 Posted by: Nicola Cleasby
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Never Again!
By Nicola Cleasby
After what seems like the longest, wettest winter in the history of Spain, it seems like spring is actually here, and I’ve started casting longing glances towards my empty swimming pool.
 When I first moved to Spain, I had this image of myself lying by a beautiful blue pool, basking in the Mediterranean sun, preferably with some sort of frothy cocktail in my hand. The dream is still there, but I have to admit that over the years a few feelings of discord have crept in.
So let’s take a look at some of the things you should consider if you’re contemplating taking the plunge with a pool of your own.
 First, you’ve got to build it. You can either do it yourself, or get it done for you. We took the cheaper option and built it ourselves, and during the process, the phrase ‘Never Again!’ was first uttered in our household (it’s been repeated many times since, for many other projects). The alternative is to get the builders in, but if you really believe that to be the easy option, then you haven’t much experience of builders in Spain (or anywhere else I suspect).
Once it’s built, the expense is just beginning – maintenance. We do everything ourselves, and use an electrolysis system where we add salt, and a clever machine turns it into chlorine, so we don’t have to add many chemicals. But we do still need to run the machine and filters for about four hours a day in the heat of the summer, which for us means a generator, and that’s not cheap!
 Then there are the health issues, because while swimming might be good for you (and floating about on one of those big pink blow-up things doesn’t count), sunbathing is not and drinking all those frothy cocktails is a definite no-no.
On to the environmental and legal issues. We don’t actually have a swimming pool. We have a bolsa or water tank – at least that’s what the paperwork says. Swimming pools aren’t allowed here, and though the council tends to turn a blind eye, the pool would be the first thing to go in the event of a water shortage (though anyone utters the words ‘water shortage’ this year, and I may well scream!)
Much of Europe now has laws that all pools need to be fenced. This isn’t actually the case in Spain – yet, but I’m sure it’s coming. We live six kilometers from the nearest village, we don’t have to worry about children wandering past and falling in– that just leaves dogs and goats and cats (okay only cats, and only one, but I still feel overwhelmed by guilt at the thought of it).
 And finally, there is the issue of encouraging unwelcome visitors. Okay, so I admit it, I’m bordering on anti-social, but these days the question – “You’ve got a swimming pool?” normally meets with the reply – “It’s more of a bolsa – a water tank, really. Not very nice. There was a dead cat in it once.”
 Nicola Cleasby grew up in the north of England. After training as an accountant, she spent four years working as a volunteer in Zambia, which left her with a love of the sun and a dislike of 9-5 work. She then spent a number of years mixing travel (whenever possible) with work (whenever necessary) but has now settled down to a life of writing and picking almonds on a remote farm in the mountains of southern Spain. She shares the farm with a husband, three dogs, four cats, a horse, two goats and a handful of chickens. It is a perfect place to indulge her two great passions, reading and writing. Recently published (as Nina Croft) her new book is entitled ‘Tiger of Talmare’ http://www.ninacroft.com/index.html
Posted by: Nicola Cleasby
Filled in: Nicola Cleasby
Adios Costa (Nothing to do with the Beach!)
By Nicola Cleasby
Costa, for those who haven’t had the dubious pleasure, is the traditionally made, local wine. It’s an intriguing brown in colour, hovers somewhere around 14-15 % proof and has a distinctive (and not entirely pleasant) flavour.
As well as the bigger commercial ventures, most cortijos around here have their own small vineyards and their own bodegas where the wine is made and stored. Ours is no different, and in fact, when we bought our cortijo, the price included half a barrel of Costa. This was a little daunting as the barrel was about the size of an average single bedroom in the UK.
We presumed that Costa was an acquired taste.  However eight years later and we’ve still spectacularly failed to acquire it. I hate waste, but we finally accepted that the barrel, and the Costa, had to go. Luckily, we had the perfect excuse, we were in the process of converting the downstairs of our house into an apartment. The only way that barrel was going to leave the building was in pieces. So the Costa went to fertilize the land.
I love making wine. Before coming to Spain, I’d had a go on a small scale using a variety of fruits and vegetables from grapes to potatoes. It always seemed a complicated procedure; ensuring the sugar level was correct, killing the natural yeast, adding a known yeast. Here the whole process is much simpler. The grapes are picked, crushed (we have had guests who have insisted on doing this barefooted – it didn’t seem to effect the flavour) squeezed and then left to do their own thing.
And their own thing is pretty wild – we nearly reduced our Cortijo to rubble in the first year, by putting a lid on the fermenting barrel. Only the quick intervention of one of our neighbours, who spotted the imminent explosion, saved us from disaster.
For our first year, we made our wine under the close guidance of a Spanish neighbour who had been producing Costa for the last eighty years. We followed faithfully only balking at the addition of yeso, a substance normally used for plastering walls but traditionally added to the wine for some long forgotten reason (and probably one of the reasons for that distinctive flavour).
That first year our wine came out brown and around 15% – it was strong stuff. We gave some to out English neighbour, who happens to be a doctor – this was his comment:
“Immediately after blindness, renal failure set in.”
In the years since, we’ve read up on the subject and tweaked our process until now we’ve said goodbye to Costa and instead produce a red of about 12% – perfectly drinkable once you’ve removed your taste buds. I don’t kid myself that I couldn’t get a better (or at least as good) a wine for 65cent a litre from the local supermarket but, for me, at least, it’s a labour of love.
 Nicola Cleasby grew up in the north of England. After training as an accountant, she spent four years working as a volunteer in Zambia, which left her with a love of the sun and a dislike of 9-5 work. She then spent a number of years mixing travel (whenever possible) with work (whenever necessary) but has now settled down to a life of writing and picking almonds on a remote farm in the mountains of southern Spain. She shares the farm with a husband, three dogs, four cats, a horse, two goats and a handful of chickens. It is a perfect place to indulge her two great passions, reading and writing. Recently published (as Nina Croft) her new book is entitled ‘Tiger of Talmare’ http://www.ninacroft.com/index.html
Posted by: Nicola Cleasby
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Two Paragraphs that changed my life…
by Nicola Cleasby
We’ve lived here (Southern Spain) for eight years now and seen a lot of expats come and go, and one of the reasons often seems to be lack of things to do.
So once we’d finished renovating our Cortijo (actually ‘finished’ is bit of an exaggeration, but it will be done one day) I looked around for something to occupy myself. I’ve always loved reading, so writing seemed to be the perfect way to pass the time.
Direction was a bit of a problem at first. I tried just about everything – short stories, contemporary romance, science fiction, but finally settled on paranormal romance as I’ve been a big fan of vampires ever since reading Anne Rice’s ‘Interview with a Vampire’ at the age of twelve.
Then a year ago, I came across a competition on the Harlequin (that’s Mills and Boon to us Brits) website – write a two paragraph blurb for your story, and win the chance to pitch to one of the Harlequin editors.
I was already half-way through writing my paranormal romance, and it seemed like a great opportunity. So I wrote my blurb, polished it, rewrote, polished… You get the picture, but I did finally manage to press the send button.
I had an email the next morning saying I was one of the winners. Now I had ten minutes to sell my story to the editor in a live chat session. I’d never done a chat session before, I’d never pitched to an editor, and my typing is strictly one finger at a time.
But was I daunted? Er, yes.
I don’t actually remember much from the pitch, except the editor was very nice (and I’m not just saying that). But I survived, my fingers have grown back, and at the end of it, I had a request to see my manuscript.
Because of the time difference, most emails from the US arrive in my mailbox overnight, and for a while, starting up my laptop in the morning became an act of true bravery.
The months passed. I tried to tell myself no news was good news. Either that or my story had never arrived at its destination and was floating around in cyberspace, unloved and unread.
 After three months, I gave in to temptation and emailed the editor. She came right back to me – she liked my story and had passed it on for final approval. It wasn’t lost in space, somebody liked my story – it was almost enough.
It was actually another two months before I got the final confirmation. That email has been printed, framed, and stuck on my wall. I still get a little shiver when I look at it.
So that’s how my debut novella The Prophecy, came to be. A two paragraph blurb that pretty much changed my life.
So next time you sit down and wonder how to pass the time, think about what two paragraphs could change your life.
 Nicola Cleasby grew up in the north of England. After training as an accountant, she spent four years working as a volunteer in Zambia, which left her with a love of the sun and a dislike of 9-5 work. She then spent a number of years mixing travel (whenever possible) with work (whenever necessary) but has now settled down to a life of writing and picking almonds on a remote farm in the mountains of southern Spain. She shares the farm with a husband, three dogs, four cats, a horse, two goats and a handful of chickens. It is a perfect place to indulge her two great passions, reading and writing. Recently published (as Nina Croft) her new book is entitled ‘Tiger of Talmare’ http://www.ninacroft.com/index.html
Posted by: Nicola Cleasby
Filled in: Nicola Cleasby
Almond Millionaires
By Nicola Cleasby
This time next year, you’ll be almond millionaires.
Well, maybe he never actually said those words, but I distinctly remember Antonio, the previous owner of our farm, standing besides us, arms out flung as he pointed out the boundaries and explained just how much we were going to earn from the land. I’m sure some amazingly large number was mentioned, but perhaps that was a combination of wishful thinking, a complete lack of even basic Spanish, and the fact that he was talking pesetas, where even the cost of a cup of coffee reached triple figures.
 It probably wouldn’t have made a difference – we were already in love with the place, but as we stood admiring the views of the snow covered Sierra Nevada Mountains to the north and the Mediterranean to the south, the idea of having all this and making money out of it, seemed almost too good to be true.
Picking almonds can be fun and excellent for relieving stress. For those who have never tried it, the basic idea is you put a net down under the tree and then you hit it with a big stick until all the nuts fall down. As an added bonus, if the tree is really big, then you actually get to climb it before you hit it.
So, our first September in Spain was spent picking almonds. We went about it in a very relaxed sort of manner – we’d work for an hour or so, and then we’d retreat under the shade of one of the huge fig trees. We’d drink a jug of costa, the strong local wine, and occasionally reach up to pluck a ripe fig from the branches above.
Heaven.
All least it was until it came to selling the results of our labours. We had literally tons of almonds and all we got in return was peanuts.
That was eight years ago, and since then things have gone steadily downhill. Most of the Spanish who still farm around here are old. They use their pensions to subsidise the only way of life they have ever known, but this year the almond price was so low that many have not bothered with their harvest.
Almonds have been grown in this area for centuries. However, increasing competition from almond growers in California, where modern farming methods have increased production and standards way beyond what we can achieve, has meant that almond farming is no longer economically viable here, and a way of life will soon come to an end.
Maybe it’s time to go into the firewood business.
This time next year…
Nicola Cleasby grew up in the north of England. After training as an accountant, she spent four years working as a volunteer in Zambia, which left her with a love of the sun and a dislike of 9-5 work. She then spent a number of years mixing travel (whenever possible) with work (whenever necessary) but has now settled down to a life of writing and picking almonds on a remote farm in the mountains of southern Spain. She shares the farm with a husband, three dogs, four cats, a horse, two goats and a handful of chickens. It is a perfect place to indulge her two great passions, reading and writing. Recently published (as Nina Croft) her new book is entitled ‘Tiger of Talmare’ http://www.ninacroft.com/index.html
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