The rain in Spain falls mainly on..
Forgive me for talking about the weather, but I’m British so should be excused.
We were lucky with the weather for New Year’s Eve but the heavens hadn’t been kind to us in December. A few days before Christmas – it started. Rain. Not just rain, but torrents, bucketing out of the sky, hour after hour, day after day. We’ve never seen rain like it in our five years in the village; it just poured…
Now, I know that the UK has really suffered recently from heavy snow, but that is no consolation for the Spanish skies opening and pouring on us for such a long time. Spanish TV showed the floods that were ruining people’s homes, the impassible roads, the mudslides
Around our village, waterfalls that had never existed before began to spurt enthusiastically out of the mountains. Water coursed down the roads and dry streams became lively rivers. Our poor chickens waded around in thick mud, although it didn’t seem to bother them. The sky turned black, the sun trying hard to penetrate but not succeeding.
The first photo shows a local mountain view and was taken, not at night, but at 3 o’clock in the afternoon on Christmas Eve. The second oto shows a brand new river that coursed through the village where there’s only ever been a dry gully before. I took the photo standing on the little bridge leading into the village. Notice the trees midstream.
Then we made an important discovery. Our roof leaks. Water ran down our dining room wall. Joe and I rescued the bookcase then rushed around collecting buckets, pots and pans to catch the water. This continued for days.
When Paco, our next door neighbour came up for the weekend, we showed him. Paco shrugged. “All Spanish roofs leak,” he said, as though that was common knowledge. Do they? We didn’t know that.
So we carried on mopping and emptying our saucepans. It’s strange how you become accustomed to things; after a few days, the ‘drip…drip’ became just a background sound. In fact the drips were often quite musical…
When we finally emerged from our house to go shopping, we very nearly didn’t make it. The only road into the village has never been good, but the constant rain had ensured that it became much worse. Massive boulders had broken away from the rock face and rolled down, blocking the road.
Luckily, someone had pushed them aside into a pile (Perhaps Geronimo with Uncle Felix and his mule?) leaving just enough room for a car to pass. A little nerve-racking as there’s a sheer drop on the other side. But we made it safely down the mountain to the shops to get our groceries.
And finally, while we are discussing the holiday period, I’d like to suggest a business opportunity for somebody.
Although the Spanish don’t exchange presents on Christmas Day, we always give our Spanish friends their gifts on the 25th, the English way. Paco was pleased with his brandy, Carmen-Bethina with her bits and pieces and Little Paco loved his microscope. But the present they liked best of all? The big box of crackers brought over by the Gin Twins in October.
Somebody should start selling crackers in Spain; they’d make a fortune.