Today is the first day I can sit under the pergola outside Yellow Cottage and write. It’s been quite cold over the past few days – after all, as M keeps reminding me, it is still winter! The temperature has dipped to single digits, not unlike Bonn – with gusty winds. Frost and heavy rain had been reported in outlying villages and snow inland. A garden table that we’d borrowed to serve as a desk was delivered sheathed in ice.
Inside Yellow Cottage with its 45 cm-thick walls and tiny windows, it is 15°C. Right now out in the sun, it’s quite hot; in the shade it is pleasantly warm at 19°C, and every so often, a breeze comes from a nearby grove of pines, setting astir the fronds of the Washingtonia palm partly shading the pergola. (Their swishing in the wind reminds me of the silag fronds set in similar mellow motion just outside the cool bamboo hut of an aunt, Nana Sianang, where my cousins and I used to escape the hottest part of the afternoon during summer holidays. Strange, isn’t it, how a single sound can transport one all the way back to childhood.)
It’s been a week since we moved to the village of Pla de Corrals in the town of Simat de la Valldigna in Valencia. Yellow Cottage, the house we’re renting until we can move in to the house we’ve bought, is one of several refurbished stone dwellings overlooking fruit orchards – olive, orange, plum, apricot — at the foot of mountains once quarried for marble. At the edge of the village is a (mercifully not too conspicuous) reminder of past quarrying — straight, smooth white cliffs incongruous against the red-brown layers of unhewn rock. Irregular chunks of marble – possibly offcuts — find their way under pine trees, and in the gloom underneath appear to be stones once painted white.
Yellow Cottage is one of two houses our agent showed us at the end of a week’s house-viewing in the region of La Safor. Perhaps if we hadn’t had our hearts set on the house with a view of the mountains and the sea (which we later rejected as it needed extensive renovation), we might have considered buying Yellow Cottage or its neighbour. I don’t even recall how renting Yellow Cottage had come up.
Throughout the week, except for a couple of misty rainy days, I’ve rejoiced in the glory of this bucolic landscape — gentle slopes with fruit trees in neat ranks with white-walled, red-tiled houses for contrast – somewhat Tuscan-like. The trees are in the process of being given their spring pruning, and the tidy results are impressive – demonstrating local diligent husbandry. (I make a note to myself to learn how to prune fruit trees like this.)
Mornings, just after eight, the sun tips the grey-white peaks of the surrounding mountains with pinkish gilt — these peaks that during the past freezing days of fog and mist could have easily deceived newcomers as snow. Thick pine forests enfold in deepest green most of the higher and middle flanks of the mountains, though these are being encroached upon on the gentler slopes by orange trees in well-ordered rows. As the sun’s light reaches deeper into the valley, it silhouettes the grey-green foliage of olive trees and magics them into silver filigree. What joy to start each day with such a view. Even on the dreariest mornings of freezing mist and fog, the craggy mountains and dense forests loomed like Oriental ink paintings in 3D.
There is one drawback – the mountains that shelter this enchanting valley also shelter it from telecommunications. We have been bereft for days of internet and mobile phone access through our former provider, MasMobil. We’ve now switched to the oddly named Movistar, which has a transmitter in the village. Movistar also had a modem (luckily with one for Macs) which links us to the internet.
Living in Yellow Cottage is like living in a doll house. There is something make-believe about this sweet space (as our niece, who visited us for the weekend with our daughter, called it) with its rough timber beams, whitewashed walls, and terracotta floors. It’s a house such as I’ve always dreamed of – though I realize how inconvenient it must have been in the old days, and in some ways still is. There is no central heating: traditional rural houses like this were built with the aim of keeping out the intense heat of summer, not with letting in the warmth of winter sun. There is however a wood-burning stove and a propane gas heater downstairs. Upstairs has an electric air-conditioner that both cools and heats. One great feature of Yellow Cottage is that all the rooms are surprisingly equipped with multiple electric outlets – even out on the upstairs verandah, which means I can write there for as long as I wish on my laptop without having to charge its batteries elsewhere.
I get thoroughly wretched when it’s cold, but being able to step out into the sun and sit under the pergola outside during warm days like today makes up for the cold indoors once the sun sets. It’s rather good fun having a toasty fire ablaze in the evenings. Anyhow, spring will be warming or, more to the point, heating up this valley soon. And it also makes for friendly rivalry as to who can get a good fire started in no time at all with the least amount of fuss. Our daughter, bless her heart, turned out to be a champion fire maker.