Alfacar - Battered but not Beaten!

Mmm! It is one of life's little pleasures to have a quince-scented living room at this time of year. These lovely great golden fruits (and we are not talking about the little spiny shrubs of many a suburban English garden here - these are the trees of fame and antiquity) are not only the raw material for making the firm, sweet, sliceable paste called membrillo (excellent when taken with a slice of cured cheese) but with their at times almost overwhelmingly fruity, perfumed fragrance, are the perfect air freshnener for car and home.

Today, Alfacar is basking in brilliant, unimpeded sunshine. I have lived here long enough, however, not to be fooled by the town's proximity to the Med in terms of what to expect from the weather. We are at altitude here - real altitude compared with just about anywhere in the United Kingdom. I'm sure that the majority of my English brethren, those who have never visited this part of Andalucia, do not believe me when I say that the wonderful view from my terrace is dominated by the Sierra Nevada mountains (the original Sierra Nevada, not those North American impostors!), which for five months of the year are covered with snow and indeed host Europe's most southerly and very successful ski station. Nor, I am sure, do they believe that we experience more days of settling snow than ever I did in my previous home in northwest England, and probably more sustained frosts too.

For those who are not in the know, Alfacar is a moderately sized town with a population of five thousand and something, 7 kilometres north west of Andalucia's pride, the city of Granada with its dazzling history and culture and world-reknowned architectural legacy in the shape of the Nazrid palaces of the Alhambra. Alfacar itself is famous locally and has even hit the international headlines from time to time; locally, for its centuries-old breadmaking tradition, and internationally as the disputed resting place of the eminent 20th Century poet, Federico Garcia Lorca, assassinated by the fascists in 1936 at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War.

Ascending from gently rising, olive-covered undulations that overlook the fertile plains of the Granada Vega to the steep flanks of the Sierra de Huetor, Alfacar occupies a privileged position. From its ancient routes (Neolithic remains have been discovered here) and its medieval importance as a summer retreat for the Moslem Zirite monarchs of Islamic Al-Andalus, it has spread out from its ancient Arabic centre - a physical process which has not always benefitted the town. It is not only "incomers" like myself who mourn the fate of many of the beautiful old buildings here, which have either fallen into disrepair or just plain fallen down to be replaced by ugly rubbish-filled vacant plots or hideous, faceless modern apartments. Many of my Spanish friends feel exactly the same about the slow rot that has consumed the heart of this and many similar towns in Andalucia.

Look no further than local administration - and again, it's not me saying this! As a resident of a mere five year's standing it would be very presumptious to be so outspoken (even though that's exactly what I am going to do in this little blog of mine). But friends tell me of how Plaza San Diego, or some other part of the old heart of Alfacar, has lost its soul as a result of the cynical and greed-driven speculation of construction firms, aided and abetted by successive town councils. There are still narrow, shady alleys and splendid ancient homes with cool inner courtyards here, paths and smallholdings and fountains and unexpected corners filled with joy and delight to be discovered, and I pray that some enlightened administration will save such vanishing treasures before it is too late.

Local politics in Spain is rather different from the quaint, ye-oldy-worldly, Vicar of Dibley stereotype associated with the green vales and church spires of Merrie Englande. Here it's sometimes a pistols at dawn, bash your political opponent before he does the same to you kind of affair. And speaking of affairs, it is not on occasion without a fair squeeze of juice and a hint of spice. Rumour has it that last year, the former right-wing, absentee Mayoress of Alfacar was caught in flagrante in the municipal seat of power itself, giving one of her male parishioners more than merely parochial guidance... Her replacement right-wing Mayoress scarcely seems to have inspired the populace into ecstasies of rapture, either, going by the number of fliers for one protest meeting or another, that one sees posted around the town with persistent regularity.

 And with the rise of Podemos ("We Can"), the latest political force in Spain who have as one of their central tenets the fight against political corruption (more of them another time, I am sure), we'll see if this new kid on the block changes the local political landscape in next May's general and municipal elections.

Until next time... hasta luego.