IN a space of three hurried days, conditions here in the Alpujarras have veered from blazing sunshine and temperatures of 30C to thunderstorms and snow on the mountains. The seemingly endless summer has ended. The parched land is sodden. Dust is mud. Dry streams are flowing. Dead grass, like Lazarus, is about to be resurrected . . . Continue reading First snow . . .
LATE afternoon. And after two days of heavy Andalucian rain, which shorted out our electricity supply, the clouds break and Sierra de Lújar emerges from grey. I stand on the roof and feel the warmth of sunshine. For the briefest of moments I am in Scotland . . . Continue reading Just like Scotland . . .
IT’S cold on Lujar. The beast of a mountain has been growling beneath a dusting of snow for the past few days. The telecommunication masts that crowd its summit are rimed with ice. So different from when I stood beneath them back in 2012, throat parched and boots white with dust. Glad I’m not up there today . . . Continue reading The white towers