Tales of the Lecrin Valley

A personal view of life in an andalusian village.

You can say what you like about Alexandra of the Salerosa Cultural Club, (but make sure she isn’t listening, the fiery Italian woman that she is,) but she certainly knows how to make the village come alive.  She has now instigated a Sunday market on the first Sunday of every month, with the whole of the square being filled with stalls.  There are people selling jewellery and knick-knacks and locals selling produce; the women cakes, bread and such and the men their vegetables and fruits from the campo.  I’m glad the farmers weren’t around when I was a lad, as they are selling stuff so cheap that it would have made scrumping not worth the hassle and I would have missed out on a host of boyhood adventures.  For instance, this week there were green chilli peppers of a fantastic quality, for one euro a kilo.  That is a plastic bag full for less than a quid.  In Granada they are one euro forty  a quarter, and they don’t have the dew still on them.  Spinach, pomegranates the size of handballs, grapefruit, lemons, quinces or quince jelly, you name it and it was there.  And Alex always lays on some kind of enternment.  A classical guitar player, a flamenco singer, a brazilian string afficionado, and this week a fantastic cross-over group fusing classical flamenco with more modern dance.  A really fantastic experience, and free.  The local people in the village enjoy it as it brings life to the village and gives them a chance to earn a couple of bob.

See – http://www.facebook.com/pages/Saleres-Spain/Club-Cultural-La-Salerosa/125170630848948

In fact, keep plugged in to the Salerosa wesite on a regular basis, to see what is going on in the sleepy village of Saleres.   

Part of this weekend will be spent with the family in front of the tele, keeping tracks on Fernando Alonso who is now a national hero and has a chance of lifting  the F1 championship in Abu Dhabi.  Strangely, the Spanish have suddenly become experts on Forumla One, but don’t remember my heroes of Jackie Stewart, James Hunt and Nigel Mansell.  (I remember one contemporary of Mansell saying that your worst nightmare was to have Our Nige in your rear-view mirror.)  Seems like nothing succeeds like success.