Just like an actor firmly believes that he will be discovered in a Starbucks line-up and a teenager is positive that she will be the next supermodel if only Elite takes a peak at her Facebook, almost everybody who doodles with a pen knows in their heart of hearts that they can write a book. It is just a matter of time.

All my life people have told me that I should write. I thought so too, but years went by and no book emerged. Of course it didn’t. Books do not appear by osmosis and I was too busy working, being a mom, designing film sets, organizing fundraisers and simply living. Not that I wasn’t writing all along. I was a lifestyle journalist in Paris, a movie reporter in Montreal, a scriptwriter in LA, and a content writer for NGOs in Vancouver. Yet, as far as my ‘brilliant’ book ideas went, these were only being written in my head…

Contemplating writing a book is a far cry from having it in the hands of your reading public. In between lies the writing, editing, publishing, printing, registering, distributing, reviewing and purchasing of said book. Getting the story out to the masses seems to be the greatest stumbling block for all us scribes alike. I for my part have many strikes against me. First of all, I am not famous. Not even infamous. The media doesn’t swarm around me and nobody inquires as to what I am writing. Furthermore, I live a small town located way off the freeway system where hardly anyone speaks English. Yet in the end, it was this very place that inspired me to finally start writing the book that for so long had inhabited my mind.

Years as a cosmopolitan nomad taught me that our surroundings are a major contributor to our creativity, which for me meant my writing or lack thereof. When I lived in Paris, my antique Remington typewriter was slammed around the clock. Quebec city had a similar productive effect on me, whereas living in Los Angeles and Vancouver seemed to dampen my creative urges and dull my pencil to a grinding halt. Then, as we decided to throw our caution to the wind and move to rural Spain, this all changed. Like our journey to the unknown, my writing took on a life of its own.

Coming to Ronda felt as if I had got my trusted old Remington back (though it was left with a Parisian mathematician I gave singing lessons to, when I returned to Norway for what I thought was the last days of humankind after the Chernobyl accident). Not only Ronda - all of Andalucía was full of stories, stories that I wrote between us looking for a home, buying a car, getting familiar with the lay of the land and me learning a new language. Andalucía’s multifaceted history, its rich and diverse culture and the people themselves fascinated me. These colourful personalities would populate my blogs, which in time began to get followers from within and outside of Spain. I wasn’t writing high literature, but readers would contact me from Nova Scotia to New Delhi and from Reykjavik to Cape Town, all encouraging me to keep writing.

About a year to the day of us moving to Spain, I requested a meeting with the politicians at the town hall to propose a local environmental movement. In spite of my still much flawed Spanish, they agreed. When we hosted Ronda’s first recycled art competition, a NY artists called Ruby Silvious was amongst those replying to my Call for Participants. When I later read that the first book of her recycled teabag art was being published in 2016, I congratulated her on this monumental accomplishment. As a frivolous aside, I mentioned that I too hoped to make a book one day. Why don’t I speak to my publisher, said Ruby ever so generously.

Naren Aryal, Ruby’s American publisher and pater familia of Mascot Books read some of my writing and promptly suggested that we have a conference call. I was admittedly very nervous. What if he asked me about my other books?  I would be forced to say that there were plenty of them, though unfortunately all were stored in the deep folds of my brain. I knew how hard-ass these US publisher types could be (We’ve all seen them in the movies…) and Mr. Aryal was a Washington corporate lawyer before going into book publishing. It didn’t bode well.

Connecting on Skype, I saw a far too young and friendly face appear on my screen. Naren asked me if that was a Buddha behind me. Yes, I mumbled, blurting out a long inconsequential explanation to the effect of that the statue was sitting on my husband’s altar and that the room happened to also be my writer’s dungeon, in addition to my yoga sanctuary. (Why didn’t I just say Yes and leave it at that?) To my surprise, Naren didn’t cut our conversation short. Instead, he told me that he was also a Buddhist, born in Nepal. The ice was broken and we talked on, almost as though we were old pals. Was I delusional? Was this a coincidence, or perhaps we had known each other in another lifetime?

Friendly chatter aside, my real concern was whether I had it in me to produce an entire manuscript. I had written travel tales to fill volumes, but blogs do not a book make. After our collaboration was established, the real work began. First, they asked me to send them my book layout (What layout???). I hastily put together a sort of conceptual skeleton, which was subsequently pulled apart, buried and exhumed many times prior to being accepted. Finally we had a layout that all agreed upon, onto which I was to pin my body of work - an 18-chapter story of a present-day move from a cosmopolitan North American city of millions to a small town off the grid in rural inland Andalucía. A daunting task indeed. Writing is essentially a solitary profession, but now I had someone I could voice my doubts to and bounce ideas off.  The Mascot team came with the right suggestions and encouragements to move me forward, or backwards when needed.

I delivered my first very rough draft with great trepidation, knowing that it would take a master of word-smithing to make sense of the work of an author whose native tongue was Norwegian but who had spent most of her life in Canada, and who spoke half a dozen languages, all very rusty, and who wrote in her own peculiar style of English, telling a story from Southern Spain. Once again, luck or providence was on my side and I was provided with exactly the help I needed. Anne Dellinger, a wonderful Brooklyn-based editor usually engaged by the Oxford University Press was set to the task. She was beyond patient with my misspellings, made up words, over-eager punctuation and smattering of Spanglish glossaries. Every time she sent back a clean copy (marked up with 87945 corrections, give or take), I would immediately ruin all her efforts by changing the story and adding many more typos in the process. When it came to structural changes I often dug my heels in, refusing to follow her wise suggestions. The poor woman had the challenge of dealing with a Norwegian Taurus to boot…

The words now more or less under control or out of my hands, my focus shifted to the visual aspect of the book-to-be. Spain is a spectacle for the eyes that is sometimes difficult to do justice with plain words. The publisher suggested including a selection of my photographs. I had some great pictures, not because I am an exceptional photographer, but because one cannot avoid taking semi-decent pictures in such a photogenic place. Yet, I wanted the readers to conjure up the personalities and visualize the setting in their own minds. I suggested that we add some hand-drawn sketches instead. My only problem was that while I knew exactly how these should look, I sadly cannot draw.

Again, somehow the right angel appeared at the right moment. Though I could offer neither fame nor fortune, just my eternal thanks, Virgínia Jiménez Perez, a Ronda artist agreed to make our illustrations. It was only supposed to be a handful sketches, but I kept asking her for more, promising that this would be the last one, though it never was. In the end, she drew multiple versions of 34 charming illustrations that perfectly captured the essence of life in rural Andalucía. For this, I was and am eternally grateful. Her becoming part of the book also made it more authentically Andalu’ - a collaboration with a real rondeña, not just a wannabe one, like myself…

As things magically and often without my doing, came into place, I recalled the frequently quoted and misquoted words of Goethe:

What you can do, or dream you can, begin it;

Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.

I had dreamt and I had finally begun, and many times during the process forces beyond me seemed to propel the project forward.

In just a few days, on the 5^th of February, Casita 26 – Searching for a Slice of Andalucian Paradise is being released in the USA. Who knows what will happen after, though with my book already housed in the impressive sounding American Library of Congress and available on Amazon, I feel that Casita 26 and I are on a roll. I can only hope that Goethe’s words run true to the end and that my story of making life changes will be read by many, some of whom might be inspired to take that leap that they have wanted to do for ages, but to which the time has never felt right.

In the meantime, Andalucía keeps bringing me her stories. Perhaps more books will come. As they say in Spanish, Hay más tiempo que vida. Time will always outlive us, but while we are here, we can always try to find our own slice of earthly paradise.

More information about Casita 26  

Order Casita 26 on Amazon

Some stereotypes, such as the tardiness of the Latin people, are seen as universal truths. But are they really so?

World renown for being less than punctual, Spain is often described as an eternal mañana culture where everything and everyone is behind schedule. There are of course exceptions to such broad national claims, and there certainly are some Spanish people who are punctual. However, speaking for our small town in the Spanish south, and for the vast majority of its residents, the concept of being ‘on time’ tends to have rather flexible parameters. We knew about this trait prior to moving here, although it’s one thing being aware of a tendency towards lateness, but another learning to live with the locals’ open-ended más o menos, more or less, schedule. To this end, I decided to do a bit of cultural exploration and to ponder some of the reasons why the Spanish, or certainly the Southern Spanish, can never arrive at the exact minute or hour they say that they will be in a certain location.

Devices to measure time can be traced back thousands of years, so promptness should by now have become second nature to the human race. But it isn’t always so. Though everybody in Ronda carries at least one mechanical or digital timepiece on their person, and though every bar, butcher, pharmacy and many street corners have a wall-mounted clock, and though the towns church bells will chime every 15 minutes reminding one of the incessant passing of time, you can never expect that a meeting will happen at the agreed-upon hour. I am not speaking about merely social engagements (when even us Norwegians will allow ourselves to be a few minutes late), but any scheduled appointments, but any scheduled appointments, be it to set up a will at a Notary Public, to get a handyperson to do some basic house repairs, to get a root canal, or to get to ones own wedding.

Even after a few weeks here, we were aware that if a contractor promised he would be at our house within the hour, we might expect to see him there some time that afternoon, but more likely the following day. If he pledged he would come by during the next week, we knew for a fact that we would not see him for at least a fortnight, and if he guaranteed that he would deal with the job the following month, we might as well forget about the whole business. We have on several occasions

witnessed locals answering their phone claiming that they were en camino (on their way) to the next job, while the truth is that the person, who happened to be a plumber, had their head deep under our sink with no possibility of imminent departure. Likewise, they might just have sat down to order their daily mid-morning Anís, while promising someone at the other end of the cell line that they are seconds away.

Now, the first thing one has to be aware of when it comes to the Andalusians’ sense of timing, is that none of these pie-in-the-sky promises are spoken with malice. Nobody sees them as lies, least of all the person speaking them. It is all about intention. In the speakers mind, they are already on their way - their physical body just needs to catch up with their verbal aptness to comply.

Second, one has to take into account the nature of the people themselves, whose character and temperament are more passionate and thus generally more spontaneous than people from northern climates. Just as we overly punctual Scandinavians might see tardiness as rude, the Spanish might see our Norse innate always-early-for-appointment tendency as proof of our lack of ability to enjoy life. There seems to be fundamental differences in our make-up, culturally or genetically.

Third, the Andalusians’ notion of the clock is completely different. They are perfectly aware that they tend to be late-ish, but since everybody is the same and all know the rules of conduct, there is usually no problem. When we began hiking with a group of Andalucians, they often joked about la hora inglésa (English or actual time), as opposed to la hora española (Spanish or alternative time), of course preferring and following the latter. To them, what mattered most was not that we took off at 8.30 am sharp, but that all had managed to enjoy a coffee prior to our departure. So what if we were half an hour delayed? Nobody suffered in the process, other than possibly us, the anal foreigners with our petty punctuality.

Forth, there is the thing about the language itself. While midday for an English speaker means noon or twelve o’clock, mediodía in Spanish has a much broader scope. If you tell someone that you will meet them at mediodía, they will agree and then proceed to ask you when you are meeting, at 1.30 or 2 pm?

To add to the verbal confusion, in Spanish, mañana means both tomorrow and morning, only distinguished with the use of a preposition. To point out that it is in the morning you would say por la mañana, while when you are indicating the following day, a plain mañana will do. This being said, we know that mañana is the most overused expression in the Spanish language and some, like the saying goes, believe that mañana never comes.

Equally, the word tarde means both afternoon and late, again depending on whether one adds a preposition. En la tarde means in the afternoon, while a plain tarde means late. In addition, the Spanish use the word tarde for both the afternoon and the evening, so if someone tells you to meet them a las diez de la tarde, they want to meet you at 10 in the ‘afternoon’… Generally, everyone is tarde. They will enjoy a prolonged siesta with outmost pleasure, knowing fully well that they ought to be some place else. Then they will rush to get to their next destination, driving like mad, of course arriving late.

When it comes to private social engagements the concept of time is even more malleable. While we had been used to give the hostess a five-minute grace period before arriving at a dinner in North America, here in Andalucía one has to allow for a much wider buffer zone. We learned this when we were invited to a private luncheon. Not only was the hostess heading for the shower when we arrived at the agreed upon hour, but the table was not set. In fact, the table was nowhere to be seen, never mind that some forty-something invitees were slowly streaming into the garden. After festive liquids were offered all around, sawhorses and plywood boards were brought out on the terrace to construct said table. Then, and only then were the meal prepared under jolly conversation, ready to be feasted upon just a couple of hours later.

The most extreme example of late arrivals happened when we attended our first Andalucian surprise party. The event was to take place in a small town outside of Ronda. The hostess, the sweetest, shortest, roundest Andalusian village-mayor you will ever meet, had told the dozens of guests to arrive at 8 pm, giving a full hour to conceal our cars and other evidence of life and to prepare for jumping out from our hiding places and call out Sorpresa! Swinging into the driveway of said home, we were a little alerted (if not surprised) not to see a soul, nor a sign that there would be a party there in a mere 60 minutes. Had they hidden it that well? We knocked on the door and the hostess finally came out, dressed in sweat pants, telling us without the slightest concern that we were the first to arrive.

Sensing the urgency of time ticking by, we offered to help her prepare - me blowing up balloons until my lounges nearly collapsed, while my husband and the bubbly hostess took off to the nearest bar to pick up ice and beverages. While we hung the Felicitaciones banner above the door and ignited the fire for the BBQ that soon should feed many hungry guests, our hostess wondered whether she maybe ought to call the wife of the celebrant to see if she could invent some delay, since nobody else had arrived and it was now only 30 minutes to the grand Sorpresa time. The wife of the apparently unaware celebrant made up a last minute emergency at her work to stall things. Meanwhile at party central, the grill was almost ready to receive the meat and another sawhorse table was built. To our joy, a second car arrived just 15 few minutes before our jump out moment. The hostess was again on the phone with the wife, now in the car with her husband, the celebrant, and therefore answering in code language. She told him, much to his chagrin, that she simply had to stop to buy cigarettes before they would drop by and pick up a friend, the sad mayor who was all alone and whom they would take for dinner. Three couples out of seven had arrived when the hour was up, the wife’s delay being the only reason why the guest of honour wasn’t present yet.

Needless to say, we finally got our Sorpresa moment. The celebrant seemed genuinely surprised, or at least happy to see us, and only a couple of hours later the last of the guests swung into the property, bringing desserts and good cheers. 

So, what is the surprise at the epitome of tardiness - an Andalucian surprise party? The surprise is whether not some, but any of the guests will arrive before the guest of honour…

I am still none the wiser as to my original question of whether the Spanish will ever be on time. In general, I doubt it, and I would certainly not recommend anyone who expects punctuality to live in a Latin country. Certainly here, down in the deep Spanish south, you have to learn to go with the flow, peak at your watch with half shut eyes and order another glass of tinto while you wait. And wait…

A couple of years back I wrote a story about the renovation of a ruin into our present Ronda home. It was my first fictitious episode of a non-existent Andalusian Extreme Makeover Television Series. Amongst later ‘episodes’ was a 10-1 countdown of Andalusian ruins and potential fixer-uppers.

The idea remains off-the-air, but I am still of the opinion that it would be a great show, as this is the land of potential for extreme home makeovers. Andalucía is literally simmering with yet to be discovered jewels in the raw.

Since a new year has come upon us, I felt it was appropriate to present another countdown episode, this time of abandoned places in the town of Ronda. In the spirit of the season, I have decided to include 12 contestants. All are within the town centre or old town, all are abandoned, non-inhabited and/or uninhabitable, and all are, in my mind, beautiful in their present stage, yet have vast potential for the right Extreme Makeover Visionary.

As in my previous countdown, I want to make it clear that I do not and will never work in Real Estate. This is not about flogging properties. This is about commemorating the past while recognizing the beauty in forgotten places, be it an abandoned home, a former fort turned boarding school, or a disgraced palace.

So, without further ado, here are a selection of 12 of Ronda’s most memorable abandoned buildings for your enjoyment and perusal:

Casa 12 – Crashing beauty in the Barrio San Francisco

When you walk up Calle Torrejones from the Barrio San Francisco on a windy day, you will inevitable hear slamming doors. Do not be alarmed. It is not the neighbourhood ghost, but merely the unhinged window shutters of my first contestant.

According to local legend, this former señorial home was once owned by the famous rondeño bullfighter Pedro Romero. One of the front door panels is gone, but the carved stone doorframe is still gorgeously intact. In recent months, the inner ceiling caved in (the upper roof went long before), giving the entrance hall a rather post-apocalyptic look, but what better way of defining a crashing beauty?

Casa 11 – City Hall open-air extension

There are various streets that lead to Ronda’s town hall square. One is a cobbled, pedestrian only lane ending up in a set of stairs, adjacent to the town hall building itself. The homes on either side of this entrance have fallen down and are abandoned by any residents, save a few hooting pigeons.

Most people will pass it thinking it an eyesore, though to me, it has great potential. What remains is a fascinating imprint of the past, as we can still see frames of windows, as well as room and roof divisions embedded into the back wall, which once was part of the town’s inner defensive wall from the Arab era.

As an Extreme Makeover project, this would make for a beautiful, rambling extension of the peaceful town hall square park. Without much interference, one could simply remove the unsightly concrete walls that have been added in recent years and secure the back wall, leaving the echoes of past residences. This way, it could make a unique semi-open area where visitors and locals alike could enjoy being simultaneously inside and outside Andalusian history.

Oh, the things I will do when I become the queen of Ronda…

Casa 10 – Solid Roman bones

Not far from the town hall, amongst the random network of narrow streets and alleys that make up the towns old quarter or Casco Histórico there is a unique abandoned place. Not much to look at from the outside, this stout building with slightly bulging walls is said to be one of the few remaining edifices in Ronda with Roman origin.

Though Arunda was a Celtic settlement since the 6 century BC, Ronda as we know it was founded by the Romans. A fortified post in the Second Punic War (218-201 BC), Ronda, then Munda, received the title of municipium (town status) during the time of no other than Julius Caesar.

The Roman statue that decorated the front wall when we arrived a few years back is gone and there is little other evidence to see from the outside. All the same, I felt it was a deserving contestant in the abandoned place award.

Stay tuned for more information, or another episode, if I can manage to persuade the town archaeologist into giving us a private tour…

Casa 9 –Niche house without record

In a fork in the road on the exit from our barrio you will find an abandoned home whose demise I have followed for the past couple of years. Not one of Ronda’s oldest or most salvageable residences, the home was at one point split into two, possibly in an inheritance dispute. However, for our purpose, I have given them a shared Casa number 9 award because…

There is nothing quite like an authentic over-the-front-door niche. This one just needs a saint or virgin. Looking out through an open entrance are still the roses that once embellished this rural home. When, in addition, there is an old record player (though no record) in the one-time living area, who can not be enchanted?

Casa 8 – Lilliputian with secrets

You may ask what in heaven’s name is a boring old block like that doing in this distinguished company.

Well, it is easy to judge a book by its cover. Indeed, when it had a For Sale sign a while back, my husband and I thought: Who would want to buy that? It ‘s small, dwarfed by newer buildings and with an apparent ground surface of 10x10 feet.

But this is where one has to think again, as you never know what you will find behind the door of an old Ronda home. This block, for instance, could extend in secret tunnels and hallways way back, possibly all the way to the next street?

Pretty? No.

Salvageable? Who knows?

But, interesting? Absolutely!

Casa 7 – The mind’s the limit

As far as we know, the owner of this abandoned place is a doubly blessed señor called Jesús María. More of a lot than a home, the front gate should say it all.

With the 15^th century Espiritu Santo church always looking over its shoulder, one should never have to worry. The open-plan home leaves the imagination free to create, with only a few fig trees to be ensnarled in.

Casa 6 – Old town classic

Right on the main road going through Ronda’s Casco Histórico towers this once elegant manor. Even without having noble ancestors, living here would automatically provide them, family crest and all. The view from the roof terrace, whether it is accessible or not, must be out of this world. And to be sure, there are ample bedrooms for visitors and a myriad of aristocratic children.

Casa 5 – Fort turned School turned Parking Lot

We see this building every morning from our bed, as the sun hits the eastern wall, making it shine like gold.

Abandoned since the 1990’s, El Castillo (the castle) as the locals call it, has an incredible history. The outer walls were part of the Acazaba or defensive fort built during Andalucía’s 700 year of Arabic rule. After the Catholic re-conquest, it remained a military stronghold, seeing Ronda through the Napoleonic wars in the early 19th Century. In 1885, an Augustinian Order took over the place, tearing down much of the fort, using the same rocks to build the structure we see today. Originally a school for underprivileged children, it eventually ran out of money. A Salesian Order took over in the early 20 Century, making it a profitable resident school for sons of well to do Andalucian families. Today the abandoned building is a ward of the Moctezuma Foundation, which has stipulated that it never can be sold and that any leasers must include an educational portion in use.

Unfortunately, Ronda’s town hall has converted the old armoury and the surrounding area into the town’s public parking lot (where is the education in that?), while allowing winter storms and rains to enter the edifice. Meanwhile, we keep dreaming that El Castillo once again will become a place of learning.

Casa 4 – Birds eye view

Some buildings have to be seen from afar, or as this one, from above, to really appreciate its potential.

Nuzzled in an enclave of old houses also beneath the Espiritu Santo church, this casa will never lack neighbourly intrigues!

With the convenience of almost the entire roof gone, it perfectly shows the divisions of tiny rooms that humans and their domestic animals shared in a traditional Andalucian home. Usually this would include chickens, goats, Iberian pigs and possibly a mule or two, and quite often these types of homes will still have the stone troughs where they fed.  

Casa 3 – Worthy of a King

No other building in Ronda is likely subject of more gossip and wild speculations than La Casa del Rey Moro, or the house of the Moorish King.

Apparently, there was never a Moorish King living here, though the mine and the secret underground stairs down into Ronda’s tajo bottom is from the Moorish era. Rumour has it that the house, more of a palace really, has been bought by a foreign woman who wants to restore it into a five star hotel. So far, from what we can see, no permit has been granted…

For all the mumbled gossip, it is a stunning building in a magical setting. Located right on the edge of Ronda’s famous tajo, La Casa del Rey Moro forms an essential part of the rondeño landscape. For this reason alone, it is quintessential that it should be restored to its former stature, before it crumbles and forever alters the historical patrimony of Ronda.

Casa 2 – Corner lot on wheels

I have to admit that this house has always fascinated me. I mean, why the tyres?

Like many abandoned buildings in Ronda, this one has been denied permit to reform, so it has been left to crumble. Located near the lovely Santa Cecilia Church, this corner lot just has a good feel. Once owned by a local baker, I can perfectly visualize donkey drawn carts with flour sacs being pulled into the inner courtyard, though I do not know for sure if it has one... I am considering buying a drone, so I can photograph it from above. In the meantime, here is how it looks like from la tierra firme.

Casa 1 – Chapel for jousting knights

Besides kids using the courtyard as a soccer pitch and the present owner using it as a parking lot (not another one…) this abandoned place, located right across from the neighbourhood plaza, is close to the heart of many ceporreros, or residents of the Barrio San Francisco.

As our neighbourhood was where the Catholic kings started their re-conquest of Ronda in the 1480’s, our square was once a practicing ground for jousting knights on horseback. Since such sports tend to have bloody endings, a chapel was built next to the grounds, for prayers and possibly funerals. It was dedicated to the Nuestra Señora de Gracia (Our Lady of Grace), which was certainly needed if one wanted to avoid being spearheaded…

Fast forward to mid last century, when a poorly constructed school building was added around three sides (the ancient Colegio de San Francisco), while the old chapel was left to decay. The neighbourhood children naturally began to play inside the ruin. According to local legend, when one of these youngsters jumped from the former alter, the floor beneath opened, revealing four bodies. When the kids took the bones, the place became haunted, though it is later thought that the ghostly howls probably came from an owl. As it was finally cemented shut a few years back, I have not had a chance to climb in and check.

And so the local legends continue…

***

Like the Chapel for the jousting knights, some of these historical marvels deserve their own article, or their very own episode of my Andalucian Extreme Makeover Show. I am still waiting for the right producer to come forth. In the meantime, consider this as a teaser, a taster or a trailer, depending on what the future and the New Year will bring.

For more ‘episodes’: 
The (yet-off-the-air) Andalucian Extreme Makeover Home-Edition

My TOP TEN Andalucían Ruins and FixerUppers - The Official 2016 Countdown