On the Road again

And so it came to pass that Sadie, the trusty Mercedes, and myself set off across country to the land of Almeria someways distant in the West. I had only days previously been researching, as was my daily wont, properties in that district and a few on certain sites sparked a small flurry of interest somewhere in that grey murky matter called my brain. One in particular stood out, a century old cortijo or country house, detached with garage 217 sq m build with a garden and mainly renovated with scope for improvement. Due to divorce, it had said on the blurb, it was now drasically reduced from 135,000 to 60,000! That by any means is a bargain, if all legal and correct and so I contacted the agent at Almeria Homes, a lady called Jo. I would be travelling post haste setting off at 7am I told her, to arrive in Albox, a small town near the property, some 6 hours later for a viewing. She confirmed she would be available but later that night emailed me to say an offer had been made on the property although no deposit had been put down. The ball was most definitely in my court. Or was this sly agents spiel. I would soon know.

So Sadie, my trusty Mercedes, and I set off on our latest adventure with money in the pocket and a light heart. What fortune or disappointment would the next few days bring? Who knows? Eating up the motorway miles or should I say kilometres it was about 7 hours later that we parked on the bridge leading into Albox. I walked across looking out over the Rambla (dried river bed) that I vaguely remembered from my last visit here in 2004 when I was researching mainly the Granada and Baza area some 100k north of Albox. I had not been that impressed then as Albox had the feel of a Wild West frontier town with estate agents of dubious repute springing up all over the place to help part gullible Brits from there lovely equity withdrawals. To this end they succeeded and lots of illegal builds had been sold, rustic land passed of as urban and fleecing had been practised on quite a large scale. Not that different from Cadiz province where in Chiclana the Brit invasion had resulted in thousands of illegal builds. All that being said the furore over these duplicitous acts in Albox forced the area to clean up its act, becoming more transparent in its transactions, so Jo told me later.

I parked my rather aching buttocks ( twas a long drive) onto a cafe seat outside on the sunny terrace and called Jo the agent to let her know of my location. A message came back that she could see me as she was in the next pavement cafe. However she did not know what I looked like until I picked up the phone to read the message. Opposite me was a large and sweaty Brit with tattoos. vest and for some unknown reason a tennis sweatband around his fulsome bald head. It was with some relief Jo said later that it was I who was her client and not old Baldy but she didnt know that until I picked up the phone and looked her way. Her relief was palpable.

We wasted no time, there had been a serious offer Jo said from a New Ager lady who had seen the house a few days previously and had measured all around taken out her compass to work out sun and moon settings as she wanted to turn the cortijo into a Transcendental Meditation Retreat. Apparently the house had met all her critical criteria and she had offered below asking price and been refused by the owner. Her latest offer was 60,000 euros which had been accepted but no money had been put down so as Jo said it was up to me. We set off in Jo's car and the quick way to the property which lay north of Albox by 10 mins was along the Rambla, the long dried up river bed. As we chatted and got to know each other a strange sense of Deja Vu crept up on me. The car kicking up dust, the wide dried up river bed, the conversation all seemed familiar and slightly unnerving but strangely comforting. Was this Fate's hand leading me this way?

We took a tarmac turning off the Rambla after passing small pockets of houses each side of the old rivers banks, slightly isolated but in a peaceful setting. Parts of the area were quite lush with olive, lemon and orange trees and in the distance arid mountains framed the horizon. Turning into the small hamlet of La Ermita we parked alongside the house. I had a good feeling about the location. A short driveway lead to big black iron gates beyond which was a large flat marbled patio. Along one fence bordering the property was a mature grapevine its fruits untended and some had fallen, squished onto the marble, whilst the vines continued trailing up and over the garage doors. By the front door a large orange tree stood proud its fruits dropping onto the nearby roof terrace. Looking out from the terrace across the hamlet there was an olive plantation belonging to a nearby farmer Jo said, immediately in front of the house and across from that on the far side stood the Hermitage. Quite a view. The air was still and clean, it was quiet and peaceful, serene even and we turned to enter the house. I can always tell what I feel about a house before I have entered the front door and so far the signs were positive.

We entered a long lounge leading on to a modern bathroom and bedroom, coming back we took steps into a large analucian kitchen bare apart from a large log burning stove and down a long corridor there was an old pantry, just like my Grans. Winding wide stairs led to a huge bedroom with timbered ceiling with windows overlooking the terrace with fallen oranges and the olive fields and Hermitage beyond.....ummmm. Another bedroom led off from this and I started to envisage this as a huge ensuite bathroom with freestanding bath with similar views out of the window. Then things got really interesting as backing on to the bedrooms were four half finished outhouses one having a huge fireplace cum bread oven ideal for a winterlounge room. Alongside these rooms and trailing along the back of the house was a small garden area which backed onto a granite type rock face ( water feature here I thought). Above the rocks was a steep parcel of land that also belonged to the house with wild cactus plants and the odd olive and plum tree. I was excited but said not too much.

Then we walked down and into the garage which was large and unfinished but had a room that led off the back so these could be converted into separate accomodation. All in all I was impressed but knew I would have to make a decision by the next day to fend of the New Age lady. It had a warm cosy feel and my imagination was starting to envisage the finished product (always a good sign). We left the house and Jo dropped me off at Sadie arranging to meet the next day. I drove around exploring the are and took the highway to the coast to check out the beaches at Garrucha and Mojacar. Mojacar is a gorgeous Moorish town high on a hill overlooking the twinkling lights of the countryside at one end and the full moon over the Atlantic casting a silver sheen over the sea at the other side, quite stunning. A good place to spend the night and gather my thoughts.

Brick Addiction (pt 4)

Its been a while (as Sleeping Beauty might have said upon awakening) since my last blogging journal to be found at http://www.louis-fes.blogspot.com/ finished. And why might that be I can sense you thinking? Well good question and it deserves a good answer, doesn't it? It would easy to blame it on the Crisis of 2007 so lets do that then, its all the fault of that pesky, uninvited, unwanted and unloved Crisis. It put doubt and fear into the hearts of intrepid gung ho investors and houseowners everywhere and I was no exception. Before the actual Crash I was reclining on the terrace of my 5 storey manse in the heart of the Fes medina ( thats in Morocco for all you failed Geography buffs) surveying the vast expanse of crumbling rooftops with perky satellite dishes and listening to the raucous call to prayer that interrupted my train of thought (five times a day).

My train of thought stopped at stations called Worry, Doubt and Nervous before derailing at Despair. I had spent two fulsome years in Morocco buying into the frenzy of excitement that Fes offered as a unreal alternative to the real world. A strange vibrant culture, seductive and scintillating smells and intoxicating history were only three of the things that had lured me to this juncture. The main other was a cheap crumbling palatial building in the heart of the Medina that had my name on it. Not literally you understand but you get my drift. It called to me on first viewing, or so it seemed, Save me, Save me and so it was that I saved that crumbling artefact and in return was rewarded after a year of renovation with a quite marvellous home. Friends and family visited, interesting guests turned up to all marvel at the house and its environs but for myself doubts were creeping in.

There had been a shift in sentiment in Fes. The hordes of cash rich Brits had dried up. Ryanair had cut the flights. House prices had spiralled out of control. The locals had started getting greedy. Estate agents sales dipped alarmingly. Donkeys dropped even more doo-doo in the maze of alleyways. The natives were getting restless..as I sat on the terrace and pondered the situation. It was April 2008.

The Crash had not happened but I felt its imminent arrival. It was a chill wind that got under my skin. It felt uncomfortable in many ways. My intuition said get out of the situation, you are not happy so SELL. All my money plus some from an old friend had been invested in the house, Dar Mernissi, and one wrong move I felt could leave me trapped here in this quixotic, mad world. To cut a long story short I did sell, realising a more than adequate return on my original investment and flush with euros returned to my old stomping grounds in Spain. Cash rich but asset poor I hunkered down for the winter in the beautiful hilltop Moorish town of Vejer de la Frontera on the Costa da Luz in Cadiz province. With access to Sky TV I watched with increasing alarm as the events of Sept 2007 evolved. Crash, Bang, Wallop, Panic, Collapse. But then we had a new black President suely he could save us. He couldn't. It got worse.

I determined to sit out the winter and wait for normalcy to return. It didnt. Everything had changed in large, small, subtle and unsubtle ways. I waited. I waited some more. I wanted to buy property, after all I still had my brick addiction it would not go away, but where in the world was safe to buy. Could it be Portugal, off I went on numerous scouting trips, no not yet my sixth sense said. Could it be America, I googled and researched Rochester NY, Detroit, Florida all cheap and cheeful but could be even more so at a future date. And what about England, now dont get me started. That greedy little island full of liar loans and frenzied consumers and rapacious bankers had got itself into one enormous pickle and I didnt relish (sorry) the thought of getting myself trapped in NE territory in the near future.

I looked closer to home, Spain, and for all its problems with unemployment and the overbuild on the Costas the bargains were just starting to trickle through. More research was needed. Much more. I became addicted to the internet searching daily for areas that seemed viable after all I had my hard earned euros in place here, a good bank and a more than friendly bank manager ( he was a good friend) so most of the formula was in place. I just needed to find an up and coming area at the right price that ticked all investment boxes. It needed to be inland with not-too-developed coast, potential for improvement. Huelva seemed interesting and a couple of trips there up and down the Guadiana river and around Ayamonte were promising but no bargains presented themselves. Then one area started ticking boxes as regards location and price.....Almeria. I vaguely knew the area but it warranted further inspection....to the internet, Batman!!