Ronda we all look the same

When we lived in Manila we would get out of the city at least once every 6 weeks, sometimes more often.  Since we've moved to Andalucia we haven't really ventured very far from home at all.  Living in Manila could be quite stifling at times - the heat, the traffic, the pollution, the noise - meaning that a periodic escape was all but necessary to recharge.  Living where we do in Andalucia doesn't create that same necessity to escape for a recharge.  We are very lucky.  But sometimes it's nice to explore your surrounding area regardless.

This past weekend, that's what we decided to do.

The weather on Sunday was beautiful - not a cloud in the sky, with temperatures nudging 20 degrees celcius near the coast.  Inland and at a higher altitude the temperatures were closer to 10 degrees, but the skies were still clear.

The journey to Ronda, via the A357 past Cartama, took just over an hour and a half.  We approached Ronda from the 'new' side, but by following signs to 'Centro urbano' we crossed the famous bridge (Puente Nuevo) and entered the old town.  After a few tight squeezes down narrow streets we found some parking bang in the middle of the old town (near Plaza Duquesa de Parcent).

Our first stop, as is often the case with a little person (she only has a little tummy so needs to eat often to keep fueled up), was a cafe on Plaza Duquesa de Parcent.  The setting was lovely, the cafe standard.

We then wandered around the old town, aiming towards the famous bridge.  Our walk took us down pretty little paved streets (a bumpy ride for the little person in her pram) with great views over the Andalucian landscape whenever we popped out of the built up area.  A fun walk.  With lots of photo opportunities, especially of doors.  More of our photos are on my Flickr page.

We discovered that the bridge is best seen from below; there are very few good vantage points in the town.  We saw a few people walking down the rather steep track to the better vantage point, but we decided to drive.  The road, if you can call it that, was very narrow and steep and looked like it had been built a long time ago.  Still, we managed to get down and more impressively we managed to get back up as well.

All in all a lovely day out.

We drove back a different way - on the A397 towards Estepona and then onto the A7 back to Arroyo de la Miel.  It took roughly the same amount of time as our journey to Ronda but was a bit more of a windy road.

2014

I'm a bit behind, but here is a visual snapshot of our 2014.

Lost in translation

Mr H & I are both trying to learn Spanish.  We are doing it quite differently.  I am using Duolingo and I am having weekly Spanish lessons.  Mr H is using another website (I clearly don't pay enough attention when he speaks to me, because I can't remember which one) and Google Translate.  He uses Google Translate to learn phrases whenever he needs to do something e.g. explain how he wants his hair cut, or change physiotherapy appointments.

A few weeks ago he needed to change a physiotherapy appointment.  He asked the receptionist if he could change his appointment because:

"Tengo que cumplir a mi esposa"

He thought that he was saying "I need to meet my wife."

It turned out, when he was relaying this tale to a friend of his, that he had been saying: "I need to satisfy my wife"!!!

The receptionist apparently had a great poker face.  I wonder what she said to her colleagues afterwards?

WHO's vaccinations?

Just before we left Manila Eilidh had her 4-month-vaccinations.  Our pediatrician noted that Eilidh's next round of vaccinations was due at the end of July, when she would be 6 months old.  At that point we would be in Spain.  Just.

So one of the first things I needed to do, when we arrived in Malága, was to find a pediatrician.  Admittedly I had been a bit lax on the research front before we arrived in Malága; I had wanted to enjoy our time in the Philippines as much as possible without thinking too much about the next move.  This meant that I had NO idea about how the vaccination schedule in Spain worked, nor indeed how the medical system worked.

In the Philippines, at one of the last check-ups before your baby is born, you are asked by your obstetrician to choose a pediatrician to be there at the baby's birth.  This was not something I had thought about.  I had just assumed that all the right people would be at our baby's birth, not that we would have to choose one.  But anyway, I asked around for some recommendations and chose one.  Our pediatrician then came to visit us every day in hospital, and she was the one we saw for Eilidh's check-ups and vaccinations.  So we were sorted.

How did it work in Spain?

I contacted a mutual friend, who had had her second baby here in Spain.  She told me that for some of the vaccinations you have to go to a chemist, buy the vaccination and then take it to your pediatrician to administer.  Unfortunately she didn't live in Malága itself, so couldn't recommend a specific pediatrician in the city.

I did a bit of Googling and found a pediatrician.  I phoned up, with my first question '¿Habla inglés por favor?'.  The secretary did, albeit broken.  I went ahead and made an appointment.

When I arrived at the appointment, the pediatrician did not speak English.  And I could not speak Spanish.  We tried to communicate, with Eilidh's list of vaccinations in front of us, in broken English and Spanish.  The Pediatrician was sweating from the strain, wiping his brow as he studied the vaccinations.  It didn't leave me with a good feeling.  He called in the secretary, who explained the same thing I had heard from my friend: you have to go out and buy some vaccinations.  She also said that some are free at your local health centre (Centro de Salud).

My mind was reeling.

I had a small window of opportunity to get Eilidh's vaccinations, and I was fast slipping out of it.  I didn't feel comfortable with the pediatrician I'd seen - his bedside manner with Eilidh wasn't good, and our communication difficulties were just too great.  I needed to find someone else.

At this point, I decided (sheepishly) to ask one of my Spanish friends to help me.  She was a godsend.  She found out about our local Centro de Salud, came with me to register Eilidh there, made an appointment with another pediatrician, came with me to that appointment, helped me buy the vaccinations and came back again for Eilidh's second vaccination appointment at the Centro de Salud.

It was made clear, at this second vaccination appointment, that we had not followed the Spanish schedule for vaccinations (obviously, as we had not been in Spain).  What baffled me was that the vaccination schedules around the world are so different.  When we had been in the Philippines our pediatrician told us that we were following the WHO recommended vaccination schedule.  I assumed (I'm learning slowly not to assume anything) that this would be the same around the world.  But it isn't.  I've spoken to friends in the UK and a friend from Holland and it seems that all 4 countries (Philippines, Spain, UK & Holland) all have slightly different schedules.

So I'm still undecided about the vaccinations that I haven't given Eilidh, we have moved again (out of Malága), which leaves us in the position of finding a new Centro de Salud, new pediatrician and figuring out whether to give her this 'missing' vaccination or not.

Let's not move again any time soon.

Feria de Malaga, 2014

"Oh, and during the fair.  It's going to be crazy."

One of the first things I heard from Santiago (the gentleman who picked us up from the airport when we arrived in Málaga, and has helped with various relocation-tasks) on the journey from Málaga airport into the city.  Mr H had heard the same thing, from more than one person.

A few weeks later, as Santiago was taking us to view some houses, he was shaking his head telling me how crazy it was going to be: "Imagine, people starting drinking at 12 o'clock, in this heat.  They are all drunk by 2pm!"

So what is this fair all about?

Every year, during the third week in August, the city of Málaga has it's annual fair, or feria.  Ostensibly, the purpose of the feria is to commemorate the re-conquering of Málaga by the Catholic monarchy of the time (Isabella & Ferdinand) from Muslim rule in 1487.  To me it seemed that the purpose was to get as drunk as possible by necking back as many tiny plastic cupfuls of Cartojal as you could.

The centre of Málaga, which had normally been quietly buzzing in the middle of the day became very busy and boisterous.  Doors which I'd thought were shut for good, would open onto rooms full of people partying.  Streets which are normally deserted between 2pm - 6pm were packed full of people.  Bars, some of which were normally void of any clientele, were standing room only.  Men in pink shirts were seen wheeling pink boxes of bottles of Cartojal to drinking establishments and convenience stores.  Temporary waste bins were set up every 20 metres on every street of the old town.  Ladies were seen sporting, mostly spotty, fancy dresses.  Men were still in their shorts.  Purple, green and white lanterns were hung above the main shopping street.  And a general sense of happiness and enthusiasm pervaded.

It was a little bit crazy.  But I really didn't mind.  I quite enjoyed wandering around, seeing everyone having such a good time.  We joined in with the Cartojal drinking.  But after Eilidh was in bed, in the comfort of our apartment.  Rock 'n roll we are not.

The Monday after the feria ended, the city was eerily quiet.  A week before, temporary bars and shade had been erected in the central square (Plaza de la Concepcion).  This week they were being taken down.  The sticky concrete was being washed and as many broken shards as possible of Cartojal cups were being swept up.  And from then onwards it was business as usual in the city.  Until next year.  

The day my husband got locked in a toilet

It was a Saturday afternoon.  Eilidh was asleep.  I was clearing up after my lunch.  My phone started ringing.  It was Mr H.  I thought he was phoning me to tell me that he was about to leave Estepona with our new (to us) car.

Nope.  He was phoning me to tell me that he was locked in a toilet at the cafe where he'd decided to have some lunch before driving back to Malaga.  He didn't know the name of the cafe.

The toilet had no windows.  And no gap under the door.

How were we going to get him out of there?  I knew where the cafe was - it was right next door to the garage where we'd bought the car.  I used Apple Maps to try to find the name of the cafe, so that I could find the phone number, but that was ineffectual.  Frankly, I think Apple Maps suck.  I decided to phone Denis.  Denis was the man who had sold us the car.  He was born in Germany to Spanish parents and speaks perfect English.

"Ah, Rebecca, yes, I know Simon is stuck in the toilet.  I'm on my way there now."

Mr H had clearly had the same idea.

20 minutes later, Simon was still stuck in the toilet.  The cafe owners had decided to send for the carpenter who had fitted the door in the first place.

10 minutes later, the carpenter still hadn't arrived.  Denis decided to take matters into his own hands.

He'd seen his father (who owns the garage) wielding a circular saw that morning.  (What you need a circular saw for, as an owner of a second hand car garage, I'm not sure.  But that's an aside.)  He went in search of the saw, found it, and sawed the lock from the door.

Mr H was free.

Thank you Denis!

Our temporary apartment

Whilst we find somewhere more permanent to live in the Málaga area we are living in an apartment in the centre of the city of Málaga.  This is a mixed blessing.

It's fantastic to have the old town of Málaga right on our doorstep; there are plenty of opportunities for exploring.  Perfect if you have a 6 month old baby who enjoys being out in her pram.

But it's also pretty noisy in the city centre.  And I think there are a few students living in our block who tend to go out when I am already asleep (waking me up) and arrive back when I've probably already been up to feed Eilidh (waking me up again).  But that's ok, I've been a student too.

Here are some photos.  I'll let them do the rest of the talking.  Suffice it to say that we're looking forward to finding some more permanent accommodation.

The front door

Our street

The dining area

The lounge

The kitchen

The main bedroom

The second bedroom

The balcony (!!!)

Washing line

A little bit of blue sky

The neighbours

Finding our wheels in Andalucia

Neither Simon nor I speak much Spanish.  In fact, we're in the positively elementary stages of learning it.

But we're living in Spain.  And we need to buy a car.

We ventured out last weekend to try to do just that.  We had a few phrases of Spanish to hand, but we hoped that all we would need was "¿Hablas español?".  Unfortunately that wasn't the case.  The car salesman we met didn't speak much English.

He was however, very resourceful.  Typically, on every car salesman's desk, along with a calculator, is a computer.  And generally these computers are connected to the internet.  He sat down at his computer, beckoned us over and started typing sentences, in Spanish, into Google Translate.  Genius.  We took over the keyboard when we wanted to reply or ask him a question.  It was in this way that we managed to discuss our car-searching requirements.

Unfortunately, we didn't find the car that we wanted on that occasion.

Other than the language barrier, there are some other obstacles in buying cars in Spain.  The first being that car garages seem to be closed for more time than they are open, especially in August.  During the week they observe the siesta, like a lot of businesses do.  At weekends they are only open from 10am - 2pm on a Saturday.  During the Malaga Feria they don't open at all.

Secondly, it's difficult to buy a car without having a car.  The garages are geographically spread out, and they don't tend to be within walking distance of the city centre.  Taxi fares aren't as cheap as they were in the Philippines.

And then there are the websites you scour to find cars... don't get me started on them.  Suffice it to say that it's just better to pay half our annual salary to get taxis to find cars in physical garages.

Will we find our feet or our wheels first?

Getting to Malaga

I am still figuring out what to do with my blog.  I do have some readers (believe it or not) who are interested in what we're up to, so I'll carry on with stories of our moving about for now.  We have been in Malaga for 4 weeks, so I've got some catching up to do.

Eilidh and I flew from Edinburgh to Malaga on Jet2 (Mr H had left a week earlier, via Bucharest to catch up with some friends).  The plane was full of people off on their holidays.  How different to getting on a plane to Manila!  Most people are returning home to the Philippines or are going there for work.

It was the first time I was flying with Eilidh on my own - she behaved very well on the flight.  It was still an interesting challenge, though, getting from the security checks at Edinburgh to the arrivals hall in Malaga without an additional pair of hands.  At check-in I was told that my hand baggage was too big to take as hand baggage and would need to be checked in.  That was a blessing in disguise.  It meant I had less to carry through the airport, onto the plane and off the other side.  I still had a pram, a baby, her change bag and another sneaky bag with my laptop and purse in.

The first challenge was getting through security itself.  In the Philippines I'd been able to wheel the pram, with Eilidh in it, round the security checkpoints, go through the metal detector and pick her up at the other side.  It seems things aren't as relaxed in the UK.  I was asked to fold her pram so that it could go through the X-ray.  I said that it was quite a big effort to do that, so they let me wheel it through whole, but without Eilidh.  I then noticed that Eilidh's change bag was on the table that indicated it needed a further search.  Luckily all they needed to do was re-scan my iPad as I'd forgotten to take it out the bag.

The next challenge was trying to buy a snack for my journey in WHSmith.  I was flying on a July morning, peak holiday season and it was busy.  There isn't much room for manoeuver in the aisles at the best of times, never mind when there are hoards of people choosing which bag of crisps to buy.  There isn't much room in the self-service checkout area either.  Luckily when it was my turn, a manned checkout was available.

Initially the boarding gate had been really close to all the shops.  But it moved.  To the furthest possible point in the airport.  And then of course, Eilidh decided to go to the toilet.  I won't go into too  many details, but I needed to change her outfit too.  The boarding time was getting closer and closer.  The baby changing facilities at Edinburgh airport are excellent.  The only thing missing (they had a play pen, changing tables, a comfy chair to breastfeed in) was a loo for the mum or dad to use.  This meant I needed to find a loo for me, which was big enough to take the pram into.  Phew, a disabled one was free.  I don't know how I would have managed to go to the toilet in a plane, with a baby.

As I arrived at the gate, the Jet2 staff recognised me and helped me down to the plane.  One person carried the pram, another carried my bags and I carried Eilidh in her baby carrier.  The Jet2 staff were extremely friendly and helpful throughout my whole interaction.

Once on board, I started making myself comfortable.  Not easy on a tiny seat, with a baby.  And the flight was full, so no way of stretching out onto other seats.  Another challenge was going to be eating the snack I had bought from WHSmith.  I hadn't had any breakfast, so I really needed to eat this snack.  It's amazing how dexterous you become when you have a baby.  I just managed to eat the sandwich, only making a small amount of mess.  I kept the crisps until later.  And I'm glad to report that my pre-flight toilet break kept me going until we reached our apartment in Malaga.

Eilidh ate a little, slept a little and sucked her toes, a lot, on the flight (sort of like in the picture to the left, but this wasn't taken on the plane!).  This caused much amusement for the passengers around us.  She also found the dangly bits on the lady-next-to-us' Louis Vuitton bag very entertaining.  Luckily the lady was charmed enough by Eilidh at this point, to let her play with the dangly bits.  She may have been less amenable had Eilidh started to chew them.

We had checked in 6 pieces of luggage in Edinburgh: a travel cot, car seat, pram (in 2 pieces), a 30kg bag and a 17kg bag.  How was I going to get these off the baggage belt, whilst holding a baby?  I strapped Eilidh into her baby carrier, positioned myself at one end of the baggage belt and hoped for the best.  Standing next to me was a friendly looking couple, with a strong looking man.  As I saw my 30kg bag approaching I casually asked if he wouldn't mind getting it for me.  I didn't tell him how much it weighed.  He obliged and I managed to get the rest myself.  Typically the pram was last, so it all had to be done with Eilidh in her pouch on my front.  She seemed to enjoy it.

I then had to wheel the overflowing luggage cart, with the car seat precariously balanced atop it, to the arrivals hall whilst towing the pram behind me.  I don't think it's ever taken me so long to get out of an airport.  But we did it.  And had someone to meet us in the arrivals hall, thankfully.

From there, the next part of our adventure could begin.  Living in Malaga.  We arrived to typical summer holiday weather - clear blue skies, bright sunshine.  It felt (and still feels, 4 weeks on) like we were on holiday.  But this is where we're going to live.

More next time.