—I did have a direction: Alájar, a pinprick village of 500 people situated right-smack-dab in the middle of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Actually, more specifically, I was going to El Calabacino, which has, unfathomably, an even smaller population of 96—actually 97 including me. A handful more babies and they might even surpass 100 by the end of the summer. Not that it really matters; the people here (and now me) are in love with the quiet tranquility of this place. It is almost impossible to drive up to the village, access is almost exclusively by donkey trail. Running water comes from streams in the mountain above us, but if you want drinking water, you need to make a trip to the nearest fountain (underground streams filtered and channeled into spigots). Electricity is solar powered, and most people use composting toilets. Shower? As often as you like, but the water—drinking water runoff drained into small pools—is ball numbingly “refreshing”. The nearest supermarket (if you could call it that) is 40km away in Arecena—and make sure you co-ordinate with your friends so you can get a ride (the van won’t start).
I have been settling into the slow pace of the life here—there are less things to do in a day, but it takes longer to do them, as everything is done manually. That, and you have to allow time to talk to the neighbors, pet the dogs, call to the donkeys, play with the kids, and admire the scenery. Nightlife is sitting around playing music with whoever happens by, and we rarely make it to bed before 1:00. Excitement is when the donkey escapes (they are faster and more nimble than you would expect). It’s a small world here—without electricity, life wouldn’t be much different from when this house was built 150 years ago (well, ok, there may be a couple more differences, but just go with it).
I am here on my first WWOOF stop, and it couldn’t be much better. This is exactly what I wanted—a beautiful place to work, plenty to keep me busy, and plenty of time to relax and think. Oh, and good food. Lots of good food. Spanish is coming along, albeit slowly; my host (Irene) speaks almost perfect english and loves to practice it. And there’s not much more to tell…life is pleasantly plodding along here, and I’m planning to settle in and hang around for a bit. So that’s all for now…don’t think there will be many posts soon, but there will be pictures, and of course I’ll let you know when (or if!) I hit the road again.
