Five Bestselling Travel Memoirs Box Set

by Twead, Victoria

  “Whoah, and there goes Arthur!” Lorna exclaimed. “Oh dear this car is going to take some cleaning.”

  There was only one thing for it: we had to make only one stop on the journey and get home as quickly as possible. On our arrival we immediately grabbed a hose and as we opened the car, we grabbed the dogs before they could escape and hosed them down. This was followed by a major scrubbing and cleaning session in the back of the car. Ever since that day both the dogs will do anything to get out of travelling in the car, and even the vet has to come to our house to do their annual jabs. To make matters worse, Arthur is petrified of the vet and I have to do his injections myself.

  Another major summer occurrence was the birth of our second alpaca cria, at Peter and Penny’s farm. This time the mother was Cassandra, and she gave birth to a beautiful, white boy. We had been hoping for a coloured girl, but we were just glad it was healthy and breathing. We chose to name the baby Rafa, as Rafa Nadal had just won his first Wimbledon title. Also, Rafael means ‘Healed by God’. His full name is Sunshine Rafael as Sunshine is the prefix for all the animals born on our farm.

  Since Cassandra had returned to Peter’s farm she had been isolated with one of our other girls, Lily. This was as a precaution, because we were unsure as to what Black Dancer had died of, and it was possible that Cassandra may have it too. We made a few lengthy trips to see Cassandra and little Rafa, and we were trying to prepare ourselves to have them back on our farm. Obviously with our previous experience, our anxiousness had been heightened.

  Around this time, a few health issues arose on Peter’s farm, sadly resulting in some losses to their herd. Mostly, animals that had been imported from the UK, but it also affected some of those that were originally on their farm. There were some losses of babies and their mothers too. It was a horrible time, and we can only imagine what Peter and Penny had to go through. Sadly, our little Basil died during this period, but thankfully Bermuda, his mother, was okay. The problem meant that it became a blessing that Cassandra, Lily and Rafa had been isolated, as they would hopefully stay clear of any health issues the other animals may be harbouring.

  Even without the animals being on our farm we were beginning to get paranoid, wondering what on earth we had got ourselves into, and dreading every phone call. Our thoughts and hearts were with Peter and Penny continually throughout this horrible time.

  I don’t know what on earth they are thinking now. First, they bring me this ginger boy, who is scared of his own shadow, and now they turn up with two huge dogs, one boy, one girl and yet, they only look like babies. They keep bashing me, and I try to tell them off but they just keep on. That’s going to get annoying.

  They seem to get more food than me, but at least the people make them sleep outside with the other one. They seem to know that I’m the boss, and they let me sleep in the house with them. The new boy though, he barks all night, it really is very disturbing. Maybe I will have to have a word with him.

  Geri

  21 Christmas

  Animal count: Four dogs (Geri, Carlos, Blue and Arthur), three feral cats, one pot-bellied pig and two chickens.

  As we broke the back of our first summer in ‘The Frying Pan’, the days slowly started to shorten, and the heat gradually began to lessen. September was upon us and the house sale was completed. We were able to buy our first pots of paint, and finally able to start getting down to some work. I’m sure it is an image no one needs, but due to the heat, and to save on washing, we found it easiest and coolest to paint in our pants! It became much easier to just jump in the shower and wash paint off rather than try and remove it from clothes. So there we were, up ladders and painting walls, in the unflattering combination of pants, socks and trainers.

  We were also able to set Neil to work, renovating our new open-plan living area, and repairing the ageing roof. This was where the bulk of our money was going, and we hoped we had made a good decision. We got on well with Neil: we had become friends and we felt we could trust him, and of course we spoke the same language. That meant Neil was around for a few months, so for four days a week we were not alone at the Mill. It made a nice change to have somebody around, but it did mean we had to start to paint and work in our clothes again. It also meant that at the weekends we also began to appreciate being on our own, enjoying the peace and tranquillity of our new home.

  As we progressed into winter, the spectre of Lorna’s first childless Christmas was beginning to loom on the horizon. We decided to try not to make too big a deal out of Christmas deciding to paint the new living area and keep ourselves busy. So we spent two weeks over Christmas, barring Christmas Day and Boxing day, outside in the cold painting. The skies were blue and clear, however the wind seemed to be coming from the north and it was bitterly cold - for those two weeks even our breath froze as we worked. We wore two layers of clothes and fingerless gloves.

  On Christmas Day, we allowed ourselves a lie-in, and after Skyping with both of Lorna’s kids, and of course a few tears, we decided to start a tradition for our new life. As the weather was sunny, we decided a barbecue would be a great idea, if only because we could!

  We set up our outside dining area on our terrace and lit the barbecue. What we had not accounted for was that our new (animal) family would want to join in the celebrations. By now, Blue and Arthur had grown in to two very large, very playful puppies. They were six months old, and still growing of course: they were now up to our waists, and beginning to put on some bulk. In contrast to their size, they liked to play like Yorkshire terriers. After spending an hour cooking the food, standing guard over the barbecue just in case one of the dogs decided to make a launch at the grill, we sat down to eat. This is where things went slightly wrong.

  Blue, who thinks she is the size of a chihuahua, tried to get under the table for a piece of meat she thought had been dropped. This alerted Arthur, who also tried to beat her to the tasty morsel, and we were unceremoniously pushed out of the way. The table wobbled, and wine and drinks spilled over the food. The next thing we knew, the table flipped and food, cutlery and drinks were spread about the terrace. An almighty melee ensued: dogs barking and fighting for scraps, us panicking over broken glass and china. Our Christmas dinner was turning into a worse fight than any dinner with the in-laws! We managed to restore order with the help of a cold hose and lots of water, but our new tradition was dead and buried before it had even begun. These days a cheap chicken from Lidl and some roast potatoes serves us just as well.

  On Boxing Day, we went out to check out the Spanish sales. We drove to Cordoba, to a large shopping centre, and parked up. Busier than we expected, we entered the centre to find people with trolleys piled high and it was insanely busy. We wandered around for a while, then began to realise that there didn’t seem to be any signs for sales. These people were still doing their Christmas shopping! We had been told about ‘Day of the Kings’ in Spain, 6th January, which was when the children traditionally received their presents, but we had thought that it was an extra celebration. In fact no, on Christmas Day the children may receive one present from Papa Noel, but their main celebration is on the 6th. It felt very alien to us, this concept.

  Where we live, life is still very traditional, and although there are a few decorations hung up in both Montoro and Cordoba, the commercialism that we experience in the UK is not so evident here. Decorations and Christmas promotions don’t start so early, and there is a much more laid back attitude to the celebrations. Here, the Christmas holiday is about spending time with families and not about how many presents you can buy your child. It’s not until you step away from the way we have become in the UK that you realise how much we have lost as a society. It really is true what they say, in the UK we live to work, but here, truly they work to live!

  Frankie managed to visit early in the New Year to take in the celebrations for King’s Day. We decided we would go into Montoro to experience the arrival of the Kings. A parade to symbolise the arrival of the Kings at the birth of baby Jesus
, this procession is put on in every town and village up and down Spain. This is the equivalent of our Christmas Eve. Children are very excited, as they will receive their presents the following day.

  The parade was preceded by people old and young wandering up and down the street, gathering their empty bags and looking for the best spot to stand. We were unaware that as the procession makes its way through the streets, the people on the floats throw bundles and bundles of sweets, with great force. It’s not unusual for children to be heard crying having being hit in the eye! There is an almighty scramble and all inhibitions go out of the window as children and adults alike crawl around on the ground collecting the hundreds of sweets. It was kind of hysterical to see all of the Spanish, particularly the well-dressed couples, joining in with the tradition. I’m not sure many people in the UK would lower themselves to join in, although I’m sure the kids would love it.

  We made the best of the few days Frankie could manage to be here, and we had a second Christmas and even cooked a traditional dinner. We decided against a barbecue this time!

  I really don’t know what all the fuss was about. All we wanted to do was join in the party. The two other dogs, they were under the table sniffing around, why shouldn’t we be allowed to go under there? And it’s certainly not our fault if they drop their food on the floor, what do they think we are going to do, just let the others have it? No way. It smelt good, and I wanted my fair share. Okay, okay, so the old girl got a bit angry, anyway, all she does is moan, and the boy went away and hid. Well, we have tried to be friends with them, but when we try to play they just shout at us. At least my brother likes to play, so sometimes we run around and play fight. This new house seems to be a nice place, but those pesky cats, they drive me mad, and they make my brother really angry, and he barks at night, but hopefully soon we will be able to catch them and then they’ll be sorry.

  Blue

  22 The Alpacas Return

  The day came in the middle of January, the day we had both been dreading, but also looking forward to. Almost a year to the day since we moved to Spain, it was time to welcome back our alpacas. We were nervous, of course, since some of the animals had become ill and died at Peter’s farm, but the problem seemed to have passed and our animals had been in isolation away from the animals with the illness.

  Our little Rafa was six months old, and had just been weaned from his mother. All our three girls were pregnant, to three different males, and due to give birth later in the year. Rafa had had an x-ray to check all was okay, but there was a suspect shadow on his chest so he was being given antibiotic injections, and we needed to arrange to take him for a follow up x-ray at the local veterinary hospital. Through Manuel, we were able to arrange an appointment and permission to move him for the check-up.

  We spent a week trying to train him to walk on a halter so that we would be able to get him to the appointment with no problems. We also had to give him two injections every day, into his muscles, for his antibiotics. This made him very sore and nervous to come to us. It becomes very difficult to thrust a needle into an animal when you know it’s causing them obvious pain and discomfort. This was something else we really had not considered when buying the animals. Lots of livestock owners administer their own medicine as it saves on costs, but the first time you have to administer a needle to an animal, it’s a horrible experience. Additionally, alpacas, even small ones, are very strong and they can jump as you try to inject.

  After his week of injections we were thankful to finish; we just had to get over the hurdle of the hospital appointment. As he was still pretty small, we managed to load him into the back of our 4x4. He was a bit distraught, but Lorna sat with him and talked to him throughout the journey. We couldn’t help but smile to ourselves as cars overtook us. You could see the looks of curiosity as they peered out of their windows whilst passing this beautiful baby alpaca in the back of the car.

  When we arrived at the hospital, we were approached immediately by students at the university wanting to touch him and take photos on their phones. We entered the hospital to find 12 students and a number of vets in attendance, all keen to see this strange animal.

  Rafa was a star most of the time; he walked through the long corridors on his halter and lead like he was a veteran of the show ring, letting people touch and stroke him. But he did refuse to stand still for the x-ray, so it took a few minutes to get done.

  The head vet suggested we take a walk outside for a while, so Rafa could relax and get some fresh air whilst they took their time checking over the x-rays. Students from the university were very curious and again came up to us and asked questions about him.

  Thankfully the x-ray turned out to be normal, so we went home happy and breathing a huge sigh of relief. With all three girls now pregnant we decided to try and keep them as stress-free as possible, so for the next few months we didn’t handle them unless absolutely necessary. We were definitely paranoid. To this day, if an alpaca is asleep sunbathing, as they like to do, I go and wake them up. I know alpacas like to soak up the sun, particularly ours it seems, but that first year’s experiences and the losses we had have affected me and I am always looking for problems.

  This new place is a bit of a nightmare. Since we arrived, every day, the people have been sticking needles into me, and it really hurts. I try to move, to tell them it’s sore but they keep doing it. Then, yesterday, they bundled me into their car and took me away from Mum, to a place which was full of people and no other alpacas anywhere. There wasn’t even a poo pile. All these people were touching me and prodding me, and trying to make me stand still, but I was very nervous. Eventually they stopped trying to pull me about, and after letting even more people touch my fleece, they put me back in the car, and took me home to Mum. I was so glad to see her, and my aunties, that I ran around the field for a few minutes. This seemed to make the people laugh. Anyway I felt much better after some dinner, and a big poo, and hopefully they will leave me alone now so I can play.

  Rafa

  23 Fishing with the Locals

  Animal count: Four dogs, three feral cats, one pot-bellied pig, two chickens and four alpacas (Cassandra, Lily, Bermuda and Rafa).

  One early spring morning, when the mornings were fresh and sometimes there was even ice on the cars, I was awoken by urgent car horns and shouting outside. Jumping out of bed and throwing on clothes in a hurry in case of a problem with the alpacas, I found Ramon and Miguel outside jabbering and gesturing away to me. They had fishing rods in the truck and wanted me to get in with them. Promises of big fish were made and grand displays of the size of previous catches were implied. They had (lots of) beer with them, and even some Coke for me. In the name of neighbourhood relations, we never know when we may need some help, so I trudged in to see Lorna and said, “I’m going fishing with Ramon and Miguel.”

  She just laughed. Fishing is not really my thing, and the thought of me sitting on a river bank spending the day with these two characters amused her greatly.

  Miguel and Ramon know the area far better than I can ever hope to, having farmed here for the majority of their lives. They have ‘discussions’ that you always feel are one wrong word away from a full-blown fist fight, but then something amuses the other, and backslapping and laughter is resumed. It’s all part of a good, healthy discussion.

  We dawdled up the track, on a different course to anywhere Lorna and I had driven, and as we drove up and over the top of a hill there appeared a large lake we had no idea even existed, and it was only five minutes away from our house.

  We turned onto a small track, running through a dense, forest laden area, and emerged in a clearing, on the edge of the lake. There was an upturned wooden dinghy at the water’s edge. I hadn’t really bargained on being trapped in a small boat with these two lunatics, and having seen Miguel’s lively performances to date, I just knew we were destined to end up capsized in the water.

  Without any further ado, I was ushered to work, helping lift the dinghy into the
water.

  “Venga, venga” and “mas fuerte” were being shouted at me. “C’mon, c’mon” and “more strong.”

  We unloaded the car, and there were some fishing rods, bait, cans of beer, coca-cola and “mucho” stale bread and olive oil in an old cola bottle. Ramon climbed into the boat and we handed him the provisions. In the role befitting the elder gentleman in the group, he then began directing us.

  Miguel and I pushed the boat out onto the water, submerging our feet and ankles, and then jumped in the boat, while it rocked wildly from side to side. Ramon and Miguel were in fits of laughter, most the time I never really understand why. I wasn’t really sure if this was a serious fishing expedition or a big old laugh at the crazy English bloke’s expense. Either way I was entertaining them. We used a long stick as a kind of punt, and propelled ourselves out in to the lake. Miguel, with his customary ear-to-ear grin handed me a rod and then offered me the bait container. I grimaced at him.

  “Nooo, solo mira. Me, no,” giving a definitive no-way signal with my hands. I was trying to say I was happy just to watch. Of course, this meant more laughter. These Spanish farmers must wonder what I spent my youth doing. I don’t know how to fish, or ride a horse, and as for working on the olives, as far as they are concerned I am next to useless.

  Ramon and Miguel threw the lines into the water and cracked open the beers. We waited and drank. Drank and waited. After what seemed like an age of nothing happening, although in reality only an hour had passed, both Ramon and Miguel began to drift off to sleep in the bloody boat. After about another 30 minutes, one line twitched slightly, and Miguel was wide awake and alert.

  “¡Zapatilla, zapatilla!” He was shaking Ramon.