You can’t get there from here.


Apparently we are on the verge of nuclear meltdown, civil war and a super-moon.  Yup, that describes life with a newborn and a toddler.

This blog is supposed to be about Spanish culture etc, but my world has gotten very small.  Instead of roving from tapas bar to tapas bar, now we shift from nipple to nipple, usually stopping for a poo in between.

So unfortunately,  I can’t tell you much about Spain, although I’m almost positive that is my current location.  It looks like Algeciras through the fingerprints on my windows.

Yup, that’s Algeciras.

We have a lovely view of the oil refinery coast off our balcony.  But the camera zoom out the side view reveals the local colour.

Since flooding closed off almost all access to our neighbourhood, getting here is tricky.  Locals know how to get around the closures via a dirt track behind our building.

On Río’s birthday Yago gleefully spotted the tow truck pulling three different idiot’s out of the same mud hole.  And given the view, you can imagine that we don’t spend a lot of time gazing out into the scenery.

Mudholes.  Garbage.  Someone’s sofa.  That is what fills the 100 metres of proposed road that would connect our neighbourhood to the outside world. Instead of building it, they just keep throwing more money rock at the same highway culvert that blows out every year.

But what do I care?  I’m not going anywhere.

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