Living in Spain

If I were reading someone’s account of moving to live abroad for a time, I would want more than a travelogue - the recounting of places that have no significance for me.

 So I am 15 days into my spanish adventure, sort of settled into the apartment, I wear my crocs to walk up the long corridor from the front door, can’t get used to cold tiled floors. The flat has taken a bit of adapting to after living in semidtached seclusion in my Shipley cul-de-sac!

The kitchen, bathroom and 2 bedrooms have little or no natural light , and are connected to the utility room which has sliding windows, leading to a tiled courtyard type drying area. Having no washing machine I tread the washing in the bath or scrub it in the washing trough, and hang it dripping on the line.The alternative being to hang it over the street where it dries much more quickly. Concentrating on the minuiae of washing is all part of my new zen way of living.

Making the place feel like home was important, putting my kitchen utensils in the drawers, and yes I did bring my steamer, and cast iron casserole dish and potato peeler.The terracotta tablecloth, and white lace one which cover the old plastic garden table, the bright orange geraniums on the balcony and the rich shiny indian cushions, have all become significant parts of my new home.

The journey here was long, but not too arduous. My D.I.L  Sadie, who said she would like to do the journey with me, was a great confidence builder, doing the drive on and off the ferry, and exerting a calming influence when the petrol stations had closed when we were running short

 She cast her homemaking eye over the bedrooms, and we made up beds, washed and mopped and changed things around, and then had a celebratory meal with champagne in a beach cafe.

 The day after Sadie left, Ann arrived, so I had no time to feel alone. except when trying to negotiate the centre of Benidorm to find the bus station. It is now imprinted on my mind forever. All visitors have been instructed to take day time flights, as the airport trip is still out of my comfort zone.

 The last fortnight with Ann has been a mixture of painting walls and cupboards, buying  plants, bead curtains, and other bits, seeing friends and exploring the area.

 I live in  the centre of Altea 3 blocks from the seafront, and behind me is the steeply rising enchanting old town, with narrow streets whitewashed houses and flowers, crowned by the beautiful blue domed church.

I am yards from the train, which is an impressive way to travel, through tunnels and round the edge of mountains to Denia in one direction, and Alicante in the other.

 We delighted in walking beside the sea to Albir, stopping for a paella in a huge outdoor retaurant where spanish families of 10 or more gather on Sundays. we braved Benidorm market one day in search of a rug, The mass of tourists is overwhelming. The english bars offering full english breakfast beer and football. We did not go again

I am interested in how the English live here and create their lives. I shall save that until later as the internet cafe will soon close.  Adios