A happy house

This is a historic moment - the first time the casita has had windows in the downstairs level.
For some months if not years now, we have been considering how to achieve this fete without spoiling what is a very old, traditional and treasured Canarian house. In the age that it was built, no country house had windows downstairs. This was because the downstairs with its soil floor was used as a store for potatoes, beans and so on or as a workshop. As it happens, the downstairs of la casita was a carpenter's workshop.
Of course the store did not need or indeed want light and, so we are told, much the same went for the workshop - when there wasn't enough light, they stopped work.
Most old houses were however built on one level and you will see many of these dotted about the countryside in Garafia. Some have the flat French type roof tiles
while others, like the Casita, have the much older, round Arabic type. Before then, the roofs were of naked wood and before that .... caves.
It is not so common to see old, two-storied houses such as la Casita. As you may know, or realise, the downstairs level of la casita is built into the land. That means that essentially a 'hole' or flat area had to be dug initially before they could even begin to build the house. That fact amazes me. The work involved - and all by hand - was immense.
This type of house is called 'casa de arrimo' or 'leaning house' because it leans into the land. I like to think of it not so much as leaning but rather 'resting.'
So how could we bring in natural light without spoiling the look of the outside of the house? We noticed that other houses that have had glass put in the door retrospectively have done it by attaching glass to the outside of the door, and having wood at the back for shutters. This is fine, except the wood is backed by glass and the window doesn't open - we were looking for a different method.
Our resident genius (David) came up with an alternative solution which you might be able to follow from the photo. The top panel of wood was taken out and replaced by a window. The original panel was sat into a new frame attached to the door and this can slide up and down according to wether you want light in or not. Clever, huh? and the window opens too.
What a happy little house we have.

sunrise

When we first came to La Palma, we tried to decide if we would rather live in the east and enjoy the sunrise or the west and enjoy the sunset.
We stayed first on one side of the island and then the other, trying to make our minds up.
Would that life were so simple. In the end, we decided to let the house choose us.
When we first saw the finca here in Franceses, we asked the owner if the area ever saw either a sunrise or sunset. He replied that he didn't know.
We loved the place anyway, so his answer was not exactly a deciding point.
Imagine then our surprise to discover that for four months of the year we have both.
The photo is of this morning's sunrise. I hope you enjoy the image as much as we did.

A secret place?

I am sure I have said it before. And I will definitely be saying it again. La Palma is full of surprises.
And it is not surprising that I repeat myself as the frequent wonders of the island continue to suddenly appear, even after seven years of living here. Not that I am complaining, it is after all what keeps us excited, amused and often shaking our heads.
Take this photo for example. Admittedly, it was taken by a top photographer (mothers are allowed to say that), but it is a true representation of one of the sights on the island, apart from the fact that it is obviously in black and white. This lack of colour, I feel, gives it a rather spooky feel.
But there is something about this place that has that indefinable magic and I just love it – the wonderful old wine press, the spindly balustrade of the stairs, the stillness. It is a place where time has suddenly stopped.
I stand there and conjecture as to the history of the people who lived there – and the wonderful thing is that I shall never know.
By the way, do you have any idea where this photograph was taken?
As you might realise, it is not exactly on a main road. And that is the other thing that makes me smile - because you just might have walked - almost - right by it.

Chuckle, chuckle.

Crossing our fingers

The third of May on La Palma signifies a time to get your crosses out – well, in truth, they never actually go away – and adorn them with great finery. Pure white silk, costume jewelry and fresh flowers being the order of the day. Nice huh?
Well actually, yes.
For us, it is a time to head for the hills. Where better than the solitude of one of the furthest flung places on the island, Juan Adalid. It is a trip of nearly an hour, along the mountain roads of the north and to the nondescript hamlet of Llano Negro. Here we pause to support one of the few shops open on Sundays and Bank Holidays.
And then a U turn to San Antonio where two lonely flags fly high atop their masts to indicate that 'something interesting' just might be happening. We search out the near hidden road to Juan Adalid which is where our friends live. We almost always have to think which one of the single track roads, heavily bordered by tall greenery, will take us to their isolated house.
We drive cautiously along the road which is festooned with curves making it impossible to see ahead and the imminent arrival of a car hurtling towards us at full speed in the opposite direction. But now, we have joined a small convey of 4 x 4 vehicles all heading our way and at least we have some safety in numbers.
Where the impenetrable roadside greenery is not impeding our view of the road ahead, unguarded and impressive steep drop-offs are the norm with the road seemingly etched like a squiggly pencil line on the side of the hill. The view down to the sheer cliffs and the sea are, well, awesome, in every sense of the word.
There is a saying, in Yorkshire at least, 'it's a grand life if you don't weaken.' Similarly, it is a great drive if you don't crash or drop off the edge.
And so, after 20 minutes of rallying along with the other cars ever downward, having long passed the wind turbines, we arrive at a junction of other spindly roads. Here the other cars divert to a nearby hill as they are going to the annual fiesta of La Sentinela.
We continue on to our friends and their solitary outpost. Their hunting dogs alert them to our arrival long before we get anywhere near. Chickens which are dotted about here, there and everywhere continue to search the ground for any morsel of chicken-edible food, seemingly oblivious to our vehicle bumping along the now unsurfaced, uneven track. Near the house though, mother hens scurry away with their tiny babies into the safety of the cactus. Their goats are somewhere ... somewhere ... even our friends don't know exactly where, except that they will return in the evening.
We sip a welcome drink and chat about news in their part of the island. We are always surprised just how much news there is.
And then we set off on foot to join a couple of hundred other people at the fiesta on the opposite hill and yet again, marvel at how Palmerans have a happy knack for selecting such distant and logistically difficult places for a mass get-together.
But is is worth it. Not just for the mounds of free food – soup, paella, cheese, bread, potatoes, cake – and free wine, and live music of course. But also to see just how pretty their cross is.
And it is.