“Eek, well, to be honest, hmm, eek, that would be good, as she can be difficult to transport, hmm-eek.” By now, with the excitement of the situation, the twitching and squeaking was off the chart.
We shook hands there and then and agreed to organise a deposit as soon as possible.
We instructed a solicitor in Spain to deal with the sale. In fact the solicitor we used was José, who I had met in Ronda. We then put the house in the UK up for sale, after weeks of preparation. We were confident of a quick sale, possibly within weeks.
6 Crisis
“Oh shit!” I muttered, “Lorna, come and look. All these people are queuing up outside the building societies on the news, trying to get their money out. The news is saying there is some sort of banking crisis!”
“Oh, really? What does that mean?”
“Well, they are saying that they think this banking crisis could affect the housing market. It shouldn’t be too much of a problem for us, though, this house should still sell.”
As the weeks passed we had a few interested viewers but the expected offers didn’t materialise. However we were still hopeful and confident things would be okay. We arranged to make another trip, in October, to see Neil and Caroline at the Olive Mill, and also see Peter and Penny at Ronda and discuss our alpaca requirements. We had given them a budget, and we were keen to see what they could come up with. This would also be the first chance for Chris and Frankie to see their future home.
Over the next few weeks we began to slowly tell people, friends and work colleagues of our plans for a new life. Many were shocked, particularly those who had known Lorna in a professional capacity, but without exception everyone wished us well.
When we explained the reasoning behind our decision to friends and family, we began to hear the phrases that were to become all too common to us, “You’re so brave” or “I would so love to do something like that.” It really annoys me when people say this to us. We are no different or any braver than anyone else, and I just want to say to them, “Go on then, just do it!” I truly believe we only live once, and I would hate to get to the end of my life and say that I had not tried something different, or that I was never brave enough. Well… WE WERE BRAVE ENOUGH!
So, now the people around us knew, and the deposit was paid on the Spanish house; we were fast approaching the point of no return.
As the October trip drew close, the day before we left, Chris suffered an epileptic fit and was unable to travel, so Chris and Frankie stayed in Brighton. This would mean they would miss their last chance to see the house before we moved to Spain. They would be moving to a whole new country, without even seeing the house they were due to live in. They had to trust us completely.
The first two days of the trip were spent at the Olive Mill with Neil and Caroline, and Neil talked us through some extra little bits of work he had done. We loved his ‘rustic’ style of work, and we discussed the possibility of using Neil for some work we had planned after we arrived. Of course he was very keen.
On the last night of the Montoro leg of our visit, we found out it was the annual local fair (Feria), and we decided to check it out. The Feria ground in Montoro is situated around the bullring, and there are fabulous lights erected every year, and a large fairground with rides in attendance. The ladies of the town wear their traditional gypsy dresses and the children wear the most adorable outfits. Most of the locals will attend the Feria every night, and eat, drink and dance flamenco until the ‘wee small hours’ and stumble home at around 6 in the morning to recover for the next night’s celebrations.
The night we visited, there happened to be a parade of fire eaters and snake handlers, all accompanied by scantily clad dancers of both sexes. One of the male dancers was a particularly flamboyant, very camp, Cristiano Ronaldo lookalike. It was quite a spectacle, and made for a terrific atmosphere. We left at a decent hour as we had to drive to Ronda the next morning to discuss our alpacas, unlike the locals, who continued to party throughout the night!
We arrived at the finca of Peter and Penny in the early afternoon to be greeted like long-lost relatives. I endured an uncomfortable man-hug from Peter, as we said our hellos.
“This is Lorna,” I said, and introduced her to the people who would change our life!
“So nice to meet you, luvvie,” Penny exclaimed. “I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks, and we’ve got something for you!”
We were presented with a brochure, detailing the package of animals they were proposing to supply us. This consisted of four animals, one from the herd already in Spain (Bermuda had a fearsome reputation, mainly from putting a posturing Peter on his backside one time, but as such she came at a bargain price). We have since discovered that Bermuda is just a very nervous animal, and she has grown to trust us, far more than she ever could in a large herd. Three more were to arrive as part of a shipment of animals due out in Spain in January.
“Now, there is a spreadsheet here, showing the return you might be expected to make, if everything goes well,” they said.
The piece of paper showed our four girls, breeding yearly and averaging two male and two female cria (baby alpacas) each year. The return after four years seemed fantastic, and would be about 200% of our initial investment. This would be enough for us to live on. The Olive Mill ran on solar power, therefore no electricity bills, and the water came from a spring. This meant our living costs would be significantly lower than in the UK. On top of that our council tax was about €180 for the year!
“Okay, this is good, but there are some things we are worried about. For a start, we have never done this before, we are complete beginners. How will we know what to do?” I asked nervously.
“Don’t worry too much about all that. These animals are perfect for novices. They very rarely get ill, and all they need are some annual injections and their toe nails trimming a couple of times. They get sheared once a year, but we will organise that. Don’t worry, we will be here every step of the way. I will even get in my smart car and drive up to your house as soon as I hear when a baby is on its way.” Penny replied enthusiastically.
“Okay, I think we are in!” I said. “Maybe we can sort the deposit out when we get back to the UK? How does that sound?”
“Perfect. That sounds just perfect. Congratulations and welcome to the alpaca club!” Peter beamed.
That evening Peter and Penny laid on a barbecue, for us to meet another couple who were also investing in alpacas. Tom and Lucy were a lovely couple and we got on well with them instantly. They got into alpacas because Lucy had a dream about owning these animals, and then they heard about Peter and Penny, and their alpaca business. Fate, I guess! We had a lovely evening under the stars, talking all things alpaca, and about the future for the industry in Andalucía, and Spain in general. We were positive we were making the correct decision, and we could be getting in at the start of something magical.
We went to bed knowing we had to rise early, to leave at five, to catch our flight at the airport. Peter insisted on getting up too, and even made breakfast, which was very welcome.
Peter pointed us in the right direction “Right, take the first track to the left, and then follow the track up to the road, and you should be fine. Just pick up the signs for Malaga.”
“Okay, thanks Peter! See you soon.” We waved as we drove off.
It was pitch black; there is no street lighting in rural Andalucia, so when I missed the turning on the track and continued on through a row of olive trees, it was a number of minutes before we realised something was wrong.
“Errrm, Alan, I think we are going the wrong way. I don’t remember the track being this long and bumpy before!” Lorna looked at me.
“I’m not sure either. Damn!”
We turned around, but that seemed to confuse the issue even more. Everywhere we looked, all we could see were rows and rows of olive trees, all in perfect symmetrical lines in every direction.
“Oh my God, we’re totally lost,” said Lorna as we
bumped our tiny hire car along between the olives. We stopped and got out of the car and looked around. We could make out one tiny light, so we headed off again in that direction, slowly, slowly, and after about five or six minutes we emerged from the olive grove, back on the track, only about 50 metres away from where Peter had waved us off. Thankfully at least no one had seen us. If we ever have visitors, I insist on meeting them, thus avoiding a repeat of this incident. Trying to find a tiny car, amidst kilometre upon kilometre of olive trees is no easy feat - the proverbial needle in a haystack.
Back in Brighton, we made our way back to the farm park, which had become our unofficial place to go for serious discussion and talk about our options. While we were there, we got talking to the farm manager and discussed our plans with him.
“The thing is,” he said, “alpacas are expensive. Why don’t you buy half a dozen non-breeding males, and for a year or two get used to them, holding them and handling them, and then if you still feel like breeding later, you will be more experienced. Plus, it will cost you much, much less.”
This seemed a highly sensible option, and we vowed to discuss the situation seriously and also talk it over with Peter and Penny when we next spoke. A few days later Penny phoned to see how we were doing.
“Hi Penny, I’m glad you’ve phoned. There is something we wanted to discuss with you. We have been talking to a farm manager, local to us here, and he has suggested that maybe we should buy some cheap males, and just get used to having them and looking after them for a while before we decide to breed. We think the idea is quite good. What do you think?”
Penny was put out. “Well, to be quite honest Alan, I thought you wanted to do this properly. The best way to get into this business is to buy the best animals you can afford and breed them. A pregnant female costs the same to feed as a pet male. I have spent hours and hours putting together this package for you, calling in all sorts of favours and now there are people relying on my word! You can’t let them all down now.”
“Umm, no. That wasn’t my intention, Penny, it was just a thought we had. Of course we wouldn’t want to let anybody down, we will carry on as we promised.”
Peter had been a good salesman, thorough and detailed, but that piece of subtle (ish) emotional blackmail clinched them the deal, and we agreed to continue with the original plan. Maybe, in hindsight, we should have been stronger!
The plans were coming together. We had secured a house in Spain and put a deposit down on some animals that would hopefully provide us with an adequate income for the future. We were beginning to get excited about our new life.
We had been advised (by books, Internet and know-it-alls), that we should be learning Spanish before we left. Luckily, at one of the schools where Lorna taught, there was a lovely half Greek, half native New York man who had lived in Madrid, and was the teacher of Spanish to the juniors. This was perfect, we felt we needed the basics. We were able to walk through our Spanish abc’s and our basic numbers, and learn some important phrases like, “Mas despacio, por favour” which means ‘more slowly please’. The Spanish have a tendency to combine all the words in a sentence into one long drawn-out word, without taking a breath, so it can be difficult to understand, especially where we were going to live. The lessons went okay: we managed to learn a little, but mainly we laughed a lot. The teacher was quite camp, obviously gay, and quite enjoyed getting us jigging about as though we were part of a Spanish fiesta, all the while practising our basics. When we got something right, we would all cry, “¡Estupendo!” It was a riot.
However, after we arrived in Spain we realised that the Andalucían accent is strong, and they ‘eat’ a lot of their letters and tend to not even pronounce the letter ‘s’. Ever! Throw on top of that, in the area where we live, the majority of people are farmers, many of whom cannot even read or write, and you will understand why three months of learning proper Spanish, with proper pronunciation, did not stand us in very good stead. We have since been told, in no uncertain terms by a local lady, that if we wanted to speak proper Spanish, we should have moved to Madrid.
7 Into the Frying Pan
As the time of completion grew nearer, to save us the time and expense of travelling back and forth to sign paperwork, we decided to give our solicitor power of attorney to act on our behalf. So one day we boarded a train to London and set off for a meeting with a notary at the Spanish Embassy.
“How can I help you?” the lady at the Embassy greeted us.
“We have an appointment with the notary to organise power of attorney for our solicitor.”
“Okay, wait here a moment.”
We were then shown into a large office and asked to sit down and wait for a few minutes and the notary would be with us as soon as possible.
The notary came in and we told her of our plans. “We are buying a house in Cordoba, in Andalucía, and we need to organise power of attorney for our solicitor.”
“Oooh, Cordoba. I love Cordoba, it’s a beautiful city! I lived there for a while myself. Do you know that they call Cordoba the frying pan of Spain?”
“No, we have never heard that. Why?”
“It’s because of the temperature. When I was living there, one day I remember the temperature reaching 50 degrees.”
“50 degrees!” I nearly choked. “Oh my God, I don’t even like sunbathing!”
Over the next few weeks we attended a variety of goodbye meals, parties and get-togethers. From meals with family members, parties at the dance school with three generations of families, and even a special leaving party that Frankie and Chris arranged for their friends.
We had decided that instead of a traditional leaving party, filled with loud music and drunkenness, we wanted to have a day at the local farm park that had been such an inspiration to us. This gave many of our nearest and dearest the chance to get up close and personal with these animals that had enchanted and captivated us. Whilst I think the day was successful and fun, I think that a lot of our friends and family didn’t really ‘get it’ and I think they still struggle with it to this day.
As we said goodbye to people that day, it was with a little trepidation; the day was drawing close and we would be starting our new life in less than 48 hours. We had said goodbye; ‘i’s were dotted and ‘t’s had been crossed. This was going to be an adventure. A new life beckoned us all. This was, in every aspect, us going ‘Into the Frying Pan’.
8 Goodbye Grey Sky
Official moving day was 16th January 2008, and the taxi for the airport was booked for 4 am. We had managed to secure flights where we each had a luggage allowance of 30kg, so we were able to get as much as possible into our cases for our first few weeks. Our relatively small amount of belongings would be with us in about 14 days. Geri the dog was also able to be accommodated and we only had to pay the cost of her weight as excess baggage. This saved a great deal of money on the prices we were quoted by animal travel agencies.
So, after waking at 3 am, although I don’t remember getting much sleep at all, we were packing various necessities for the first few days. One plastic plate each, knives and forks, plastic cups and plenty of clothes. The plan was, when we arrived, we would go shopping at the supermarket and pick up a couple of cooking pots and some bedding, pillows and duvets. Neil and Caroline had kindly left two beds for us to use until our furniture arrived. We shoved Geri (literally) in to her (very large) box and loaded the taxi, said goodbye to relatives who had turned out in their pyjamas to say goodbye, and away we went. At this point it felt as though we were going on a long holiday, we just didn’t know when we would be returning. Chris and Frankie had never even seen the house, so I can only imagine how they must have been feeling!
Having arrived at the airport, we checked in our baggage, and found out what we needed to do with Geri. We had to take her to the cargo desk, next to the security queues, and present her newly- acquired (and expensive) passport and travel documents.
Lorna said goodbye to Geri through the door of her crate an
d we started to walk down to the security gate.
“Oh dear, listen to that,” Lorna said with a grimace. Geri was crying. Loudly.
As we walked towards security, the crying got louder and louder. “Oh no, I hope she is going to be okay.”
“I’m sure she will be fine once she’s loaded and there’s no one around. She’s just attention seeking.” I tried to assure Lorna, but I wasn’t sure. I just hoped all would be fine. As we walked up to security, it felt as though the eyes of the terminal were upon us. Who knows how long, or how loud she cried?
For the first time I think reality began to set in for us all while we waited to board that plane. We were really moving! Abroad! To rural Spain! To breed alpacas! What were we thinking?
9 Hello Blue
Animal count: One dog, one feral cat, one pot bellied pig
(Mary-Belle came with the house, as agreed)
We landed in our new home, sunny Spain, at Malaga airport at around 9 am. Frankie, eager to see outside, was disappointed.
“It’s bloody raining. Would you believe it, we move to Spain, and it’s just like England, grey and drizzly.”
“I’m sure there will be plenty of sunny days, Frankie,” Lorna assured her.
We queued up through passport control, and went to wait for our baggage. We had been told that once we had collected our luggage we could collect Geri from the cargo collection area.
“Okay, now we’ve got the bags, where do we find Geri?” Lorna was looking around anxiously.
“I think there’s a cargo collection point down there,” I said pointing to the end of the terminal.
“Shhh, listen,” Frankie said suddenly. “Can you hear crying? Like Geri was before?”
We all listened carefully. We could all hear it, and it was getting louder.
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