Free Driving Over Lemons: An Optimist in Spain by Chris Stewart Page B

addition of lavender and several varieties of thyme, tinged by the odd clump of evil-smelling rue.
    Far below, the clear water of the gently flowing Cádiar river mingled with the darker rushing waters of the Río Trevélez and together crashed and tumbled down the rocky bed to the gorge at El Granadino. In the easternmost of the three triangles made by the joining of the rivers lay El Valero. We sat on a hummock and traced the edge of the land as it fell steeply almost to the water’s edge on the south side, and flattened into wide river-fields on the north.
    Back at the farm, with half the morning still ahead, I bounced across the river in the Landrover to fetch another load of our ridiculous and embarrassing worldly goods from the trailer. It was doubly embarrassing now, for the occupants of the few houses nearby had gathered to pass muttered comments on each item as it emerged.
    ‘That must be their pig-killing table.’
    ‘No! Do they really use things like that over there?’
    In fact it was our dining table, a fine piece of joinery that I had once hauled back from an antique shop for Ana’s birthday. Interestingly, nobody seemed to want to hazard a guess about my electric sheep-shearing equipment, which was greeted with a puzzled silence.
    Chastened by this reception of our possessions, I crept up the river again to unload in front of Pedro, who subjected each and every object to yet more critical commentary. I thanked the unseen powers that had made us leave Ana’s collection of china toads and turtles by a roadside in England, when our trailer had proved too heavy to budge.
    By the end of the morning I had moved our remaining gear from the trailer and installed it in the house. Ana, with a dust-pan and brush and some jam-jars full of flowers, had made the place into some semblance of a home. As I rumbled up the track with the last load, she was sitting with Pedro, eating lunch.
    ‘Pedro and I have drawn up a list of what we need,’ Ana announced. ‘Running water, that’s the main thing,’ asserted Pedro. ‘Proper civilised people like you should not be without running water.’
    I gaped. Since when had he transformed himself into such an advocate of modern living? But Ana was away. ‘You must have had running water here once?’ she asked Pedro. ‘ What about the oil-drum on the bathroom roof?’
    ‘Ah, we used to fill that up with buckets from below. The old spring we used would never reach that high. What you must do is buy some hose and run it to one of the springs on the other side of the valley, in the
barranco
. I’ve been wanting to do that for years but you know how it is: my people, they wouldn’t hear of it. They won’t part with a penny, my people.’
    ‘That’s a hell of a long way to run a hose,’ I objected. ‘And besides, we don’t have any rights to that water.’
    ‘Lord, that doesn’t matter!’ Pedro scoffed. ‘That’s lost water, anyone can have it. You’ll be alright with that. As for the distance, well, it’s less than a thousand metres, and it should be high enough to give you good pressure in the bathroom. It’s fine sweet water too, you can drink it. You’ll have spring water to drink in your own house and plenty left over for watering. You’ll be able to turn the place into a paradise. The first thing is to get a new oil-drum for the bathroom roof. Then Ana will need a cooker – she can’t possibly cook like me over this disgusting twig fire. And you’ll need a fridge to keep the beer cold.’
    ‘I think he’s more or less got the priorities right,’ said Ana with a grin.
    ‘Water, cooker and fridge; then we’ll get some food in and we’ll be away. We’ll go into town after lunch.’
    So we went to town in search of an oil-drum and cooker. I couldn’t whip up a great deal of enthusiasm for the fridge, as the weather was pretty cool at the end of November, and I’ve never liked cold beer. I also rather liked the romance of cooking in a dark corner