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Andalusian Dispatch – Touched

Christmas time did arrive in my beloved Andalusia.

Being a child of the Northwind I´m still struggling a bit with sunshine in abundance and plus 24 degrees on the balcony, that so generously, breathlessly, overlooks the soft mountains and hilltops only to go full scale astonishing with the deep blue of the Mediterranean basin. It touches my soul and its need for beauty.

The prelude to this was a nasty cold November with its torrential rains. I have been here for three Novembers now and this was nasty.

Yesterday our landlord came to kill.
Armed with all the weapons of mass destruction that Saddam didn’t have, he took on The….Caterpillar. (Eerie Music)

Next time I meet the God of Light I will ask him if this caterpillar was his doing, or if it was constructed by his adversary deeper down in The Dark in order to put some sort of snake into this heavenly place on Earth. If a cat comes near the caterpillar’s hairs, and frankly it looks like a hippie, it will mean death. If a somehow bigger dog sniffs it, it often will lose its tongue or nose, by surgical intervention. If children… and I do not feel like going into that. If a grown-up person goes there it will be bodily agony, often long term.

It seems like this caterpillar really got the concept of self-defense so predators wouldn’t eat it. It just took it too far, some do….
Nobody longs for that touch.

By the waterfront the Brits are getting drunk in Andalusian bars.

Officially there should be about 350,000 along the coastline of Andalusia, known as the Costa Del Sol. The sunny coast. Before that it was named: The Windy Coast. From Spanish: The Tormented Coast, but I guess that didn’t sell well. Unofficially there should be 800,000.

I stay out of these circles. Whether it be Brits, Norwegians, Swedish and what have we. The tribal consciousness exists all too well and is hanging so thick over their little heads and hearts you would think they are in for some nasty weather – and they probably are.

Nothing in this world is more pathetic than a drunk Swede and the vine in Spain is cheap. In the Motherland they have to buy it in special stores called: Systembolaget. Just another word for Surveillance and Control.

The Norwegians are so tormented by their health cravings, they start early in the mornings, run up and down the mountains with their silly walking sticks which they probably leave outside their houses in the evenings to digest that Broccoli smoothie with clear mountain water.

Nothing wrong with that folks – except: They do not look Happy. They look like: Pumped Up Agony. I call them: The Living Dead.

Sweden and Norway share a long border. For some reason, they are not at war. They do not touch.

The Brits however are very strange indeed. I know of quite a few who had to pack up under the cover of an Andalusian night and flee back to England. Nothing more of a reason: They became the target of gossip. How stupid does it get, really?

Often they migrate on account of gossip and I suspect it would be a national sport in their homeland if it wouldn’t be so difficult to assign a team for the Olympics, because there are just too many really good Athletes – so who to choose?

Maybe the right thing to do is to baptize this coast as: Little Sunny Gossiping England. Get rid of the bloody Spanish, as some of them refer to their hosts, and go cheap wine and fish and chips.

It beats me, why they would import/export their petty little gossip addiction, which comes as cheap as backyard heroin in the dodgy backstreets of Mumbai. Maybe they did the same there. If you think of settling in Andalusia – maybe don’t get touched by it.

A friend drove me down from the mountains.
We talked a bit about it. He told me a story I wish I hadn’t heard. He said: The worst thing is when the children call me, give me 20 Euros, and ask me to pick their Mother up in the bar and drive her home. Usually they are there when the bars open and usually they go home when it closes, unless there are taxi drivers engaged in a parent pick up service.

If something would just Touch the Brits. Some of them are touched by the beauty, the sunlight, the sounds, the light here, which attracted so many famous painters and poets. But they struggle to keep out of the demands for degradation by the Tribe under the heavy weight of social pressure: Either you’re with us or you’re against us, and the Brits that don’t obey are Targeted and soon up for leaving in the nights.

My landlord told me one day, when we were driving in the van he uses for Mango and Avocados, that there are some of ‘My Nationality’ here. He knew them well and would introduce me. I begged him not to. I didn’t come all this way to be in the same tribe as before. I stuck to that. The people I have here are Spanish and I really like them. They speak their mind and if anything’s wrong they tell you. They have a benevolent pride and yes, they are easy going.

I understand that the government is trying to assassinate the Siesta.

I remember when Spain joined the European Union that the EU told them to get rid of the siesta. They didn’t succeed. EU ‘felt’ that is was counterproductive and could set a bad example. Obviously, that is not the case. The case is Control. Have the people work from 9 – 5 and you got them by the balls in the tick-tock hamster wheel of the System.

Now, they are at it again but with a twist. They want to set the time zone one hour back permanently, like England (hmmm) and Portugal and sort of stealth wipe out the Siesta.

People here use the siesta, if they can’t go home for reasons of transportation, to meet at the cafe, go to the beach, hang out and chill. The siesta is the Spanish glue that keeps people socializing on more, shall we say, genuine terms than Facebook, selfies and Twitter put together. The Spanish love to gossip, but they do not get mean.

The Spanish have a fine record in longevity. Scientists say it’s due to the Mediterranean diet. Well, it’s very healthy but that is only one part of the truth. Another part is the Siesta. Via the same science, we now know that it is very healthy to take a mid-day nap or maybe make some funky love, since it flushes the brain free of Toxins. We know that variety in the monotone labor life, makes you come back to it, recharged for the final push until you can clock out.

So, the Spanish simply live too long or what?

Surveys shows that the Spanish are more productive than the Germans, so get the f’ck out of here.

India once tried to trademark Yoga. Maybe the Spanish should export the Siesta and let the world rest, have fun you know in the wild, uhhhh. The bloody Chinese would be in withdrawal, you know the nature loving, environment protecting, ‘all for the people’ Chinese society, which frankly is as annoying as a borderline personality on Ecstasy when it comes to even a shred of logic. China is the chemical people, sharply followed by the radiation glowing Japanese and their craving for a good Dolphin Steak.

It is as eardrum busting as hearing Obama talk of world peace or Bono talking about the people of the Sudan or Clooney, the Clinton Puppet, talking about housing refugees, or is it migrants, from his 14-bedroom estate whether that be in the US or London.

Sometimes this world touches us in a very peculiar ways.

I´ll go collect some firewood for the cold of the evening, inspect the lot for surviving caterpillars, make a coffee, and place myself in a sunny spot.

Life is good.

You have a wonderful, wonderful time.

©2016 Soren Dreier – Feel free to share this post with link back.

Disclaimer: This post might contain certain outburst of satire.

July 2017
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