by Parks, Alan
I am sure you can imagine that this made us fume. For a start, the alpacas are not in cages. Yes, we do have chain-link fencing around the property which helps keep the animals in and any undesirables out. There is not a single piece of barbed wire anywhere as the alpacas would get their fleeces horribly entangled. Yes, we do lock the gates if we don’t need to go out. By midday, the temperature can be anything from 35 to 50 degrees, so we should have been standing out in this heat as a ‘welcoming committee’?
We did receive word from Sarah with a copy of the email she sent to the couple, which was harshly-worded and honest, basically saying how rude they had been considering the work we had put in for them. We had to move on but it was a bit of a disappointment as we know how rural the Olive Mill is. Obviously one day it will be perfect for somebody, but the number of people it would suit is certainly much less than those looking for an apartment in Marbella.
Chapter 17
Highs
A few months later, an email popped up in our inbox from another one of our estate agents. This time, however, it was slightly different. Apparently a TV producer from Canada had picked out our home to appear on a new show on Canadian TV called ‘Where Do You Want To Live’? We love our house and think it is beautiful, so it is always great to hear that others agree. A date was set for the end of July. Now we really had to get our act together and make the Olive Mill look good enough for its TV appearance.
After three sweltering weeks of yet more weeding, painting and cleaning, we were finally ready for our big day. We were expecting the crew, plus the estate agent, to arrive at 9am at our usual meeting point. We had never met this particular agent before and were pleased that she was going to see the property at its best, and so hopefully we could use this opportunity to gain a bit more exposure and perhaps reach prospective buyers.
Just as the clock ticked over to 9 o’clock, two hire cars pulled up behind me and three men got out. I could see another man asleep in the back of one of the cars, and a blonde lady in the front wearing what looked like designer shades.
“Hey there man, you must be Alan,” said the first man with a drawl. “Great to be here! I’m Ken.” Ken was a tall thin man, well-groomed and a Julian Clary look-alike, although in no way camp. “This is Dave.”
“Hey,” said the second man in a gruff voice. He was bear-like with cropped grey hair, almost military style.
The third man stood quietly, and nodded when Ken introduced him as Kim. Kim was of Asian origin and seemed to be the shyest of the group. We sat on Frank’s (my car) bonnet in the early morning sun and waited for the agent to arrive. And waited. Nearly 45 minutes later, a car pulled up and a woman jumped out. Wearing a traditional tailored suit, she looked as though she had stepped out of the pages of an upmarket country magazine.
“Good morning everybody, I’m Victoria and my daughter, Verity, is in the car. Are we all ready?” she said without a word of apology. Victoria got back in the driver’s seat and gave us a royal wave.
The Canadians and I looked at each other and got back in our respective cars, shaking our heads.
The journey to the Olive Mill normally takes 15 to 20 minutes depending on the speed of the people following me, so I keep a reasonably slow pace. The Canadian team kept up well, but from the start, the two ladies lagged behind, and more than once we had to pull over and wait for them to catch us up.
As we pulled into the grounds, the Canadians got out first and introduced themselves to Lorna. For the first time we met Sean, who had been asleep (although he refused to shake hands as he said he was feeling rather fluey), and the glamorous woman whom we found out was called Isabella. Isabella was tall, blonde and rather beautiful.
Victoria and Verity got out of their car and headed towards Lorna.
“I am Victoria and this is Verity,” said the agent and walked off expecting us all to follow. Lorna showed them in, while I helped the crew with their equipment. By now it was nearly 10.30am and the weather was heating up fast. We didn’t know it, but this was going to be one of the hottest days of the year, touching 50 degrees.
In the cool of the kitchen, we had rigged up a couple of fans. Victoria stood herself directly in front of one of them so no-one else could feel the benefit.
“Could I have a green tea, dear?” she asked Lorna. “I’m afraid we only have normal tea, coffee, beer or water,” replied Lorna.
With a huff, Victoria said, “Oh well, I’ll go without then.”
The crew were busy putting up lights and Sean, who turned out to be the sound man, was looking pretty ropey although strangely none of the others seemed to have any sympathy for him. Isabella had seated herself in front of the window and was making sure her make-up was perfect.
“Now we would like you to show Isabella around the property, and make out that it is a tour,” said Ken to Victoria.
“Oh no dear,” she said. “I don’t want to be on camera. That’s why I brought Verity along.”
Verity stood up and shook hands with Ken. Until this point she had not uttered a word.
“Nice to meet you, Ken. Yes, I will be doing the tour today,” she said with a cool assurance. She was a mini-me version of her mother, even down to the same posh accent.
“We’d like to start in the entrance and walk through the large courtyard, slowly coming into the smaller courtyard with the old olive stones. That should make a great first shot,” said Ken.
So the crew were despatched to do the set-up while Ken gave Isabella and Verity a pep talk about what he was expecting. We decided to watch the first shots from up on our terrace.
It was very professional, much more so than we expected to be honest: lots of equipment and even a clapperboard for the start of scenes. The two women were given their directions and told to walk towards the camera as they were talking about the property, while the camera panned around the courtyard. We watched, quite excited, as they walked into the courtyard. Two of the alpacas in the small paddock adjacent started to orgle (‘orgling’ is the noise an alpaca makes when they mate). These boys were teenage males at the time and their testosterone levels were starting to build up. Before we could do anything, Rafa was hitching a lift on the back of Marcus, trying his best to get him to the ground and mate with him. The girls had stopped talking by now and everybody was watching the boys’ antics. Marcus was trying his best to dislodge Rafa, running and turning around and spitting.
As they passed by the girls, Verity looked at her mother, laughing, just as Marcus launched a big green spit over his shoulder at Rafa. Sadly though, it missed its target and hit her directly on the shoulder of her immaculate jacket.
“Aahhh,” Verity screamed, followed by, “Uuughh” as the smell hit her.
Ken and Dave, the cameraman, were in hysterics but Verity was devastated and ran to the kitchen in tears. Victoria pushed her way past us, and went to comfort her daughter. We gave them a few minutes. When we entered the kitchen there was a debate going on.
“We want to go home,” said Victoria finally.
Verity was sitting at the table, head in her hands, apparently refusing to go on camera now because her clothes were ruined.
“I can lend her an outfit from my wardrobe,” offered Isabella. This was the first thing we had heard her say, apart from “Hello.”
So after a little persuading, Verity was squeezed into a brightly coloured, tightly-fitting dress, much more Hollywood than I imagine she was used to but she seemed to be more at ease on screen (although Victoria didn’t look too happy about it).
After a couple of hours, Ken came and asked Victoria what she had done about lunch as they only had an hour or so more of shooting before doing the ‘beauty’ shots in the afternoon.
“Oh dear, I don’t know. I thought we could go to a restaurant, but we seem to be in the middle of nowhere. I don’t know what to do.”
Ken looked at me. Obviously this should have been sorted by Victoria, but I suggested that I pop out while they finished filming, get some food
and we could knock up something for lunch. Ken was really grateful, so I sped to town and bought some food.
On my return, I went to the kitchen but there was no-one to be seen. Strange, I thought. After a minute or two, I could hear screams and shouts coming from the pool area. I went out to find the entire crew in the pool, including the previously off-colour Sean. Isabella was lying on a sunbed topping up her ‘Hollywood’ tan. Lorna came back in after taking out drinks.
“Where’s Victoria?” I asked.
“They needed a lie down,” Lorna whispered. “They’re upstairs, I said we would call them for lunch.”
How very odd.
The shoot had gone well, and after we had cleared up, Victoria and Verity left as they were no longer needed and the crew got on with their beauty shots. Sean and Isabella relaxed by the pool. We soon found out from them that far from having the flu, Sean had in fact been out on the town in Cordoba the night before and had been suffering the after-effects for most of the day. Isabella turned out to be really nice and very normal: she had also been suffering in the morning, hence the lack of conversation.
A couple of hours later, Ken came in to say they had finished filming and assured us that our old Mill would look “real sexy” by the time they had completed the editing.
Ken asked if we would mind just doing a couple of little bits to-camera about why we loved Cordoba, and why we lived here. So we came up with a couple of lines each, but this proved one of the longest jobs of the day. It is amazing how conscious you become of how stupid you sound when somebody is filming you. It was only two lines but took me about 45 minutes to get right, and they never used it anyway.
At about 6pm we said goodbye to them all and could finally relax. We had worked hard to show off our house in its best light and hoped it would come across that way on screen!
Eventually many months later the programme aired in Canada, although we had to wait even longer to see the programme. The producers sent us a DVD with the programme on, and although the piece was pretty short, we both agreed that the Mill did indeed look ‘real sexy’.
Chapter 18
Fiesta de Zumba
At Christmas we had decided to have a little party for the Zumba class to say thank you to the women who had been so supportive to Lorna. On a trip down to the coast we stocked up on some proper English treats: sausage rolls, fondant fancies, chocolate tea cakes, mince pies, sandwiches and sparkling wine. There was a good turnout for the party although some of them were a bit unsure of some of the food, particularly the mince pies.
So, in the run-up to the following summer (we stop the classes during July and August because of the heat,) we decided to invite the ladies and their families to the Olive Mill for a barbecue and to meet the alpacas and the other animals. I’m not sure anyone can imagine quite how difficult it is to try and arrange something like this with people with whom you struggle to have a conversation. There is, of course, Google Translate which does a good but very basic job. If you start to try and create complicated sentences it causes more problems than it solves.
We asked Jorge to translate a letter for us which Lorna then typed out and gave to her class. They then had to discuss it with their families and so on. Initially we get responses saying some people couldn’t do certain days, and then they couldn’t do weekends because of their families. Then we would have to explain again that they could bring their families. Eventually, everybody understood.
A date was set for a Sunday in June, before the hottest of the weather set in but still warm enough (the Spanish won’t swim in a pool unless the water is warm and our pool is not heated). We set up the barbecue, prepared a supply of homemade burgers and, in the late afternoon, I drove to the rendezvous point. Of course the group was late arriving, as is the Spanish way, but eventually four cars turned up loaded with people and with pool inflatables hanging out of the windows. We set off driving through the olives, and when we got to the house, the cars following slowed to a halt as their occupants caught their first sight of the alpacas. It always makes me happy when people first see them; they instantly make everyone smile.
Such were the logistical difficulties of getting everybody together at the same time that the entire class was not able to be there. We had managed to get five of the ladies and their families to come plus Rosario, who works in the ayuntamiento. When we first came to live here and needed to go and register in the town hall, we were told to speak to the blonde woman behind the desk as she speaks a little English. She does, but it really is only a little. At the start of every Zumba class, Rosario comes bounding in, saying loudly, “Hello!”
“Hello. How are you?” Lorna’s reply is always the same.
“Fine thank you. And you?” says Rosario.
And that is the extent of her English, so while she is lovely and friendly and helpful, don’t expect to have a conversation with her. Rosario came with Bar Lady, and Ana was with her ‘lady friend’ which was a bit of a scandal in Montoro: the town is very Catholic and we have not seen any openly gay couples around, not like we were used to in Brighton. Then there was Tall Girl and her friend and their families, and also Snow White.
On arrival they got out of their cars and began talking quietly amongst themselves. Our lifestyle seems as strange to the locals as to our friends in the UK. There are lots of houses around the campo, but nobody lives in them permanently. They are used for weekends and special occasions, and sometimes in the summer for a few weeks as people think it is cooler in the country than in town. Of course, these days they have also become accustomed to modern comforts: air conditioning, electricity and Internet. We often see an old boy out tending to his crops driving an ancient tractor that looks like it needs winding up, but with the latest smart phone glued to his ear.
Everyone came through for a drink. Blue was on welcome duty, and as per normal with the Spanish, they were a little scared of her and kept their distance. Even the children were wary, and Blue loves children. We sat down and offered everyone drinks, but Tall Girl and her friend had brought their young children, and Snow White was with her granddaughter, and the kids were anxious to meet the alpacas and jump in the pool.
We walked to the alpacas with the ladies asking all the usual questions: “Why do we keep them? Can you eat them? Can you milk them?” We managed to answer and the boys were stars, eating their hay from the hands of the children for the obligatory photo opportunity. After a few minutes the kids got bored, and we headed back to the pool.
The women had by now got their first drink in and were beginning to loosen up. They had probably been as nervous of coming to our house as we are when we visit the Spanish. They asked for music, so I went inside to put on some songs. At the same time Lorna left me to organise the barbecue while she entertained the guests. These are our normal roles. After lighting the wood fire pit and putting food in the oven, I went back out to find the children happily chasing the kittens around and jumping in the pool, while Rosario was leading the grown-ups in an aqua version of ‘Gangnam Style’! They were letting their hair down and Lorna was loving it. While I am obviously a lovely and kind human being, one thing I am not is a party animal, so when there is a chance for Lorna to let her hair down she does. It also only takes a glass and a half of wine to make her a little merry, so she also has the advantage of being a cheap date!
After poolside Zumba, the barbecue was ready. Sometimes when we have had Spanish people come to eat with us they can be a little wary of our food, but these ladies were happy to get stuck in. Food was being passed around amid much conversation, most of which was way above our heads. A couple of them became a little worse for wear, one of whom was Tall Girl’s friend, Ana. While reaching for her glass with her eyes half closed, she said suddenly, completely out of the blue, “This has been wonderful, Lorna, thank you so much.”
Lorna and I looked at each other in shock and then at Ana, who was oblivious.
“You can speak English, Ana?” asked Lorna aghast.
Ana
had been coming to class for months, and not once had she shown any sign of being able to speak even the simplest word in English.
“Only a little,” she replied. That is what everyone says, even if they are fluent.
“Oh my God,” Lorna said. “All those times I have tried to tell you all things and used my hands and got things wrong, and you spoke English!”
“I think it is better for you to speak Spanish,” Ana explained.
Of course she was right. If Lorna had known her English was so good, she would have relied on her to translate. I think also Ana was a bit shy about her English and worried about making mistakes, but in our home she had relaxed and had a bit to drink, and it had come out without her realising.
The time was dragging on past midnight; the kids were still active, in and out of the pool and running around in the dark, and the ladies wanted to do some dancing as the temperature cooled. Apparently Rosario had learnt some basic flamenco when she was younger, and wanted to show Lorna. So we found some music online, cranked it up, and moved the tables and chairs from the decking. Rosario was very serious, but with a glint in her eye, she showed Lorna and the others some basic moves. They were foot-stamping and clapping, and with the fire still burning amid the darkness, it was a very atmospheric scene. The stamping was very noisy as the flamenco was taking place on the wood decking, and I was nervous someone would put their foot through and hurt them self. At about 2am, the women decided it was time to make a move, which we were thankful for. As lovely as it was, trying to communicate in Spanish for that length of time is exhausting. The gang piled in their cars and headed off into the night. We collapsed onto chairs and decided to leave the washing-up until the next morning.
