Yesterday, Yago and I visited our friends Hannah and Lucy in a near-by village. Jimena is a gorgeous little “pueblo blanco”, 30 km or so into the hills behind Algeciras. It is quaint, quiet and sleepy. But not sleepy enough to convince Lucy to have a nap.
This is the view from the front door of Hannah’s place.
Gorgeous, isn’t it. Steep too. Which is great for enjoying the view, but not so good for walking babes in strollers. While I enjoyed the sunny afternoon, Hannah and Lucy did laps down the 10 meter stretch of flat, relatively smooth pavement in front of the house.
I felt a little guilty sitting down. But much to my chagrin, Yago zonked out and hey, I’ll take any opportunity at laziness I can get.
Hannah didn’t have such luck. But damn she looks good in that plaid shirt. Humping up and down those Jimena hills must be good for the legs. Those are roof tops you see at the level of her waist.
The old village is a collage of white, narrow, Lego-like houses, all jostled together in the narrow streets.
Nope, still not asleep.
The river meanders past pasture and orange groves. The whole village is surrounded by a National Park dedicated to cork forests. The rolling hills roll all the way to the noise and pollution that hang like a dark cloud over the port of Algeciras and my house. It is so near, but yet so far from where I live.
Damn, still not asleep. Lucy was wide awake but Hannah was exhausted after 45 minutes of vigorous exercise.
And I just sat there. But I have an excuse. I was learning about the local culture. Getting into the Jimena spirit. I saw all the old neighbours doing the same. The official sport of Jimena is sitting on a chair, outside your front door, watching Hannah try to outlast Lucy.