LA ALPUJARRA
La Alpujarra is the name given to the southern slopes of the Sierra Nevada mountains in Spain. With the highest peak (Mulhacen) at just under 3,500 metres, and the coast not very far away, the whole area slopes sharply downhill. The white-washed villages have to cling to the hillsides, and there are a number of spa towns around. Lanjaron, the gateway to the area, is the name of a well-known brand of bottled water, that is made from the snowmelt off the mountains.
We visited Pampaneira and Capileira, two villages in the Poqueira valley. The road up to the latter at 1,440 metres is brand-new, but it is still a fairly hairy drive through the hairpin bends. Many of the inhabitants live by making leatherware and pottery, so it is a good place for idle browsing. It was hot, hot, hot when we were there, so we didn't have the energy for much more.
Capileira is the jump-off place for people wishing to climb Mulhacen. You could easily see the top against a clear-blue sky, and there was still a lot of snow on the peak, despite its being mid-July. I love my annual walking tour in the Lake District. But I also fancy a couple of days' walking in the Sierra Nevada, relaxing afterwards with sangria and paella instead of Black Sheep bitter and roast lamb.
Walter Blotscher
Thursday, 29 July 2010
Wednesday, 28 July 2010
LEAVING HOME
My elder son, who is 20, is leaving home. He is moving to Copenhagen, and starting at the Business School there in August.
Today my wife and I helped him move all his things. We filled a trailer, and drove over the bridge to the big city. He has a room in a fifth floor apartment quite close to the centre, which he "inherited" from his cousin, who used to live there. We lugged everything up five flights of stairs, and met his landlord (a very nice teacher), who gave him his set of keys. Then we went off to Ikea, bought him a bed, bed linen, pillow and clothes horse; and then made everything cosy for him to move in. He won't formally move until mid-August, so he came back to Fünen with us. But the die is cast.
He has been away from home before, not least to spend four months doing national service during the spring. But this time it is different. His course will be for five years, and he will be living in the middle of a capital city, with his own place and with all of its myriad attractions. From now on, it is more likely that we will visit him than the other way round.
It is an exciting time, and I can feel that excitement on his behalf. Since that will be good for him, it can only be good for me. But there was a tinge of sadness as well; an era is ending.
Walter Blotscher
My elder son, who is 20, is leaving home. He is moving to Copenhagen, and starting at the Business School there in August.
Today my wife and I helped him move all his things. We filled a trailer, and drove over the bridge to the big city. He has a room in a fifth floor apartment quite close to the centre, which he "inherited" from his cousin, who used to live there. We lugged everything up five flights of stairs, and met his landlord (a very nice teacher), who gave him his set of keys. Then we went off to Ikea, bought him a bed, bed linen, pillow and clothes horse; and then made everything cosy for him to move in. He won't formally move until mid-August, so he came back to Fünen with us. But the die is cast.
He has been away from home before, not least to spend four months doing national service during the spring. But this time it is different. His course will be for five years, and he will be living in the middle of a capital city, with his own place and with all of its myriad attractions. From now on, it is more likely that we will visit him than the other way round.
It is an exciting time, and I can feel that excitement on his behalf. Since that will be good for him, it can only be good for me. But there was a tinge of sadness as well; an era is ending.
Walter Blotscher
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
DANDELIONS
I hate dandelions. This is not a love-hate relationship combined with a bit of mutual respect, a la mole, this is a pure, unadulterated, unmitigated, one-way, vitriolic hatred. They are ugly little buggers to start with. And then they have this humungously large root that burrows down into the soil. If you try and pull them out by the leaves, the root usually snaps, which means that the wretched thing is ready to start growing again next year.
My mother-in-law is the only person I know who both lives in a rural area (and so is prone to invasion by flying dandelion seeds), and yet has almost no dandelions on her immaculately tended lawn. When I asked her how she did it, she told me that it was a combination of eternal vigil, and the use of an ingenious little tool, that manages to pull the dandelions out, roots and all. Said tool promptly went to the top of my birthday wish list, and duly arrived in wrapping paper on 5 July this year.
It looks a bit like a walking stick with a piano pedal attached to the foot. At the bottom of the stick are four claws, which are open, and which you stick into the grass around the head of the forthcoming dandelion victim. When you then press down on the pedal with your foot, the claws (which are serrated) close together and grip the weed's root. You then lever the claws out of the ground, hopefully trailing a long root behind them.
It was a sunny day today, so time for some serious dandelion genocide. During the space of a couple of hours, I managed to fill the wheelbarrow twice. I know that this is definitely a long-term project, but I have made a good start. And my mother-in-law will be pleased.
Walter Blotscher
I hate dandelions. This is not a love-hate relationship combined with a bit of mutual respect, a la mole, this is a pure, unadulterated, unmitigated, one-way, vitriolic hatred. They are ugly little buggers to start with. And then they have this humungously large root that burrows down into the soil. If you try and pull them out by the leaves, the root usually snaps, which means that the wretched thing is ready to start growing again next year.
My mother-in-law is the only person I know who both lives in a rural area (and so is prone to invasion by flying dandelion seeds), and yet has almost no dandelions on her immaculately tended lawn. When I asked her how she did it, she told me that it was a combination of eternal vigil, and the use of an ingenious little tool, that manages to pull the dandelions out, roots and all. Said tool promptly went to the top of my birthday wish list, and duly arrived in wrapping paper on 5 July this year.
It looks a bit like a walking stick with a piano pedal attached to the foot. At the bottom of the stick are four claws, which are open, and which you stick into the grass around the head of the forthcoming dandelion victim. When you then press down on the pedal with your foot, the claws (which are serrated) close together and grip the weed's root. You then lever the claws out of the ground, hopefully trailing a long root behind them.
It was a sunny day today, so time for some serious dandelion genocide. During the space of a couple of hours, I managed to fill the wheelbarrow twice. I know that this is definitely a long-term project, but I have made a good start. And my mother-in-law will be pleased.
Walter Blotscher
Monday, 26 July 2010
BLOGOSSARY
One of the interesting side-effects of blogging has been the exposure to new (and newly invented) vocabulary. Like the word blog itself, which is short for web log. Or the blogosphere, the cyberworld, which bloggers like me inhabit.
Other words I have recently learned include vlog, a video blog; blong, a short song written in a sort of blog format; and bleg, to beg or ask for assistance via a blog.
You can find an expanded list on the website www.blogossary.com. Where else?
Walter Blotscher
One of the interesting side-effects of blogging has been the exposure to new (and newly invented) vocabulary. Like the word blog itself, which is short for web log. Or the blogosphere, the cyberworld, which bloggers like me inhabit.
Other words I have recently learned include vlog, a video blog; blong, a short song written in a sort of blog format; and bleg, to beg or ask for assistance via a blog.
You can find an expanded list on the website www.blogossary.com. Where else?
Walter Blotscher
Sunday, 25 July 2010
WEST JUTLAND
I have spent the last couple of days at my wife's family's annual gathering (again no internet connection, hence no blog). Everybody was there this year, all 23 of us, accomodated in a large summer house in West Jutland.
Jutland is the part of Denmark that sticks up from Germany. Traditionally, it is the poor part of the country. The land is flat, particularly on the western side, and the soil is sandy, which makes agriculture difficult. In olden times it was mainly heath and pine forests. Standing on the current border between Germany and Denmark and looking at the pancake-flat, dyke-ridden landscape, it is hard to see why the Schleswig-Holstein question exercised so many minds for so long. To be blunt, who would want it?
Danish ingenuity has since solved the agricultural problem, so nowadays there are large fields of wheat and maize, herds of dairy cattle, and many of the country's large pig farms (see Gylle, 1/5/10). But ingenuity can't make the landscape any hillier. The roads in West Jutland are dead straight; after 10km, you come to a five degree kink, and there is a small village or town on the bend, often with an odd name. Tarm, Vemb, Tim, Borris. As you approach the North Sea, the trees forming the hedgerows bend in unison, victims of the westerly winds that blow pretty much all the year round. All in all, I find it pretty desolate, at least until you get to the coast.
It would also explain the area's reputation for having a particularly intense form of religious puritanism. The film Babette's Feast was set in West Jutland, with Karen Blixen poking gentle fun at the hypocrisy of the overly religious.
Today the region is hugely dependent on tourists, particularly Germans. The long, sandy beaches, with high dunes whipped up by the winds, attract windsurfers, families with children, cyclists and seabathers. They are housed in the modern-day version of fishermen's cottages, well-built and -furnished to (high) Danish standards. The house we stayed at had 18 beds (the spillover slept in a tent), an indoor swimming pool, sauna, and two jacuzzis, one outdoors.
The outlying parts of Denmark are finding it hard to keep their populations. Fishing, the mainstay of the coast in former times, has been in difficulties for years. Young people want to move to the cities, notably Copenhagen and Aarhus, in search of more excitement. And it is already difficult to attact (for instance) general practitioners to look after the health needs of the rapidly ageing people who remain. Without those German euros pouring into summer houses, those problems would be greater still.
Walter Blotscher
I have spent the last couple of days at my wife's family's annual gathering (again no internet connection, hence no blog). Everybody was there this year, all 23 of us, accomodated in a large summer house in West Jutland.
Jutland is the part of Denmark that sticks up from Germany. Traditionally, it is the poor part of the country. The land is flat, particularly on the western side, and the soil is sandy, which makes agriculture difficult. In olden times it was mainly heath and pine forests. Standing on the current border between Germany and Denmark and looking at the pancake-flat, dyke-ridden landscape, it is hard to see why the Schleswig-Holstein question exercised so many minds for so long. To be blunt, who would want it?
Danish ingenuity has since solved the agricultural problem, so nowadays there are large fields of wheat and maize, herds of dairy cattle, and many of the country's large pig farms (see Gylle, 1/5/10). But ingenuity can't make the landscape any hillier. The roads in West Jutland are dead straight; after 10km, you come to a five degree kink, and there is a small village or town on the bend, often with an odd name. Tarm, Vemb, Tim, Borris. As you approach the North Sea, the trees forming the hedgerows bend in unison, victims of the westerly winds that blow pretty much all the year round. All in all, I find it pretty desolate, at least until you get to the coast.
It would also explain the area's reputation for having a particularly intense form of religious puritanism. The film Babette's Feast was set in West Jutland, with Karen Blixen poking gentle fun at the hypocrisy of the overly religious.
Today the region is hugely dependent on tourists, particularly Germans. The long, sandy beaches, with high dunes whipped up by the winds, attract windsurfers, families with children, cyclists and seabathers. They are housed in the modern-day version of fishermen's cottages, well-built and -furnished to (high) Danish standards. The house we stayed at had 18 beds (the spillover slept in a tent), an indoor swimming pool, sauna, and two jacuzzis, one outdoors.
The outlying parts of Denmark are finding it hard to keep their populations. Fishing, the mainstay of the coast in former times, has been in difficulties for years. Young people want to move to the cities, notably Copenhagen and Aarhus, in search of more excitement. And it is already difficult to attact (for instance) general practitioners to look after the health needs of the rapidly ageing people who remain. Without those German euros pouring into summer houses, those problems would be greater still.
Walter Blotscher
TOUR DE FRANCE (2)
In my blog on the Giro d'Italia (30/5/10), I said that this year's Tour would be a straight fight between Andy Schleck and Alberto Contador, with Contador winning. And so it proved, the Spaniard winning the 3-week epic by just 39 seconds.
Supporters of the personable Saxo Bank rider will point out that those 39 seconds are exactly what Schleck lost on the 15th stage in the Pyrenees to Bagneres-de-Luchon. Wearing the yellow jersey at the time by 31 seconds, Schleck attacked on the last climb before the downhill finish, and seemingly got a gap. But then at the critical moment, his chain jumped, forcing him to stop and put it back on. Contador, Samuel Sanchez and Denis Menchov all attacked, and had 15 seconds on Schleck by the summit, a gap which they increased on the fast descent to the finish.
There was a lot of discussion afterwards about whether it was "fair" for Contador to attack when the yellow jersey was vulnerable in this way. Personally, I think it was OK; punctures, crashes and mechanical failures are all part of the sport, and one of the reasons for its unpredictability and excitement. Besides, Schleck had not stopped for Contador when the latter was hampered by a crash in front of him on the cobblestone stage in the first week.
No, the real reasons Schleck lost were twofold. First, his elder brother Frank crashed out on the paves and broke his collarbone. With both Schlecks in the race, and the elder in the form of his life, they could have taken turns to attack Contador in the mountains and run his team ragged, in the same way that Carlos Sastre and Frank Schleck softened up Cadel Evans in 2008 (Sastre taking the victory). Secondly, Andy Schleck lost 42 seconds to Contador in just 9km in the wet prologue in Rotterdam (which means that the other 3,000 + kilometers were pretty much a dead heat). More than anything, that shows just how important it is in a stage race to race every single stage.
Contador has now won the last five 3-week Grand Tours he has entered; three Tours de France, one Giro d'Italia and one Vuelta d'Espana. That's a terrific achievement. He is talking about not doing the Tour next year, but going for the Giro/Vuelta double, as he did in 2008. If so, that will leave the field clear for Andy Schleck, as it did for Sastre. Otherwise, the Contador/Schleck rivalry will liven up cycling's premier event for years to come.
Walter Blotscher
In my blog on the Giro d'Italia (30/5/10), I said that this year's Tour would be a straight fight between Andy Schleck and Alberto Contador, with Contador winning. And so it proved, the Spaniard winning the 3-week epic by just 39 seconds.
Supporters of the personable Saxo Bank rider will point out that those 39 seconds are exactly what Schleck lost on the 15th stage in the Pyrenees to Bagneres-de-Luchon. Wearing the yellow jersey at the time by 31 seconds, Schleck attacked on the last climb before the downhill finish, and seemingly got a gap. But then at the critical moment, his chain jumped, forcing him to stop and put it back on. Contador, Samuel Sanchez and Denis Menchov all attacked, and had 15 seconds on Schleck by the summit, a gap which they increased on the fast descent to the finish.
There was a lot of discussion afterwards about whether it was "fair" for Contador to attack when the yellow jersey was vulnerable in this way. Personally, I think it was OK; punctures, crashes and mechanical failures are all part of the sport, and one of the reasons for its unpredictability and excitement. Besides, Schleck had not stopped for Contador when the latter was hampered by a crash in front of him on the cobblestone stage in the first week.
No, the real reasons Schleck lost were twofold. First, his elder brother Frank crashed out on the paves and broke his collarbone. With both Schlecks in the race, and the elder in the form of his life, they could have taken turns to attack Contador in the mountains and run his team ragged, in the same way that Carlos Sastre and Frank Schleck softened up Cadel Evans in 2008 (Sastre taking the victory). Secondly, Andy Schleck lost 42 seconds to Contador in just 9km in the wet prologue in Rotterdam (which means that the other 3,000 + kilometers were pretty much a dead heat). More than anything, that shows just how important it is in a stage race to race every single stage.
Contador has now won the last five 3-week Grand Tours he has entered; three Tours de France, one Giro d'Italia and one Vuelta d'Espana. That's a terrific achievement. He is talking about not doing the Tour next year, but going for the Giro/Vuelta double, as he did in 2008. If so, that will leave the field clear for Andy Schleck, as it did for Sastre. Otherwise, the Contador/Schleck rivalry will liven up cycling's premier event for years to come.
Walter Blotscher
Monday, 19 July 2010
TOWEL RACKS
99,9% of all towels are rectangular. As are 99,9% of all towel racks. Indeed, most of them have bars built into them at intervals, so that the rectangular towels fit easily into the rectangular rack.
Why is it, then, that 100% of the rest of my family don't seem able to fit the towels in the towel rack? Virtually every day I find myself taking one or more "stuffed" towels out of the towel rack in the bathroom, folding them, and putting them neatly back again.
Most days I don't seem to mind, and do it almost absent-mindedly. But for some reason this morning it got to me. Hence this rant.
Walter Blotscher
99,9% of all towels are rectangular. As are 99,9% of all towel racks. Indeed, most of them have bars built into them at intervals, so that the rectangular towels fit easily into the rectangular rack.
Why is it, then, that 100% of the rest of my family don't seem able to fit the towels in the towel rack? Virtually every day I find myself taking one or more "stuffed" towels out of the towel rack in the bathroom, folding them, and putting them neatly back again.
Most days I don't seem to mind, and do it almost absent-mindedly. But for some reason this morning it got to me. Hence this rant.
Walter Blotscher
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