Almond blossoms

There is a renewed vigor coming in 2011. The casita is under renovation, being disassembled and reassembled by Pep Figueres. Though I am currently trapped in the hell that is Portland, Oregon, I see a light at the end of this gray tunnel. And it is called La Figuera, Montsant, province of Tarragona, Spain. Stay tuned.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Back in the states. So difficult. The political climate is suffocating. How I long for the quiet days in (La Figuera). The (Priorat) is simply one of the most unique places on earth, and even the Pacific Northwest can't compete with magic. Portland was just ranked #2 by a national bike mag as the best city to ride, but the Priorat is slated to become a (Unesco World Heritage) site. It's all about depth, appreciation for what's come before, what the future can be. PDX is about hipsters, groove, and being cool. That, mingled with the pleased provincialism, nourished by incessant rain, and capped off by packaging history in million dollar "public art", and mama gets crazy.Enough rant.Dreams of my finca keep it real
The practical aspects of realizing a dream make for interesting explorations. Primary issue: water. We have been doing a great deal of research on water catchment,(water wise gardening), and water consumption. We currently live in an environment where water flows freely, and people pay little to no attention to its conservation. Rain came down in torrents yesterday and the water falling from the roof of our workplace alone would have been enough to fill a sizable deposit on the finca for use in a vegetable garden. When you become aware of water, because you have little to none at your fingertips, interesting possibilities reveal themselves. Like (aquaponics), not a new concept, but new to me. Brushing my teeth has become a new experience, showering a luxury, washing clothes a study in reuse. The challenge of using sustainable resources, not as buzz, but rather as reality, has been enervating. Stop with the individual bottles of water, people. Oops, near rant :)

Priorat in May

It's hard to believe it's my third trip to the Priorat this year. The dream of a year round life seems possible. Came back to see the <(finca)> plowed up, and wept as I rounded the corner in my Smart car. So beautiful! Definition to the terraces, the landscape, the trees.The next step is smoothing it all out, and begin the process of cleaning all the existing olives and planting new. Our crop this year may be down, but within a couple of years we are back to what the neighbors and those in the know say is an amazing yield.
The 4th annual <(Tast amb Llop)> was amazing. Cristina and Waldo outdid themselves.The Spanish TV personality,<(El Gran Wyoming)> ,was the star attraction, playing classic rock tunes to a crowd that included village inhabitants and foreigners from all parts of Europe, there to taste some of the best wines in the world, including Clos Figueres and Mogador, Alvaro Plalacios, René Barbier, and, my favorite,<(Sao del Coster)>. . After a day of helping Pep Figueres set up tents, and then being ticket collector with Marta at the entrance, I was left stupefied by the unfolding events. Something about El Gran Wyoming singing Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone" in the town center of Gratallops brought me to tears. By midnight I got myself back in to the Smart and headed back over the mountain home to La Figuera, missing out on Waldo's wild boar dinner, and ongoing festivities until 6 a.m. I am told. What a poop!
And then the rains. Pity we don't have our rainwater catchment system in place. Two days to stay inside and work, preparing pieces for Lincoln Center in June. Yesterday I ventured out for a walk in the countryside, only to find the <(vines)> and poppies even more beautiful after a healthy drink
I am left wondering why bother to paint? Nature herself is doing a fine job.
Off to Reus today, with Cristina. Girls day out, to Zahra for Violet's b'day presents!

Ringing in the New Year

To say it has been an eventful opening to the new year would be an understatement. Having arrived at Cal Llop on New Year's Eve, St. Silvester's feast day, we were greeted with kisses, and ushered off to
(Room 6) for a nap before the evenings festivities. The hotel was full, and Waldo had organized the team (which now included Joao, a most delightful Brazilian we met when we first came to this wonderful place) to create a fantastic 9 course dinner, with a variety of wines and cava, and which included roast suckling pig. We rang in the new year with the traditional gong of the bell (in this case a kitchen pot) while popping twelve grapes into our mouths, followed by a toast with cava. At 1:30 we proceeded down to (Irreductibles) for a cotillón de noche vieja, an impromptu party of dancing and carrying on, which included hotel guests, local folks, and even the mayor of Gratallops and his wife. A wild "night", ending at 6:30 a.m. Fun!

Once the holidays settled down, we set about the task of finding a house to rent in our village, (La Figuera). A combination of chatting in the local bar, tips from friends, and a walk around the village yielded some results. We met with a delightful young woman named Marta at the local hang out (where the men sit on one side playing cards and drinking beer and the women sit on the other chatting and drinking coffee, old school), and she led us to a fantastic house, (L'Eremita). Needless to say, at $420. a month, we have decided to rent the bottom half for the year, starting in March. With wi-fi, a washing machine, and a terrace with a view, it will make our transition so much more comfortable, while we renovate the casita. Moving forward.

And then the snows came. What a storm! Two days of non-stop snow. David had left by then, headed back to PDX for work, and made it out in the nick. We have been snowbound since Thursday, with ice creating a skating rink on the village streets. But oh how beautiful it is. The trick now is to get out Monday to catch the train in Reus, bound for Barcelona. Cristina is headed to Madrid, to catch a flight to Marrakech, Waldo hangs in Barcelona with Pelutti (their fabulous dog), waiting for Cristina to return so they can hang in Ibiza for two weeks, and I head back to PDX. I'd rather be going to Ibiza, but c'est la vie. Next time. With flights at 40 euro from Barcelona, and a car rental at 10 euro, why not?

New Year in the Priorat

Going to the den of wolves to ring in the new year. Prepare for 2010, because twill be the year. We fly on Wednesday, December 30, and arrive at(Cal Llop) for New Years Eve. (Eating grapes) with our Priorat family . And hopefully finding a home of our own, a townhouse we can hang our shingle on, a place to work, invite friends and family, leave treasures secured. My goal: next New Year in the Priorat as denizens. Stay tuned!

What will the new year bring?

Our scheduled month in Gratallops, as guardians of the hotel, has been waylaid. Truly distressing. Cristina sent photos of the snowfall in the Priorat, a blanket of beauty.
I have been dreaming of the church bells and the birds singing outside the window of Cal Llop. And now I am trying to reconcile myself to the fact that I am stuck in the misery that is Portland, Oregon, because of possible work for David. Sad, to be tethered to a place who's usefulness has worn off. Will I ever get to where I long for?
We had hoped to at least rendezvous for a couple of weeks at Cal Llop, to ring in the new year, but I fear I have incurred the wrath of Cristina by not coming for the month. Who knows.
Today is Christmas Eve, the first holiday without any of the kids. Weird. I won't do this again, not here. Next Christmas, Spain.

The Harvest in Priorat

September has come and gone. Our two week hop across the pond, to the Priorat for the vendimia was a glorious time. We bounced from the hotel to Waldo and Cristina's townhouse, trying to be useful with small chores like hemming curtains and hanging up paintings. Best of all was filling in at the hotel, as barkeep, waitress, sous chef, and dishwasher. Like an episode of "Fawlty Towers", so delightful!
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=6698933542780842398#

The cruelty of time

I have reconciled myself to the fact that few will read this "blog", but those of you that do, I can only say that the few months that have passed between my last entry and today 'splain it all. As we prepare to head back to La Figuera, to drill once again for the coveted water, I am struck by how much pain and joy co-mingle. My eldest son, my first born, is getting married. And a dear friend, one I had struggled hard to hang on to, has died. And yet I persist in returning to the Priorat, to the finca, because I believe, I dream, I imagine. Is that so wrong? Septiembre, Cristina, Septiembre.

Adios

I am officially signing off from Gratallops, this morning at 1:25 a.m. as we leave for Barcelona at 6 a.m. for our return to the states. It has been a ride. Today was a let down with the well, as we didn't get to see water gushing. More work to do. So, for now, dear friends and family, hasta proxima (until the next one).

Well!

After a nightmarish weekend, spent primarily prone in bed with fever and cough, we rose this morning to a clear sky. David and I dragged ourselves through the tasks we promised to deliver on, planing doors and painting details in the hotel, while Cristina chastised us, demanding we take to our beds. But a promise is a promise, and we had offered our services as best we could to help get the hotel up and running by weeks end. So paint I did, each room its own unique color story. I love this place, so creative, so individual. And I love Cristina. She threw her back out on Sunday (she's at the chiropractor now, a 9 p.m. appointment, image that stateside!), yet she persevered with her cous cous for yesterdays meal, and it was stupendous! Problem was most of us were three sheets. Fredi and Cristina with backs out, David and I with flu, Maryanne overwhelmed by the demands for new wines at the bodega where she is vintner. We were a sad crew. But we enjoyed!
And today, sun, and the well. We arrived at the finca to find that Vincen's man had done the job, clearing the way for various trucks, what we had gotten a provicional clearance to do from the delightful engineer in Tarragona, Laura Guitar. To say it was a shock would be an understatement. Like a drastic haircut. But it has to be done. Most of the almonds have been so neglected we have to start again. And olives need to be pruned and tended, some need to go, as old school was to plant them at the edge of the terrace wall, and they are endangering the stones. That won't do. The stone walls are a marvel, and much harder to replace than an olive tree, especially one that has been neglected and hasn't grown so well.
It was complex, there were mixed emotions seeing so much equipment on my beloved finca,like giving one of my babies their first haircut. But it must be done, not only for aesthetics but ease of maintenance and cultivation. So many machines! Tractors, water trucks, drilling equipment. Like Richard Scarry's "Busy Busy World". Kind of strange, after a month of solitude.
When we left at 6 this afternoon (for in Spain this is still afternoon!)they had reached 75 meters. We are anticipating water at 150. So nerve wracking, you can't imagine. We drove away knowing tomorrow is make or break. An amazing sunset, the "golden hour" spreading an extraordinary light over the mountains and pines. I wept from the sheer beauty. Romance cannot be squelched! And, after all, tomorrow is another day.

Sidelined by flu

We've been felled by the flu that seems to be going around. David, who so rarely gets sick, has been bedridden. I am working to keep the worst of it at bay, but feel pretty crappy myself. Just as we get all the ducks lined up! In any event, the well is happening on Monday. After provisional permission to clear a way for the trucks, we are realizing the task we came to accomplish. Light candles for water. It's all very nerve wracking, with diviners, forest rangers, and monstrous moving equipment. Add to that being sick, and it's truly a test of nerves and endurance.
On a lighter note, the almond blossoms are blooming! The sun continues to appear. And the oranges are delicious. Cristina is preparing a huge cous cous feast for tomorrow, and my job is to do touch painting in all the rooms for next weeks Valentines Day reopening of the hotel. So being sick is just not an option.

Roadblock

After determining with Vincens that we needed to get a permit in order to clear the way for construction trucks and the well driller, and an initial meeting with "Pink", we finally met the foresters at the finca today. More obstacles.
Let me back track by saying we occupied ourselves with various activities for the past few days, while waiting for said meeting. Spent Thursday driving around, our destination (Miravet).There is a small ferry on one side of the Ebro River that carries cars to the other side and drops you off in "downtown" Miravet, with its glorious castle , built by the Moors, inhabited by the Templers, and over taken by the Aragon Kings. Moorish meets Romanesque, with battles and beheadings. Besides being a heritage site, the village is also famous for its pottery. From there we headed to the coast, twenty minutes away, for seafood in (Cambrils). A rainy day, but not enough to deter the intrepid duo from sitting under the canopy. Marvelous sardines, squid, hake, and halibut, "a la plancha" (on the fire). And yesterday we explored (Vilella Baixa), the village next to Gratallops. Fantastic! Truly emblematic of a quintessential centuries old village. We went to track down some properties we found on the internet, still dreaming and scheming about the village townhouse to accompany the country farm. Capped the night off watching the(Goya's), Spain's version of the Oscars. Never saw so much cleavage in my life. Substantial cleavage, not necessarily attractive cleavage, yet amazing in the abandon. Very different feel from the Oscars, risque and delicious. Odd thing was Penelope Cruz (who I adore) won Best Supporting Actress for her work in an English language film directed by an American director. She was fantastic in Vicky,Cristina, Barcelona, however, shouldn't that be just the Oscar nod she received? No matter, the audience cheered wildly, as she is "Hollywood". Oh, the allure. Amazing gowns, nothing you would ever see on an American actress, almost trashy, way too flashy, but oh so good.
And today, the foresters, the environmental regulators. Suffice to say, it did not go as planned. We unfortunately drew the guy who is related to the sky cab at airport curbside checking who weighs your bag and says its 51 pounds, you know what I mean? So, rather than get the go ahead to bring a truck down to clear a ten foot path for a single truck, we are now having to go to Tarragona tomorrow, deal with more officials, get more permits,etc. Bureaucracy is mind boggling. At four this afternoon I just wanted to fold up my tent. But by six we had a plan, we have pistachios, a glass of wine, and a fire in the fireplace. After all, tomorrow is another day. And there are no problems, only solutions.

Backroads and Panoramas

It has been a whirlwind of activity, trying to get this well dug before our month in the country is up. A trip to the finca with Vincens, to see about clearing paths for both the well driller and the builders revealed the problem of two pine trees in the way. Rule of law states no pine trees are to be cut down without permission from the "forestal", the land management wing of the government. So down to Falset we headed with Vincens on Friday morning, following his instructions to keep a low profile and show respect. He asked for the boss once we reached the office, and out walked a woman in a very official forest ranger outfit, which set off her cotton candy pink hair marvelously. It was all I could do to keep from blurting out "amazing hair" as I watched Vincens demur. The outcome was that she was willing to send some of her guys out to the finca on Monday to check out felling the small, rangy trees in question. So we wait for Monday, and hope that we catch a break. Amazing system. On the one hand, I am thrilled they are protecting the land, and I adore the pines that surround the finca. On the other hand, come on, two scruffy pines blocking the way of the terrace entrance, give me a break. But attention must be paid, and Pink is my new best friend.
Next day we headed to the finca to collect more firewood, and begin clearing a path for the trucks (just dead almonds, no pines!). Because we wanted to load up the car, and didn't want to schlep wood all the way back to the boulder, where we usually park and walk in, we opted for the "back road", and even more circuitous and amazing dirt road, winding over hill and dale. Made it to and back, our sweet little Opel loaded down with most excellent firewood, bumping it's way through olive groves. On the way we saw more beehives, only this one was suffering damage, with lots of dead bees outside the hives. There was still one that managed to give me a good welt from its' sting, teaching us to not muck around in their area too much.
We capped the day off with a hike up to the Ermita de la Consolacio, one of the small monasteries that dot the countryside, as part of the great route of monasteries. So breathtakelingly beautiful I was reduced to tears. The panorama from the top encompasses multiple villages, multi-million dollar wineries, winding trails that lead from village to village, and a boundless sky. As the sun began to set we could hear the bells of both Gratallops and Vilella Baixa ring the hour. Heaven on earth.

Wine & Passion

We spent last night chatting with Fredi, who brought two bottles of French red, because he's "tired of Spanish red". Good wine, but the best was the third bottle, which he ran down the street to get, from his own bodega, his "Terram". David prepared his wondrous garlic shrimp and mussels in white wine, and we conversed about everything important: passion, art, desire, bio-dynamics. All the time we fed the fire with whatever we could find: wood from the finca, wine crates, wood from Fredi's bodega. He kept running down the street for firewood and more wine. We capped the night off with a bottle he siphoned off from his (solera), that special brew each bodega makes, sometimes taking one hundred years to reach perfection. It was sublime.
Today was about gathering more firewood, as we purchased a chain saw at the Spanish version of Home Depot, Leroy Merlin (can you believe it?). Sawing away at felled pine trees, we gathered enough wood to keep us cozy.
At three, we went on a tour of the finca with Vincens, the local earth mover, to talk about clearing a path for the well driller and the construction trucks. The man is awe inspiring, a 24/7 kind of guy who not only moves the earth but knows about everything, from olive trees to vine planting to jabali (wild boar). He took us on a tour of the new grandiose bodega he has been working on, Trossos d'el Priorat, owned and funded by a Barcelona family with endless supplies of gold. Unbelievable. Ostentatious, yet amazing.
The bells have rung eight p.m., the fire is warm, and we head to dinner at Fredi's at nine. Maryanne, the delightful young French wine maker who works at (Buil Gine) will be there, and who knows who else. Fredi is a man of surprises. This is a magical place, and our goal is to carve out a small portion for loved ones, including ourselves, to enjoy.

Wind, Washing and Wells

Not sure whose following, but we've been without internet for 2 days, due to the amazing, insane weather. Hurricane winds which have left us without power for up to 24 hours, caused insane damage with downed trees, power lines, and collapsed roofs. Stilled the windmills due to too much velocity and turned the sea into a steaming cauldron. Crazy!
We flew down to Reus, in desperate search of a laundromat. Then David remembered he had read about laundry facilities in camping sites along the coast. We tried Hospitalet de L'Enfant, and even went so far as (Templo del Sol) in our desperation. This is the nudist beach located on the outskirts of the quite popular Hospitalet. Weird. Caravans everywhere (RV's), and the entrance to the place guarded by two golden cobra lights. The place seemed deserted (thank god!), so we hightailed back towards Reus, to the omnipresent Carrefour, where we thought we had seen a laundry. Wrong. It was a dry cleaner, and I'm not keen on dry cleaning under garments. The delightful woman behind the counter just smiled, and assured us we would have to go to Barcelona to find a laundromat. So it was old school, in the sink back at the hotel. Then to the finca to hang laundry in the sun, among the almond trees. We've become gypsies. But we had a delightful picnic, gathered more firewood, washed the dishes in our country dishwasher (bucket with shrub), and headed towards Falset to pick up the water diviner.
The water diviner, now that's old school. We picked up at the appointed place in Falset, in front of the phone box. Ramon, as that's his name, was standing patiently, a small man in his 70's, with a blue plastic bag clutched in his hands, the contents of which were revealed at the finca. We wound our way back to our property, with Ramon sitting in the front, straight as an arrow, me sitting in the back trying to make idle chit chat, David clutching the wheel with both hands. We parked the car (boulder still there!), marched in to the terrace previously deemed (by the same diviner) to be the spot,as we had been advised by the well driller to re-check best location, and proceeded to watch him perform his magic. From the blue bag he took out a small leather pouch containing some ancient, incredibly heavy coins, and a small box. Inside the box lay a pendulum and three vials of various soils. First he marched back and forth swinging the pendulum. He then instructed me to drop coins in his palm, which he held behind him, a clump at once, then one at a time, until he told me stop. It was wild. Chomping on his cigar, he again proceeded to march back and forth, stopped suddenly, placed his hand out, palm up, behind his back, and said "Drop the coins." And from that he marked the spot we should drill and gave an estimate as to depth, cautioning us that because of all the calcification in the rock and the altitude, he might be off by 50 meters. His "guesstimate" was 50 meters, so we aim for 100. And today we found out the permit is in, so let the fun begin.
Back at the hotel, we found ourselves assaulted by the ubiquitous Billy Mays. What a small world, really. No laundromats, a water diviner with ancient coins, and Billy Mays selling the Samurai Shark. As the Catalans would say "Que mes vols?"(What more do you want?).

Tarragona & Taxes

The day revolved around our appointment in Tarragona with Jonathan Eshkeri, a lawyer in Tarragona our man on the street Jeff recommended. We are looking to establish a company here in Spain as a means to integrate business with the personal, to establish residency while staying current with US of A realities.
Tarragona is fabulous, a seaside town with it's own heritage site status: a Roman amphitheater, a notable aqueduct, and history that belies the easy going feel of the place. We maneuvered the round abouts (no easy task) and found the Eshkeri & Grau offices with no problem.
Jonathan was great, and described himself this way: a Jew, who's grandfather was born in Afghanistan, who's father was born in Iran and raised in Jerusalem, and Jonathan himself raised in London. Prior to being a solicitor (all this expressed in a glorious British accent) he was in the family business, the rug trade, having lived in NYC and loved it. After sharing his story, encapsulated in five minutes, he said "I detect a North American accent" and we said we were from Oregon. He then disclosed that he and his Spanish wife had honeymooned on the West Coast, taking a driving tour from Seattle to Tijuana, having spent a night in Portland. "Lovely, really" he described it. How weird is that? So, of course, his next question was, "What are you doing here?". Needless to say, this is what makes the world an interesting place.
Back in Gratallops, on a Friday night, we sit and listen to the bells ring out the hour. David is finally tackling "The Pillars of Hercules" by Paul Theroux(a fabulous book), reading bits to me as I sit and knit a new sweater in yellow, my homage to Michelle, although the designer, Isabel Toledo, described the color of her outfit at the inauguration as "lemongrass."

Callos in Cal Llop

We woke up to rain, and the sound of voices below the balcony, fiddling with the front door. After the mishap with Fredi's car, we were trepidatious. I hung my head out the balcony and called out "hola", only to find Angel (the chef at Cal Llop) and Maria (a neighbor who is more like family) trying to unlock the wooden entry door. Still in my pajamas, I was, needless to say, startled to see them, as I thought Angel was still in Menorca with Waldo and Cristina. But there he was, with a grin on his face, and a bag full of innards, come to cook up a monster bash of callos, which in English translates as callouses. It is a typical Spanish dish made from the parts of cow we Americans never see: honeycomb tripe, feet, knuckles, cheeks, stomach. He was ecstatic, as he had, for 20 euro, purchased enough tripe and such to make callos for twenty people. So to the kitchen I went, to watch and learn. I am not particularly fond of entrails and tripe, but one cannot expect to enjoy fully if you don't jump in to the pool.
Imagine a cow foot, a cow knee, a cow stomach, a cow face, and what's left on a ham bone, thrown in to a pot, cooked so it all comes off the bone. You then take a pair of scissors and cut it all in to uniform pieces, pulling extra hair off with your finger tips, all the while being assured that what you are preparing contains no cholesterol, and that the magic of the dish lies in the variety of textures inherent in the multiple stomachs of a cow. Not for the faint hearted. Nor for the prima donna, as who are we to make the seemingly less attractive parts of such a noble creature taboo? If you are going to eat the animal, shouldn't you show some respect and eat it all? And I must say, after adding some salt, pepper, garbanzo beans, and sweet paprika, it was most delicious. Especially when accompanied by a glass of dry white wine. Life is a banquet.

Random Acts of Hope

Watching the inauguration last night brought on dreams of hope: for articulate, thoughtful leadership and a return to chic individuality. I could not get Michelle's marvelous outfit out of my mind, and was brought back to the years of Jackie O, when, as a kid, I first learned to love pink. Color is in, folks, in every sense, and I'm thrilled by it. Our small TV in the room just bloomed with color: citron on Michelle, fire engine red on Jill, ultramarine on Hillary. I feel I can breath again.
Locally, we woke up this morning headed to Reus, for banking and such, only to see our friend Fredi's car smashed to bits at the entrance to town. So shocking a sight it was that I was thrown in to a foul mood the entire trip to Reus, making our stop at the Carrefours (Spain's Costco) more nightmarish than usual. Beautiful town,(Reus), the birthplace of Gaudi. The sun was shining, though the wind blew cold. We banked, had coffee, got bleary eyed at the Carrefours, and headed back up the mountain. At the entrance to Gratallops we found Fredi and friends, examining his beaten in Volvo. He was so mellow about it. His windshield and windows had been busted in by random vandals on a joy ride at 4 in the morning. The tow truck that came to haul it away broke the axle or something, and his beloved car sat in ruins. More like the Bronx than Gratallops. So weird and out of place, such a violent act unusual in this part of the world. But he was quite cavalier about it, saying negativity had no place in his complex life. I guess when you make extraordinary wine, the rest is just stuff. Cool. Hopeful.

Bees, Barb-B-Que, and Barack

The weather men in Spain are as misinformed as anywhere else, as we anticipated rain on this inauguration day. We have actually had beautiful blue skies once again. Perfect firewood gathering. To the finca! The boulder was, of course, still in the way. So we schlepped in with our basket, and hauled wood up to the car one to a handle, brimming with almond wood.
The bees were buzzing all around, working the rosemary. Our neighbors hives were humming with activity, bees thick around each entrance.Rosemary honey, the best!
The olive trees are still laden with fruit, but we have no idea what to do with the harvest. Greenhorns not green thumbs...yet.
David had prepared ingredients for a barbeque: chicken, potatoes, green pepper all on an open flame, using his flea market grill. Delicious! There is something about sitting outside in the sun, reaching out to grab a handful rosemary and thyme, and throwing it on the roasting chicken, that makes you appreciate the simple things in life. "En plein air" cooking.
Tracks are everywhere, either (jabali) or deer coming to the cistern for a drink.
We are now watching the events in Washington, the pomp and carryings on. Screaming at the TV as the idiots parade by (any Bush). That miserable family make the Hapsburgs look like put together geniuses. But oh how beautiful that Obama family looks. Michelle Obama is a goddess in green. The Rev. Warren, however, is a sad case, a blubbering, pontificating idiot. Sorry folks, we have a long haul ahead of us. But may the gods bless Aretha and that hat!

Firewood and Romans

The sunrise over Cal Llop was a sign of another glorious day in the Priorat. Red sky in the morning may be no good for sailors, but it was great for wood choppers. We set out to find an alternate route to the finca, as the boulder is still blocking the road. Out little Opel was tortured to within an inch of its engine, as we rolled over rocks and ravines, crawling over the mountains with no idea where we would end up. Yet we managed to snake our way to the finca. Took hammer and tong to the boulder, but no amount of elbow grease would give us the inches we needed to get by. Today we take a sledge hammer to it, so stay tuned.
The flea market saw was a gem, and we loaded the trunk with an assortment of wood: pine, olive, and almond. What a roaring fire we managed with that haul.
Winding our way back out, we stopped to explore the neighbors ruin, an incredible masia (farm house) which at one time was an impressive estate. Remnants of a working farm are strewn about, including an old grinding stone. We have found a similar one on our finca. The terraces, from Roman times, are breathtaking. How they did it one can only imagine. Slaves, no doubt. There were two tower structures at the peak of one hill, markers for some event. Something to inquire about, as they are so unique.
The evening was spent strolling through Gratallops, running in to Pepe from Beso Palleja, the land clearing guys. We'll stop and chat with him today. It's a new week.