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.