For if there is a sin against Life, it consists perhaps not so much in despairing of Life as in hoping for another Life and in eluding the implacable grandeur of this Life.
– Albert Camus
Englishman in Aracena would be a much more accurate description right now. As this is where I am.
Aracena is a town out in the ‘wilderness’ of Spain’s forgotten southern Sierra. Or rather not forgotten. Never forgotten by those who have known it. Or those who have set new eyes on it, like I have.
Unparalled beauty; rolling hills which seem to lurch and lunge, and pulsate at you. This feels like Pan’s Labyrinths fantasy world. There is something Surrealistic about it. I can view it through my eyes, and take in all it’s lustre, and at the same time Rimbaud’s lines play like music in the back of my mind. Walking around this land on a sunday walk with Jake, Laura, Dasha and Tanya; I was thinking about Rimbaud and the life he chose. Pennilessly travelling by foot through Europe, similar to what Carlos does. Or did.
This is Carlos’ land after all, and it was because of him that I first arrived here from Barcelona.
The Sierra’s full name is the Sierra de Aracena and Picos de Aroche Natural Park. It consists of many of these little Pueblo’s that are white; all the buildings and houses, the Ayuntamiento (town hall), the churches – all white. Occasionally broken by the odd blue church roof. I reasoned they painted it all white to keep it cool in the summer, since this is in the scorching centre of Andalusia. Chefchaouen in Morrocco, famous as the Blue City, was painted this colour for its apparent cooling effect. The same with India’s blue city, Jodhpur.
But hang on….
What’s going on?
Who are these people? Why Am I in Andalusia? And why am I blogging on a much disused WordPress page that was set up to document my time living in Hanoi, Vietnam (and which in reality only lead to a pathetic two posts my whole time there) …
Well, I don’t know exactly if I’ve been looking to escape life or embrace a new future, but I would say my time here in the beauty of this land, with its sumptuous fresh air, has allowed for restoration. Perhaps rejuvenation too.
For those of you who want to know what I have been upto (the irony that no-one, or perhaps no-one I know will read this, is not lost on me) since the new year dawned; well, I can give a little glimpse into my life here. Like opening my window upon waking in my little room and letting the morning in, with its blue or foggy light, I will open my window now through WordPress and let the world in.
I came down here from Barcelona because I spotted a £13 flight to Seville, and thought this is the perfect chance to see my long-lost Amigo Carlos, whom I haven’t seen since he visited me for a few days in Groningen.
Mostly, I was staying at his Mum’s house, but I also visited his Dad’s small farm, where his two sisters were also living. As well as Carlos’s father and siblings there were two dogs, a militant Goose, a handful of sheep and about a dozen cats. The Goose sized me up as soon as I arrived and decided to gauge the hierarchy. Initially he went at me, neck agog, face swooped down low, hissing at me, with the wings arched in that attack position geese and swans take.
I made a mistake. I ran away. He had the upper ground. Carlos said to me, “If you keep on like that, he will think he is in charge, and you will have a problem the whole time you are here, Tommy.” So I picked up a stick, and tried to hold my nerve as I moved towards him, nerves of steel. He stood still longer than I anticipated and although I swung the stick through the air as a few warning swings, I almost lost my nerve as he stood hissing, until right at the last moment he bolted and waddled away in a flurry of feather and anxiety.
He left me alone after this. It may seem primitive or even mean, but this is the way of the Granja, the way of the beasts.
We took walks. Long walks. All afternoon into evening and the beginning of dusk. Walking from Carlos father’s house in Galaroza to Fuenteheridos, or from Carlos mother’s house in Aracena to Los Marines. We stopped at Los Marines one picturesque day, when the sun was high, and the white buildings almost seemed blue from the reflecting sky. We stopped at a bar in an open plaza, and took a caña in the sun. And some Tapas. There were a few other country/hippie looking folk at a table near us and quite a few people sat at the tables at a nearby bar. There was a buzz of Andalusian discussion. I remember saying to Carlos, “Ahh this is the easy life my friend. This is the good life.”
And it was. It is still magnificent too, although a little different now. It felt like a holiday in that moment, and it wasn’t until I was amongst the nature in the Sierra, walking and talking endlessly with Carlos, that I realised how much I needed this. This break. From the burnt ashes of the dismal end of 2019, truly dismal, to the present day; much has changed.
As of now, I am living with Laura, a very cool lady originally from London who was born and socialised herself into the mix of Hampstead artists and musicians. She was a good friend of none other than Joe Strummer from The Clash, and often speaks of him. Her ex-husband is a musician, and he played with many famous artists, including Strummer himself with Joe Strummer & the Mescaleros; and Moby. He collaborated with Moby on the landmark album Play.
So these days I spend my time usually very busy. Laura is a force-to-be-reckoned with, loves to keep busy and keep her household full of people; quite often a bustle of activity.
We talk of music a lot, the ills of capitalism (Laura is pretty anti-system and with one sweeping remark will compare Boris Johnson with Putin and then state how we’re all in the same boat under different circumstances, and without a revolution we’re all damned), child education/development and of course cultural differences between Russia and the Western world.
Why Russia?
Well there are two girls staying here as well as me, in Laura’s beautiful house which was bought for her by her mother. The two girls contacted Laura through a website called HelpX which I had not heard of before, but seems to be another incarnation of Woofing. You sign up as a member which enables you to work your way round the world on different people’s farms. They plan on venturing to Cypress after their time with Laura.
The girls are Dasha and Tanya. They are both musicians. And filmmakers. Their music videos are therefore very high quality. The songs too are pretty catchy; naturally they are sung in Russian. Dasha is 33 and has a basic grasp of English to the extent that you can have a somewhat broken conversation with her. She will also translate for Tanya. Tanya is 38 and has never left Russia before now, which struck me as phenomenal. Imagine being 38 and never having left your country! Of course the shock is perhaps more for me, a man who seems to endlessly bounce from country to country.
And the last thing I should mention; indeed perhaps the most important aspect of living with Laura for over two weeks, has been the kids.
Laura is an English teacher herself, a very good one. Creative, crafty – the children will often be building something as a vessel to learning the language. For example, her younger kids built a weather mobile with a rainbow and cut-outs for rain, sun, wind etc. And her elder children; many of whom are the brothers or sisters of the younger lot; are right now engaged in producing a puppet-theatre play. Laura has been using Dasha’s creative abilities to draw & paint the puppets, and set. Entrepreneurial, as always. (I have also been doing some fabric drawings for the Set at Laura’s request).
I have been helping her with the kids, preparing resources and doing Teaching Assistant-type work. It’s really solidified in my mind how much I enjoy this work, or at least working with children. When the work is creative it can be very enjoyable.
Of course there is so much you cannot put into words; the living dynamics, getting to know the people you live with on a deeper level; the new music and films you’ve been introduced too; the card games with Jake (a former HelpX to Laura, now staying in her Villa); the occasional visits from Laura’s polite German friend Peter and his wife MJ; the work outside on the fence at the Villa – trying to reclaim the ground which is being lost to the neighbouring Sheep farmer, whilst the two dogs Lunar and Lykka jump over the fence, eat the food laid out for the Bulls, or antagonise a lost sheep.
It has been truly great in many ways. I have learnt a lot. For the teaching, and much more. Some things have materialised from this experience I could not have believed.
Anyway, enough has been said for one post now. So happy reading, happy travels and happy life!
I will try to not let this blog fall back into abject misery once again.
Goodnight folks!
An Englishman in Hanoi 