Thursday, January 4, 2007

Pequeño Paraíso


I´ve arrived in my northeast facing, river bed, mountain and village viewed room, complete with terrace with morning sun, a plane tree with berries, and a plethora of birds vibrating outside. The room has the perfect desk, a rolling chair, gas heat, and a long, single, nun´s bed on a platform of adobe. In addition to make your own breakfast, we have six dishes to sample from for lunch, before meeting at a quarter to eight for a glass of wine and tapas before a communal dinner. I admit to appearing ridiculously spoiled, but am striving to only feel calm, anti-anxious, and un-guilty for being here. No voices, just poems, say the voices. So far, my co-conspirators include the Danish writer who sparked international fury over his request for depictions of the Prophet, a Nigerian painter and a New York novelist. Very lovely people all.

On the walk from the centre to an internet source (about twenty minutes uphill), pomegranates, almonds, oranges and lemons fell off winter-ed trees all around me in the fields, with pleasing soft thunks. I will be collecting seeds from all the cypresses, and getting to know the gardener, who supplies us with the beans, beets, asparagus and potatoes we ate for lunch today. Lorca´s collected poems was waiting in the library at the centre, and its lines speak of just these landscapes; even the pony in the field next door has become a little appealing.

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

When you go into Mojacar, do you turn left or right at the Round About (traffic circle)? On your way into Mojacar, you might look for nite life at La Taberna or, if your more adventurous, go across town, easterly, to the Cafe La La. Or, better yet, stay in your 'little paradise' and write poetry -- it's safer.

BTW, just north of the Round About, after the first intersection and across from the beach, on the east side of the green parkway, is a lovely complex with an unusually shaped swimming pool in the courtyard within. You might want to see if you can go swimming there.

love ya, us'n

Anonymous said...

Hi Em,

Thanks for the great descriptions of your colourful home away from home. I'm envious, as is anyone who might read about your adventures. Keep it up and we'll keep checking.

All's well at home. Weather is still horrible, even worse, some might say. We're all dreaming of tropical places... like Saskatchewan!

Miss you.

The Brewer Women

Anonymous said...

Dear maleea, I was hoping to see you this weekend in Vic, but there you are in the far away sun. Having you close made me careless of contact but now I'll follow you carefully through the tango strewn streets. This is a beautiful way to connect your friends to the particulars of your experience. I see a nod to Jan in the title. I've just been excepted to the Banff Writing Studio. A good reason to gather my shards into some form of music.
Love to you and good writing. Carol

Unknown said...

"No voices, just poems, say the voices."

I love this. Perfectly captures the writer's brain. Glad you are settling... it sounds far too lovely and distracting though, I'd never get a stick of work done. Maybe if you stuck me in some dark, treeless place... but even then I would find spiders to photograph.

Life here is exactly what you'd expect, plus more of that extreme weather nonsense held over from the fall.

Anonymous said...

The poetic attention of detail and soft breathing rythm makes this so nourishing to read. I am fretting over Banff, can you tell me what to wear, frozen or thawing or hot.