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OTRA VIDA.  The Prologue.

‘La Buena Vida’. Beginners Guide. Part 1.

October 2002 to, I think, the Present day.

Dejarte llevar por la vida—Carry by the life—a poor translation, but  the best I can do.  It has become a way of living.  I have been fortunate to have a good teacher. They say the best way to learn a language is to sleep with a dictionary, in my case a Spanish lady, and if you are fortunate, to marry also, it is entirely true as I can verify.

Everyday we start with my words, “Buenas Dias, Señora Beer”. Ana always replies“Que tal?”(how are you) Señor Beer.   It’s not too bad a way to start the day?

Perhaps, a little sappy, but no matter.

So, Son, I thank God, everyday, I’m still alive.  

I have now had years of happy accidents here in Spain.  It began the first day, when I went to Manchester Airport.  You came to see me off and discovered I had arrived a day early. 

‘You go today!’ you said. 

God bless you!

Immediately, you bought me another ticket.  I was desperately ill at the time, as you know, and probably not able to show my appreciation.

For this act, I can never repay you.

So, to lighten the tone ‘Whatever you want, you got it, whatever you need, you got it.” I hope the original lyricist will excuse the use of his words. I simply can’t improve on them, as they say, if it works don’t mend it!

It’s good fun to use modern lyrics, and to be a ‘Thieving Magpie’ and as you read my letters, you will find I often use their words.  For this I make no apology, after all even my favourite poet, Robert Burns,  did the same, with adaptations of the folklore of his time! We apprentices must never be afraid to learn from the masters.

So, I arrived in Spain with fifty- five pounds sterling of disposable income.

Before I had left England, I went to a great deal of effort to save 4000 pounds in my English bank.  But of course, it was not immediately available.

Your sister, Janet and her husband Gary, were absolutely brilliant at first.  But in the end let themselves and myself, down very badly.  I shall always ask myself, as we all do, was it my fault or theirs that things didn’t work out. I think to this question possibly there is no answer. Too many conflicting loyalties and ,of course, the perrenial disease, money or the lack of it.

The story is a familiar one , familiar to many families, and thus requires very little explanation.

Gary and Janet ascribed the worst interpretations of my actions, they could not understand that I had spent practically all my life calculating the situation and how to take advantage of a given time. It’s another English disease? Or is perhaps universal?

However I wanted no more of this and embarked on a new course. Since then I have kept my compass bearing straight, and have few regrets.

To say to any man “you should have waited longer until a rich widow appeared” is possibly the worst insult anybody could give to both Ana and myself, and to our relationship. Particularly if you had always treated this supposed son- in law with great kindness and generosity. On quiet reflection and without anger , I realise, he knows me? Not at all!

And there I leave this matter concluded.

Not an auspicious start to ‘La Vie en Rose.

Let’s introduce love, the best antidote for the base things of man. ‘

I shall quote a few lines of this wonderful song, in the original, and then with Ana`s help try to give a reasonable translation.

La Vie en Rose.

Quand il me prends dans ses bras, il une parle tout bas,

je vois la vie en rose.

Il me dit des mots d’amour,

Des mots de tous les jours,

Et ça m’fait quelque chose.

Il est entré dans mon coeur,

Une part de bonheur,

dont je connais la cause. 

The Pink Life. 

To change the gender, in translation, is unnecessary.  Man or woman it’s still the same.

When he takes me in his arms, he talks to me very slowly.

I see the life in pink.

He talks to me in loving words, every day words,

And this makes me feel something.                                                

It comes into my heart, a part of happiness, for which I know the cause.

As you know, my son, Edith Piaf (the Little Sparrow), was always one of my favorite singers.

Without love and caring this world is a very poor place, of this there is no doubt.

If I was a poet I would put this better, sadly at this time I have to say it simply.

After this minor diversion I return to the story.You may ask why this song and story, I suppose I have always felt she characterisised life’s struggles, great success but much unhappiness, which for me comes through in her songs. 

To dwell too long on failures is as bad as looking back and boring people with your successes.This sounds like a stuffy English conversation, so I must change the tone and stop complaining about life, weather,the goverment, pensions,etc, the peculiar British disease.

Suddenly, really, the happy accidents started to happen, there were a few bad moments too, but as they say, that’s life.  

The first accident happened on Christmas Eve, less than three years ago.  I didn’t know it at the time, but this would transform my entire life, and my outlook of this short span of years we have.

Looking back now, I realise this was one of those magical moments of which we get so few in our lives.

It’s a simple story—boy meets girl, age is of no importance.

I left Janet and Gary’s place, desperately needing to get away, I felt like a “spare part”,  I was still not well enough to drive, so me and my dog, Bobo, walked into Guadalmina shopping centre.

It’s approximately ½ mile away from our edificio, or if you prefer 1 kilometer.

If you take the minor roads you pass through a delightful area, with little or no traffic,with beautiful villas, delightful gardens, brightly coloured mediterranean plants and flowers, practically, every day of the year.The evenings are always lovely, even when it rains, very infrequently,and then the rain is warm and welcoming. You never get a white Christmas here but to me with my old bones, this is no great loss.

If they are in season you pick, as you go, apricots, plums, figs, níspero, pomegranets and even multi-coloured peppers straight off the tree, bush or plant.They of course taste absolutely wonderful. I mustn’t forget the oranges and lemons, but they are in such abundance you scarcely see see them.  No pollution,no need to wash, and most of all no preservatives, all growing in their natural state.I particularly like to pick and cook the peppers (pimiento, capsicums, beautiful in any language) the same day.

Forgive me, I’ve gone off course again. As the actress said to the bishop,”where were we”?

Of my own choice I wanted to be alone, except for my little dog, so off we went.Christmas has not been a good time for me for thirty years or so.  That Christmas was no different. Ever since I left David and Victoria all those years ago, they come back to haunt me, every Christmas. It is possible Charles Dickens had a similar problem and thus, “The Christmas Story and Scrooge”.   

I had spent the day in my own apartment, alone with Bobo.  I was thinking of all of the things that I missed—all the things that had changed.  It was late afternoon when I decided to get some air.  Surely moving would feel better than sitting here stewing.  We didn’t do much, as I recall I had my normal coffee and brandy(copa de magno) at the local cafe.

On the way home, near my place, Bobo shot off towards the golf course, my apartment overlooks the 9^th tee, barking at something.  Naturally, I followed to see what it was.

A lovely girl lay on the wall that encompasses the golf course looking at the moon and the stars—Ana.  This would never happen in England for obvious reasons—a woman could not feel safe, alone, to indulge in such simple pleasures.  More’s the pity. ! In many parts of England it is simply foolish for a women to go out on her own at nights, and if I am to believe the newspapers now, it’s not so different in the daytime too.

I must confess that I wasn’t entirely sober.  Ana had taken a few glasses of champagne also.  We started to talk, in English and little French.  Por que no? Language barriers only exist in the mind of small-minded people! We talked till 5 a. m.  on the wall and later on her terrace.To talk into the early hours is not so uncommon here, what you lose in one day can easily be replaced the next day with siesta.  Thus began a lovely Christmas and many, many, many happy days since.

Christmas’s, too, are OK now.Quite simply she tries to make every day a good day, but, being a grumpy old sod I don’t always appreciate it. More fool me!

In the beginning, I’d tell Ana that I was old and useless.  She was deeply insulted.  We are not too far separated in age.  ‘I am not old,’ she would say.

To say someone is old in Spain is a great insult.  Here there are no OAP’s just Persona Mayor—bigger people.

‘Viejos, son los trapos,’ they say.   ‘Only the clothes are old.’

So, I had to stop growing old and take on new challenges—challenges that would make a man half my age think twice.     

But, no matter what lies ahead, sitting here tonight in my lovely place, it is very difficult to preach to anyone how to live.

I simply say, ‘Thank God I’m alive’.

Ana is giving me a bad time about my smoking.  She is determined I live longer than her so I have the problems of what to do with her assets.

We must find a young person to do the ‘right’ thing.

So far, there is no one capable of sorting out the mess we will leave behind, but as Bob Hope said, ‘Surprise me’.

With my life-style I could live to 92, or not, God knows!    

Better to go earlier, I think, and leave others to sort out the mess?

Of course this is pure nonsense, I suppose what I am trying to say, that with Ana everything is possible, without, well?, I’m not so sure.

I don’t wish to find out!

My first challenge was how to climb a wall 2 feet high.  At first I had to do it on my bum.  Gradually, I got better--with a lot of help and consideration from Ana, my guardian angel and her Friend..

To drive 1200 kms plus to San Sebastian in one day, was the next challenge.  Against all advice of friends, we set out—from the bottom to the top of Spain.  It was a bloody long way.  The trip was particularly difficult when the temperature reached 40 degrees centrigrade.

I had two good companions , my little Bobo,and Ana’s little statue of Sagrado Corazon, she gave me, to look after me.  Bobo sat on my knee all the way—no trouble at all. We stopped often.  It took 14 hours of fast driving—120 mph and sometimes more on the Autopista del Norte.  I got lost in Bilbao.  Most people do.  The signs change to the Basque language.  My knowledge of  Spanish is very limited, in  Basque non-existent.

I arrived at Ana’s place, exhausted.  It took me about three days to fully recover.  I was still not very well and on medication.  I don’t remember much about the scenery.

on the way. No time for sightseeing. I just had to get there.

As yet another song goes “I drove all day, just to be with her”, I hope the original songwriter will forgive the misuse of his words.

If I had stopped, I doubt, I would have completed the journey. Looking back it was a pretty stupid thing to do. Something I would not contemplate now. Forgive my foolish ways.

The next challenge was to throw my English rule book away, forever.

Quite early after I had arrived in Spain, I  remember you asking me, “Dad, do you drink alcohol before 6’o clock”. To which I answered, rather childishly, “6’o clock in the morning, No, Son, definately, not. ”    

This is a simple example of the differences between the two cultures.

How do I tell Ana to change her ways after so many years.

“Don’t be stupid , boy”. I tell myself. Just live the life.

But if you have been brought up with such ideas for 60 years plus—to say it is one thing, to do it another.  Later in the story I will return to this theme many times.  Forgive your boring old fool of a father, who is trying very hard to say there are many differences in the manner of living in this world , but if it makes you happy just live it and be grateful.  

So another challenge, to learn how to sail a boat, a total beginner, at the advanced age of 62 plus.The idea first took root in San Sebastian, like so many, I have had in Spain. Seeing the boats in the harbour, and the pleasure it gave to people, I thought  I ‘d like to try that, fortunately Ana agreed with me. Also Ana and I married in this lovely place to name just one more good idea.

I found a sailing school in La Duquesa and enrolled.  It proved to be quite a challenge to obtain the I. C. C.  (International Certificate of Confidence) and the Day Skipper ticket.

Without these you cannot get insurance on a boat, thus you cannot moor at any port—including your own—and, most of all, you cannot get fuel.  Just imagine the store owner checking everyone’s driver’s license before selling them gas. 

We both know the difficulties I have encountered in this field more than once in my life.  Here, without too many problems, I follow the rule book to the letter. My organisation skills sometimes  are not as good as I would wish, MOT’s and other necessary peices of paper for motor vehicles haven’t always been there, when they should, in England!    

Nowadays with the Spanish Authorities, you cannot just buy a boat and go sailing.  The Guardia Civil will lock you up and impound the boat if you fail to follow the rules.

These guys with their fantastic boats don’t mess around!, they are about 15 metres long, jet powered and fly like Concorde.

I will return to this subject in a later chapter, when it was more relevant.

Back to sea- school.

Another happy accident— I enrolled with 3 other guys, 10 to 20 years younger than myself.  They were very supportive and we all passed together.  Without their help I could not have done it, and would have thrown away €995.  I could go on about this subject forever, because, as you know, I love anything to do with my boat—Otra Vida,

“But I dont want to sell the bear skin, till I have killed the bear”.  

Finally the continuing challenge, to cook, eat and drink, and sleep the Spanish way.

In my opinion, the best Spanish invention is the Siesta.   I follow this route everyday.  After the Spanish lunch, which in Andalucia is less than that in the Basque country, but is still considerable, we have a nap.  It’s fantastic, we get two days in one.  Everything stops at 2 o’clock—the shops close and everyone on the street disappears.  Inside the Spanish home, people enjoy a leisurely lunch, then a nap.  Everything opens up again at 5 o’clock and people go back to work.  It took me six months to adjust, for me it was necessary to have a very light breakfast and sometimes only drinks, but that was all about throwing my previous rule book away.

Now the story. I hope you will enjoy, and being silly, your children, and dare I say it, your children’s children.

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