Tuesday night football playing against the year 12 boys is continuing for me as is the pain in the legs for the two days that follow it. I am very gradually improving my awareness, touch and fitness but it’s a slow process. Tuesday night football is also the night when I fully experience the cold of Cordoba, which isn’t nice.
But, as one of my teammate colleagues reminded us, in a few months’ time we will be aching for some coolness at night.
And less mosquitoes.
But that is for then. The now has been filled with an awful lot of rain in these parts. That we live on a flood plain has become more evident for us as we try to take the dogs for walkies without being covered in clay-like mud. It isn’t easy around here despite living on the outskirts of the city.
Some of the issues around here involve Luna possibly being shot because she’s worrying cows and/or sheep in the hills; me being propositioned for quick sex by amorous men around the cruising roads of a dilapidated industrial estate; Luna being attacked by a pack of dogs that a local Gitano decides to let out for exercise on the lane next to the railway line; cyclists running over any one of our dogs in another place in the hills; a train running over any one of our dogs on the other side of the tracks and one of the dogs getting stuck behind a farmer’s fence that they cannot fathom a way out of because they chased a bunny but can’t remember where the hole in the fence was, again in the hills.
Walkies is much easier back in the village. It is, of course, made somewhat difficult on Sundays when “Hunters” are out being moronic. They’re called hunters because they drag a stretched camouflaged t-shirt over their pot bellies, grab a gun and a slab of beer and drive out into the campo to shoot anything that moves in order to prove just how manly they are.
Because shooting a little bunny rabbit whose only crime is to eat some vegetable growing near some rocks is a real sign of how macho you are. That’s obvious, right?
These wankers are supposed to “hunt” away from the village in theory. In practise the mayor of the village is too scared of upsetting them and prosecuting them so there are always one or two who feel they can get away with shooting whilst half-pissed yards away from the village boundary and yards away from the roads that are supposed to be carrying tourists.
Our faith in our mayor has plummeted this past year. She is just too terrified of the traditionalists and fascist sympathisers that infest the village as well as one particular Gitano family who cause the majority of tension. We did have some hopes for her but there is a sense that she has kind of given up.
Perhaps the constant battles against traditionalists have taken their toll on her. Maybe. Or perhaps she has her sights set on a higher position within the ruling party. Probably. That would explain her incessant uploading of photos to her Insta account.
But enough of politicians! Enough, I say!
I saw a group of girls that I coached in the village a few weeks ago. It was really nice. They were very friendly and wanted to know if I was coming back to coach them again. Their sessions are still happening each week and their numbers are still good. If/when we do eventually return to the village full time I would seriously consider doing the coaching again. It’s a nice thing to do. I’m glad that Christian, my fellow coach, has continued it.
The loss of the bar in the plaza is still a talking point amongst our friends in the village. The mayor allowed the contract to go to people who preferred to set up the bar at the swimming pool which is at the top of our hill, two minutes walk away for us. But for the majority of the village, it’s a much longer walk.
And so when we come back on Friday nights we pass an empty plaza that used to be the beating heart of the village of a weekend evening but now sits empty and lifeless. Its forlorn visage is at odds with the memories that we have of the place where we remember families and friends gradually filling the space to engage in the favourite hobbies of all Spaniards – talking and eating and indulging really annoying children. The bar at the top just doesn’t have that same vibe at all.
In all of that, Sonalee and I acknowledge that we are very lucky at the moment that we are able to return to the village every weekend. It is our home. Our stuff is there. It is where Luna belongs. Do the weekends ever seem long enough? Of course they don’t but that is true for all of us. Is it fun to drive back to Cordoba on a Sunday evening? Of course not but it’s a lot less depressing than last year.
One of the things that we are hoping to do in the village in the future is to make use of its Padel Court. We did a Padel evening recently with our work colleagues here in Cordoba where we found out how much fun it is despite being rubbish at it. It’s a very Spanish thing to do and we really liked it.
And yes, it aches in the morning.
I also managed a short trip to France to see my BFF and participate in my god-daughter’s Confirmation presided over by the Cardinal of the locality. I can confidently say that everyone was astounded by my understanding of the French language. My god-daughter gave me many looks of utter incredulity throughout the ceremony when I appeared too cool to do the Catholic intonations and hand signs and stuff, whilst her mum and dad seemed so happy (almost laughing in fact) at my grip of what many would consider one of my lesser understood tongues.
Work circumstances and the sheer logistics of it meant I had to go on my own, which isn’t great but it was still a treat to be with my god-daughter who is no longer the sweet little girl of memory but very much a young lady of impeccable taste and sophistication. And also a writer, which was a revelation. She’s beautiful and intelligent, which I think has come as a surprise given who her father is. It must be my influence…
Sonalee and I have decided that we need to get out more whilst we are in the environs of Cordoba. We have vowed that we will go out once per week for a Date Night kind of thing. Why? Well, we live in what was once the greatest city in the whole of the Iberian Islamic kingdom and the old capital of Roman Iberia. It is steeped in history. It was the centre of all Iberian government, culture and language for over a thousand years.
We owe it to explore this place where we work and live for five nights per week. It would do a disservice not to do so.
Which is why went for a Chinese on our first Date Night.
And stayed in for the 2nd because I had marking to do.
Look, small steps, okay?
Ayubowan
Hasta Luego, Inshallah
Ciao
Paul
PS: I have always liked these lads and I love it when this comes on the playlist randomly in the van. This one always makes me sing along as well