Bon Dia Spain!
As soon as I left you in January 2013 I knew I'd made a terrible mistake, and by February I wanted to return to you, but sadly, doors had been shut, keys returned and the moment was lost.
But I can't forget you, there are so many things that I love, and miss.
I remember those hazy blue sky days, and the clear blue back star filled nights, as well as sights and sounds I will only experience again when I return.
I miss the distant sound of the sheep bells. Thinking of them reminds me of the day my rescued Catalan Sheepdog came face to face with the shepherd and 100 of his free range flock, as he took them down the hill to drink in the River Ebro. My dog's skills were clearly lacking and he was put firmly in his place by a lesser looking 'sheepdog' of dubious pedigree.
Judging by his attire, I think the shepherd was moonlighting, his set of blue garage overalls were a bit of a disappointment, where was his hooky stick which is compulsory in any Nativity scene. And where was his Shepherds Pie?
I miss the church clock that I could set my watch by. It had a very tired and mourneful tone, which chimed the hour, twice, every hour. You hardly noticed at mid day, but if you happened to be asleep before midnight, you certainly weren't at five past!
Along with the hourlie chimes, it also reminded the town of every quarter hour in between. In England, a lesser person living nearby would probably complain to the powers that be, and get an ASBO slapped on the clock tower, but not in my little Spanish town, the rusty church bell was revered, after all it has been there longer than most of the residents.
The bell tower in the distance watching over the town.
I miss Maria Jose, she of the best baked Barra. Wrinkled and weary, Maria won't see 70 again.
If Maria was in full flow, with one of her equally aged Senora's, I wouldn't DARE cut in, and offer up my euro in an attempt to hurry proceedings along. Rickety chairs, as old as Maria were provided, I just sat and waited. And waited. No such thing in my town as 'popping' out for some bread!
Only when important matters of the day had been dissected, cheeks had been kissed, and Hasta Luego's had been exchanged might I get a nod of a toothless head in my direction, and the Barra would be mine.
I miss the cheery ancient farmer, on his equally ancient tractor, who always gave me a lovely wave and called out 'Bon Dia' whenever he saw me. Sometimes his trailer had just boxes of oranges on the back, but more often it was a bizare cargo of water, calor gas and a crate of live chickens and a small piglet.
All this was left in the smallest of spaces in the centre of the village whilst he popped into a local bar for his morning cafe solo and brandy.
Nobody complained, and if he should by chance completely obstruct the street as he collected his daily Tabac, the driver behind waited patiently, no hooting of impatient horns at this old timer.
So how else do I miss you, let me count the ways...
Your cool, clean trains, cafe con leche, deserted roads, cold vino tinto, pavement cafe's, the happy laughter from the open air pool, the firecracking Fiesta's, seeing generations of families having a BBQ in the street outside their own front door, watching very old village folk play an intense game of dominoes in the local Sociadad, the madding 'manyana', asparagus in every salad, huge measures of spirits, the way you celebrate SO many Saints, the temperature showing outside the Pharmacy, the availability of rabbit in every supermarket.
I even miss the beautiful torture of scratching a mozzie bite.
Now that surely IS love!
What would you miss most about Spain?