Orce

My trusty swimmers earplugs blocked out the morning bustle of Tressa’s house until noon when my also trusty phone alarm sounded to penetrate my wax-stuffed ears. I was huuuuuung over. I had to catch a bus at 3:30 PM, which would take me to the ancient little town of Orce (pronounced almost like “or-they”) a couple hours outside Granada. Once there, I would meet up with my workstay hosts David and Simon. They would then transport me to a remote village of four people about half an hour outside of Orce dubbed Venta Methena. I was scheduled to assist them with renovating their property just outside the little village. I stuffed down some brekky and packed up all of my things. I have a very special way of cramming all of my junk into my little baby pack which takes some tender loving care and patience and quite a lot of minutes. By the time I was about ready to bust out the door it was already after 2. I was stressin’, and I still didn’t know the exact bus route to the main station. So sure enough, after waiting 20 minutes for the bus I managed to get off at the wrong stop and engage in an escapade of completely silly failure, finally arriving at the bus station a good 20 minutes late. No bus. Lame. I bummed about it for a second, then swiftly switched into fuck-it mode. I contacted Simon and David and rescheduled a rendezvous for the next night. I went back to Tressa’s and napped the day away, waking up only to go on an adventure downtown consisting primarily of ice cream and watching people drink like sailors. Saturday nights in college towns are legendary, everybody fightin’ wars with their bottles. Sleep came easily.

The following day was significantly more successful. Got sleep, got to the bus station on time and shot off for Orce. I arrived after dark and met David and Simon at the bus stop. We made quick friends. Simon and David have been together for about 25 years and are in their mid 50’s and mid 40’s respectively. They grew up in Cornwall, a beautifully scenic area in southwest England. Like many of their fellow country men, they got sick of the grey dreariness and overpopulation of Britain and moved to a place with less white people, namely southern Spain. Unlike their countrymen, they moved to the middle of buttfuck nowhere inland Spain as opposed to the Mediterranean coast where some beachfront suburbs have a 90% British population. I could dig it. They now own a cave dwelling a few miles away from their home in the side of a hill that they rent out to tourists and are renovating the rundown second half of their house in hopes of turning their home into a bed and breakfast. The area is also popular with anthropologists and paleontologists because the Orce valley used to be one of the biggest prehistoric lakes in ancient Europe. Anyways, they love music, I love music, they like talking, I like talking…We got along just dandy. They were also fascinated with my California ways and teased me every chance they got for my American accent and euphemisms. I returned the favor by dissing on their silly British leanings. We had a wonderful time.

I had my own dope suite in their house. Their cortijo (a piece of property in Spain) overlooks the slightly distant Sierra de Maria mountain range, which became my number one obsession. They are amazingly beautiful and sort of hypnotic. There is also a huge hill right next to the cortijo I climbed on a daily basis to play guitar and yell and whatever. We had a solid daily routine we followed in order to align all of our meals and start work early. Breakfast at 8:45, start work at 9:30, tea at noon, stop work at 1:30, lunch at 2, dinner at 7:30. It felt really good to get up early and do some good physical labor. They taught me how to mix concrete and lay blocks. I watered tons of plants, scraped ancient paint off of beams and busted huge holes in unsafe walls. After work, I played tons of guitar, listened to a lot of music very intently and enjoyed long rides through the valley on a mountain bike they lent me. Oh, and naps. Lots of naps. I obtained a tranquilo mindset (tranquil, relaxed, meditative) and started work on a number of songs I feel are some of my best yet. David is an incredible cook and made us amazing British dishes on the daily. Wine was served nightly and I was introduced to the hilarious Monty Python comedy series Falty Towers.

On my day off, I rode the bike out to the Sierra de Maria, something I had been looking forward to since the day I arrived. It was about 12 miles away, all up hill. I hiked up the closest little mountain I could access and got seriously lost in the dense pine forest. I scrambled up a little rocky hill and stole some breathtaking views of the valley and of the Sierra Nevada’s in the distance. The ride home was orgasmic as I coasted down 10 miles past 19^th century farm houses, pine forests and the mountain range to the North. I couldn’t walk for a couple days. So it goes.

After two weeks, Simon and David dropped me back off at Orce for my bus ride back to Granada. We had visited Orce a few times during my workstay to pick up some building materials. The town seems buried in the past, the architecture all sand blasted with thousand year old Moorish castles shooting up above the few storefronts. I love streets that are made for people and not for cars. Little Spanish men wander around all day with their hands behind their backs and their cigars in their mouths yelling at each other and telling stories and grinning with no teeth. Everyone walks so slow and yells at each other from across the street with tons of cheer. I gave Simon and David big ol’ hugs. They thanked me for the hard work and I thanked them for the delicious cuisine and delicious bed. Work exchanges are awesome. I blew Orce a big sloppy kiss.