Dispatch from Orgiva Spain, June 4, 2006

Our flight for Malaga finally did leave at 1 a.m., which meant we got into Malaga about 2, only to discover that many others on our flight had found the same good deal with “our” car rental company, so we now stood in line at the rental car desk with one poor clerk. We finally dropped into bed at 4 a.m.. When traveling, you just have to learn to take it all in stride—and who are we to complain for a few late night delays anyway.

Next morning (late) we started out for Orgiva. It’s in the mountains between Granada and the ocean in southern Spain. The drive up was spectacular, beginning with a winding road along the coast, and then turning up into the coastal mountains. We were pleasantly surprised when we arrived at our destination; a rather dusty un-touristy little town surrounded by mountains. Our little cottage is about a mile outside of town, a pleasant country Spanish place with beam and plaster ceilings a little kitchen and a deck overlooking an olive grove. Our “landlady,” a sprightly elderly British “expat,” shares her lovely garden and pool with us, and it all has spectacular views of the countryside.

First thing, as usual, we went into town to shop for some food and other essentials. The store hours are typically Spanish, around 10 to 2, and then 4 or 5 to around sundown—except for the bars which are pretty much open all the time. It’s always interesting to try to figure out whether what you’re buying is what you think it is, given our very limited Spanish (and our almost useless phrase book). What we thought was a can of tomatoes turned out to be tomato sauce, so a planned bean dish last night turned into bean soup.

This weekend was the “Fiesta in Honor of the Virgin of Barreras,” which meant lots of fireworks and really big bottle rockets, a beer and sardine picnic, and various competitions, including a foot race between two towns. The whole thing culminates in the evening when the church’s statue of the virgin is brought from the church (on a highly decorated platform) and carried on people’s shoulders from the church to the edge of town. The procession is completed with the town band and what appears to be most of the town. The “bottle rocket man” and 2 little boys go ahead and shoot them off every few minutes or so. This whole fiesta has long historical tradition, and the basic idea seems to be that the virgin and all the noise will push the evil sprits out of town for another year. The problem is that our little cottage is at the edge of this town, the place where the evil spirits are supposedly dumped. It’s a good thing we’ve got our own protection, and apart from lots of music and occasional bottle rocket barrages till about 2 a.m., there were no unusual happenings last night.

I’ve been bit under the weather with a cold the last few days, but things are looking up just in time to keep my nose from becoming completely raw. So, today we plan on hiking between some villages higher in the mountains.