The weather has finally turned from very wet, at least temporarily, and into the normal kind of weather we associate with Cordoba i.e. hot and dry.

It has been pissing it down for about six weeks now, which is not exactly normal and it does seem that a lot of rain has fallen in a short period of time rather than being spread out over a longer stretch.  I say a lot, it has been a pattern of downpour, a break of drizzling rain for a few days and then another downpour. 

Living on a floodplain during the week has, of course, been a teeny bit problematic in that we can’t walk the dogs in or around the local area.  We have to drive them up into the hills and to where there are horses, cows,  bulls, sheep and cyclists; all of whom Luna likes to bark ferociously at and annoy beyond any normal limit.  Oh, and other dogs guarding their own patches of land.  

Luna likes to do this at home in Fuente Tojar, of course.  She loves walking around the village looking for trouble.  That’s what she’s all about.  Looking for trouble is her raison d’etre, her reason for being.

The thing with looking for trouble at home is that it is normally confined to rabbits in the campo and cats in the village.  Here it with much larger creatures who have owners who are not enamoured of shrieking little bundles of energy bothering their charges and who have a gun license. 

Much like in Morocco when Luna invaded one of the Royal Palaces and started barking at the Royal Peacocks with armed guards watching (they were amused rather than annoyed) , we have to be more careful around here.   

That said, even around home she has the ability to run into a neighbouring village to harass other dogs even whilst we’re on a lovely campo walk and only returning when she decides that she has made her point sufficiently.  Which is what she did when my sister Tracy and bro-in-law Mikey visited during the half term break.

It was as if Luna was determined to show just how much of a pain in the arse she really is. 

She succeeded.

She did, however, redeem herself in the eyes of my sister by doing a very long run  with her along the Via Verde as part of her marathon training and which gave Tracy the opportunity to fall in love with Luna just as everyone else has over the past six years.

Everybody loves Luna.  It is a truism.

The half-term was actually nice in that it didn’t rain that much so we were able to go out and about.  And we very much went out and about.

We visited Antequerra to see my other sister and my other bro-in-law for the day (they were visiting Malaga for yet another European Weekend Away Because We’re Just Like That) and it was brilliant.  We have been talking about visiting the town ever since we arrived six years ago but had never been arsed to get off the sofa to do so.

It’s a great place!  Seriously, it far exceeded our expectations and we didn’t even get to do half of what was on offer to tourists.  We did get to see the hundreds of churches that seem to inhabit every corner of the town and we also got to go to the amazing Moorish Castle that overlooks the place and – this is a first – we got to have drinks sat in the middle of a proper bullring (no bulls there obviously) because why wouldn’t there be a café serving drinks in the middle of a bullring? 

There were an awful lot of churches though.  It seemed excessive.  Possibly even decadent. 

Anyway, it was a fab day out.

All of the above was  done with a broken rib on my part caused by the misguided or even ridiculously stupid idea that I can, at my advanced age, snowboard to a level where I can actually not cause injury and pain to myself.

What can I say?  We live in a village in Andalusia that is an easy day trip away from some great snowboarding and skiing.  Sure, it isn’t cheap but during the period of my birthday when apparently expensive things become acceptable, why wouldn’t I do something stupid?

Am I lucky?  OMG, am I lucky.  There I was serenely being a smug twat making his way down a Blue slope when suddenly I hit a patch of ice which made me accelerate to the ‘Scaring the Shit’ level when I then hit a snowbank which then made me tumble in a comical way – comical when it doesn’t happen to you obviously – and land painfully but luckily not with any broken limbs just ribcages. 

Sonalee wasn’t exactly surprised nor was she overly sympathetic.  Something about “Stupid Old Men” came up during conversations about it. 

What to do?   

Anyway, I think both my sisters and brothers-in-law enjoyed their visits.  Tracy’s included a trip to see our local olive oil producing factory which is always cool.  Our guide, Emilio, was his usual genial self and gave the women a free sample of the local oil because, obviously, only women cook with it.

The broken rib has put the kybosh on playing football for a while and has also stymied my preparation for my Big Run this weekend in the hills of nearby town on the way to the Portuguese border.   I say Big Run, it’s nothing like the distances that my sister and brother in law are even doing for their training runs of an evening. 

But it is the first one of the year so I am a little apprehensive.  I’ve decided to go local with my running this year since a weekend away to some of the larger races can be somewhat expensive and a total pain in the rear because of four dogs and two cats to be looked after.

Sonalee and I have had many many discussions about this issue of whether the animals are hindering our dreams and wishes and desires to travel and we have agreed that they, without a doubt, do that.   Their existence means that we cannot go to so many places to visit nor can we plan to move to faraway exotic places to take up fabulous job offers and take so many beautiful photos of how incredibly cool we are.

The dogs and the cats are a heavy anchor chaining us to Andalusia/Spain/Southern Europe/possibly North Africa.  Yes, I know, how horrible is that?  They mean that we have to consider their unconditional love and whether it is worth us being bound to this particular corner of Europe as opposed to being really hip and stylish travellers of the world doing hip and stylish stuff in hip and stylish places.

Are they worth it?

Of course they bloody are.  We wouldn’t have it any other way.

Just ask my sister and my brother in law if seeing Luna running in the campo with joy emanating from every limb as she hurtles towards whatever bunny-filled hole in the ground isn’t one of the most life-affirming sights you will ever see.  Or ask Sonalee’s brother if falling asleep on a sofa whilst in a cwtch (It’s a Welsh term) with Dante isn’t one of the great ways to chill out.

And let us not forget that our animals are incredibly well travelled anyway.  Dora and Bindi and Dante have lived on three different continents and in four different countries.  It’s not like they’re holding us back that much. 

And so we find ourselves here in Cordoba working at the same school; a school with some issues it has to be said but also a school with a Hell of a lot more positives than negatives and one that has some really nice kids and some lovely colleagues. 

Yes, we have to deal with the Andalusian drivers of the city each and every day.  And, yes, each and every day we encounter yet more bizarre and astonishing examples of absolute twattery that you actually struggle to comprehend.

No two days are the same.  Ever.  Each day we find ourselves witnessing such unbelievable levels of utter fuckwittery on the roads as to make you question whether what you just saw actually happened.

Admittedly, these occasions are not helped by a road system designed by someone on crack or something similar whereby any junction can suddenly morph into a traffic jam or accident or point of contention between pedestrians and drivers just by a change in the lights.  You have to see it to understand it because I lack the linguistic prowess to describe how bizarre the traffic light systems, the junctions systems, the road layouts and the crossings are.

And, to be fair, Cordoban drivers are taught to drive by morons and judged whether they should pass their test by total imbeciles.  It is the only way to explain why they insist on using the outside lane of any roundabout TO DRIVE ALL THE BLOODY WAY ROUND THE THING EVEN IF THERE ARE FIVE EXITS AND THE ROUNDABOUT IS MASSIVE.

However that does not excuse parking on roundabouts or zebra crossings to let someone out who is oblivious about the dangers of what oncoming traffic is.  Nor does it allow for the idea that the signal lights on any car should not be used at all in any situation or, and this is my favourite, used to indicate turning right when in fact you’re not actually turning right!

Ahem.

Yeah, so, we’re here in Cordoba and rather enjoying it at the moment.  The exams season is coming upon us and is obviously a stressful time for the students and us as we prepare them for their culmination of formal education. 

It would be very wrong of me to suggest that many teachers are looking forward to their exam students leaving to start their study leave in a month or so.  So, I won’t say that.  That would be so wrong.

Anyway, ayubowan mis amigos

Hasta Luego, inshallah

Ciao

Paul

PS:  Always love these guys.   Because of this.  And because of this as well.