What is The Campo Life?

What is the Campo Life?

Having only spent 6 months in the campo life so far I have scheduled a calendar reminder for December to review this blog and see how 1 year feels. So far, I absolutely love it-challenges and all.

A friend from the UK asked me the other day if I thought I would ever fit in living here? I was quite perplexed by that question. Firstly, that doesn’t occur to me as an issue and secondly, blatantly not. From my clothes to my ideas, I stick out like a sore thumb, acceptance is the very best I can hope for.

Fitting in is not something I have ever really felt nor something I yearn for. Growing up as an adopted child (that’s another blog in the making) I knew I didn’t fit in. Not in a particularly anxious way, just subconscious knowledge. So in moving to the campo there was never a question for me about fitting in or not. 

The area is a small, tight-knit community that is graciously and politely allowing me to share as the Guiri in the campo.

I love this explanation from Wikipedia: 

Guiri (pronounced [ˈɡiɾi]) is a colloquial Spanish word often used in Spain to refer to uncouth foreign tourists, particularly from Great Britain. However, it can be applied to other Northern European countries.

I do try to never be uncouth!

Christmas is coming

Arriving in early December gave me nearly a month to unpack and organise before the family came over for the Christmas holidays. Something of a tall order with what was then an all-encompassing day job too. Especially as the radio wifi router was still absent. Working for a global space media company (yes-outer space) I really, really needed more than the 2g of phone signal coverage I had. Movistar eventually obliged 6 weeks later by delivering 3 wifi routers to the local gas station, 1 of which eventually worked.

The campo life does not include any online shopping deliveries so anything I desperately have to buy online has to be carefully orchestrated with whoever is coming to visit next.

By week two my friend John had come over from the UK to help and to give me a speed course in all things solar and to take my daughter's dog Tillie back to England with him. Tillie had been with me in Ibiza since my daughter rescued her in 2013 but now that my daughter and her family have settled in England, then Tillie was to follow.

The day after his arrival, I spent the afternoon unpacking and organising my tiny kitchen - and it is tiny. With my cooking habit, I am well aware that I have far too much kitchen equipment. So relegating some to storage, I set about finding a home for all things culinary.

After several hours up and down a step ladder, I had finally achieved some sense of order and celebrated by opening a bottle of wine with John on the terrace.

The kitchen disaster of 2021

Not an hour later there was a terrifying crash. The entire kitchen wall unit neatly housing all my much-loved equipment was now on the tiled floor in a heap of flour, broken glass and spilt olive oil. I was horrified, completely devastated and sank in the chair and cried!

John - preferring not to deal with my angry tears, poured me a large gin and tonic and set to it with a dustpan and brush. It took us nearly as long to clean up as I had spent organising. Nothing was salvageable, the whole lot ended up in the bin, apart from my pride and joy; my stand mixer.

John being a fixer type of guy, spent two days taking it apart whilst I busily unpacked more boxes only to discover that it was not broken at all! It was just that the switch for the liquidiser attachment was in the wrong place, but I think he quite enjoyed taking it apart anyway.

Hello Woody

Just two weeks after arriving in the campo Woody happened! John and I had gone into the village to visit the woodyard in the hope of finding some shelves to rebuild the kitchen disaster.

John had driven us down to the village as I was on a long executive call with work. I abruptly excused myself from the call as I watched 2 local policemen trying to herd a poor injured dog into the woodyard and proceeded to tie it to the fence with a piece of string and depart.

I swiftly followed them only to learn that they were leaving the dog tied there as there was no vet open in the town and they were hopeful that a nearby association for dogs may come and collect it. They shrugged their shoulders and left. Many weeks later I did discover the police had actually tried many avenues to help the dog including the town mayor to no avail.

John was despatched to go and retrieve the dog as I phoned Pilar, the local vet that I had met the week before to get some anti-parasite medication for Tille. The police had already called her but she explained she couldn’t help as she was on a training course 2 hours away, but rang ahead to a vet that would help us in Cantillana and sent me the location. 

The dog was in such a bad way that I was sure we were taking him to be put to sleep. One of the back legs was not only broken but with a massive open wound that had clearly been the result of a grave trauma days before. If all we could do was end his suffering it was worth the trip to Cantillana, I cannot bear to see an animal suffer needlessly. 

Luckily the vet thought that although the leg would need to be amputated, the dog could be saved, however, the surgery couldn’t happen for a few days due to their anaesthetist schedule. So Woody was duly named and came home to spend his first night on a warm fluffy blanket in front of the fire with a lot of pain relief.

At last, he was warm, pain-free and high as a kite with a very suspicious Tillie as an onlooker. At that moment Woody became a member of the family.

#littleshit

That was only the start of what became a four-month journey of surgeries, plates, pins and bone grafts and resulted in a very happy Woody on four legs. Friends and strangers worldwide contributed to the Woody 4x4 fund on social media to help towards the eye-watering surgery bills to save the leg.

It transpired that Woody was a Brittany Spaniel and only around 10 months old and most certainly was not used to living in a house. He quickly adjusted to fluffy blankets and fireside beds, but he could not be left alone at all. One jump or twist on the very vulnerable leg could result in either yet more surgeries or amputation. Coupled with some pretty strong separation anxiety meant that I could only go places if Woody could come too, hence #woodycametoo all over my Instagram for months on end, often followed by #littleshit.

So my plans of spending heady weekends in the city of Seville or spur-of-the-moment road trips were abandoned and I was pretty much housebound through the winter. Days and days of rain with a puppy on restricted lead exercise and a cone on his head wasn’t quite how I imagined campo life to be. John, friends and family popped over regularly which helped a lot with trying to balance long work days with the needs of a puppy - and I eventually got the kitchen shelves back up too.

John and Woody became best friends during these trips and we all decided that Woody’s needs (and maybe John’s) would be better met at John’s farm in England.

As Woody healed he became a Houdini and would take himself across the campo looking for fun and playmates. Johns farm in England has acres of space but also a tribe of other young dogs to play with. Tillie was really not enjoying Woody’s puppy playful side, nor his desire to cuddle, she is just not the cuddly type.

Once the leg had finally healed, we all set off on a road trip to the UK with Tillie reaching my daughter and Woody starting his new life on the farm. It was with a very heavy heart and a lot of tears that I flew out of England. I would sorely miss my little doggy pack and still do but they will both be back for holidays and of course, I get to see them on UK trips, along with the daily photos I receive.

I do miss the humour that Woody brought-he is a cheeky Chappy that makes you laugh daily, but I do not miss his ability to steal and chew anything in his reach. Books, shoes, hats, coats, phones - even handbags were fair game if they were anywhere lower than a 5-foot high shelf. #littleshit

Woody also had a perpetual habit of returning from his campo jaunts with whatever dead wildlife he happened to come across, no matter how large or decaying it was.

So my campo life does not currently have any dogs in it apart from my friends’ dogs - family are taking bets on how long it will be before I rescue some more. Pilar and her family became my first new friends here too.

Jac get your gun

The farmer who tends the sheep in my garden keeps trying to give me some of his dogs. He repeatedly asks me if I feel safe here and I repeatedly tell him I have a big gun. He always laughs shyly at that, I don’t think he believes me.

It’s actually a tiny air gun that rarely works but why ruin a good story as he spreads the word around the village?

He also has no understanding of the places I have lived and worked in and how ‘unsafe’ my life has been at times in the past. My Spanish is nowhere near good enough to explain how I once negotiated a hostage release in West Africa and even if it was I am convinced he wouldn’t believe me anyway.

Campo Jac in Iraq 2015

There may not be dogs in my campo world right now, but there are definitely ponies thankfully. Over the Winter, for various reasons, (Woody being one of them) there wasn’t nearly enough riding and Reina and I both gained a few too many pounds.

For Reina, it was the lush green fields and mine was making (and eating) far too much bread. Spring has seen us both on a much stricter plan and early morning riding that makes my heart sing. The heat of the day at the moment can easily reach 40 degrees but that first hour of daylight is a beautiful 20 or so.

My daily routine consists of some really good coffee watching the sunrise, organising emails and then an hour with Reina before the rest of my working day. If that isn’t my best work/life balance ever I don’t know what is.

Polo training consists of lots of speed work or I would be doing the emails whilst riding and I have been known to leave the odd work voice message with some hooves clip-clopping in the background. If the evening temperature is cool enough we go and chase some polo balls around before a wine on the terrace as the sun sets too.

To me, this is my absolute best campo life!

Power me up

The summer sunshine has certainly resolved any solar issues I had over winter. I can now use the washing machine any time of the day and on the 30degree wash cycle. In winter there was only enough power for a cold water wash which isn’t great for muddy campo clothes and involved a lot of soaking beforehand.

During the winter months, I would have to unplug some things for others to work. if I wanted to use the countertop oven I would have to switch off most other items in the house.

The most frustrating was always forgetting that running the tap drew quite a lot of power for the pump to start up so therefore not to be turned on whilst the oven was in use. There were quite a few times the food went in the oven, I’d have wet soapy hands and the whole house would be plunged into darkness. I soon learnt to draw off a bowl of water before I started cooking.

The one thing I am still yearning for is a good iron, but the solar power won’t stretch to that even in summer.  I do have a mini travel iron that is completely useless as it is smaller than the palm of my hand. I love to sew and create things with fabric which always requires a seam to be pressed or fabric to be ironed, the travel iron can’t even manage a seam!

All those cotton and linen summer outfits will remain in the ironing basket for a long time to come - a small price to pay for having no electric bill.

Don’t give me a cold bed

Winter temperatures here were quite mild, only occasionally plunging to under 10 degrees in daylight but with very little humidity it never really felt too cold. Although I say that with the benefit of an electric blanket every night. It is the one thing I cannot get through a winter anywhere without, I cannot abide getting into a cold bed.

We did have protracted days of rain up to 10 days at a time and always seemed to be when I had house guests and a bored puppy, but this was not sufficient this year to get us through summer, the reservoirs are not full enough I am told.

My water comes from a cisterna, an underground storage tank down by the river which is then pumped up to the house by solar power and heated with a gas cylinder boiler. 

Having previously lived on an island with a perpetual water shortage I have always been super careful with what I use and re-use as much as I can. Washing up the dishes always finishes with sloshing through the house with the dirty water for the flower beds.

The flower beds get watered at night from the tap supply through a soil soaking system at the moment, which always seems to require fixing, but is at least set to only water at the base of each plant. By putting the watering system on just as I go to bed the soil is at its coolest and uses the water much more efficiently.

I also try and cover exposed soil in my planters to retain every drop of water they get, but the ultimate goal is to use all the grey water from the house for the garden. It seems such a shame to lose it down the plughole when the plants can use it.

Bored?

Friends have asked me if I am bored here. Hand on heart in 6 months I have not been bored for a second. I really cannot recall the last time I was bored, there is always something to create, make or bake if nothing else.

In the campo, there is always a way to make your entertainment too. A simple projector and screen and a few good friends around the fire pit, some bread-making workshops and of course - just a few gatherings around the terrace table with hearty rustic food to share.

The local area is full of outstanding places to visit too (alongside the bodegas) with canyons full of birds of prey, the local dam and the pretty cobbled streets of the villages to explore.

I love learning more about the surrounding nature and wildlife here and have had some interesting encounters with foxes, groups of deer and the odd wild boar. I’ve been told there are wolves here- but luckily haven’t met any of them yet.

Any cloud-free night in the campo is entertainment itself, the lack of light pollution makes for an amazing star display. Every guest is initiated to my favourite app; StarTracker which tells you what every star and constellation is called in the sky around you.

Light my fire

The big open fire in the lounge was lit 24/7 for the coldest months and on wet or cloudy days doubled up as my cooking facility too. I enjoyed learning how to bake bread on an open fire when there was not enough solar power to run the oven. 

Some fifteen years ago when I was working in Sierra Leone, I purchased two large cooking pots, more as a memento than cooking vessels. They have rounded bottoms to sit on three stone rocks over a fire which makes them pretty unusable in our more modern domestic kitchens.

They came into their own in the campo once I had retrieved 3 large rocks from the garden and I cooked most meals on the open fire. Guests coming for lunch would be given an approximate window of time for when lunch would be served - it's ready whenever it is cooked.

The kitchen bin is a perpetual challenge in the summer heat with the nearest collection bins a 40-minute round trip away down the bumpy gravel tracks. Luckily, nearly all the food waste gets delivered to the chickens at my friends’ farm in return for a few eggs, and anything not processable by the chickens I dig into the soil around the flower beds.

When Woody was still here he would often ‘retrieve’ those items and return them to the lounge! All packaging and tins have to be washed out and anything meat-based washed twice, the flies and ants just love any packaging from meat.

Waste not want not

Even though there are recycling bins in the local town I try and re-use as many items as I can.

Tinned food cans become flower pots with a few holes punched in the bottom, as do smaller water bottles and any cracked dishes make great saucers. The large plastic water bottles become homemade wine-making receptacles and I am now saving all my wine bottles ready for the grape harvest as I have millions of grape buds over the terrace.

Did you read my first attempt at homemade wine?

Recycling and up-cycling have been a passion of mine for many years and my family tease me incessantly about ‘bin diving’. I don’t actually dive into the bins but if someone has left something next to the bin that they don’t need anymore then I will often bring it home if I can re-use it.

Today's haul at the bins as I dropped off my rubbish was some fabulous carpenters’ leftovers that ended up in my boot. There are many more signs and projects to be made with free wood.

In return, I left the lampshade cone that Woody had after his surgeries-although I'm not sure anyone would want it. The cone was subjected to a graffiti attack with a permanent marker pen at 4 am one morning when neither Woody nor I could sleep for he kept getting it stuck under the table.

Nearly all my shopping waste can be recycled here, luckily there is not a plethora of polystyrene trays and plastic packaging available in the shops. The local supermarket has one tiny shelf of processed ready meal type offerings and then aisles and aisles of fresh produce - food as it should be.

The one thing that cannot risk going in the recycling bin, and that I abhor is the 6-pack holders that surround cans of drinks. Seen in the bins or at friends’ houses, I collect these and bring them home to cut into tiny pieces. If only all cans came in the paper version a lot of animals and aquatic life would be spared. These end up in landfills and water sources and are a huge threat to wildlife even if they started in the recycle bin.

Farm to table - naturally

The countryside here produces naturally organic food, not because it's trendy or demanded, but because that's how they’ve always done it. The lack of pesticides and fertilisers is evident in the insect life that you see, a candle on the terrace table after dark results in swarms of moths and insects, the like of which I haven’t seen for over 20 years in northern Europe. 

The wildflower meadows in early spring were breathtaking, with an abundance of bee and insect food growing just as they should. As the days warmed up it turned to brown almost overnight and is now being munched by the sheep, goats, cattle, horses and pigs and baled up for winter feeding.

Wildfires are a big risk here to farming and humans alike so no dry matter is left on the floor for long and every farm furrows a 20-foot wide trench around the perimeter to try and achieve a fire break should the unthinkable ever happen.   

This area of the campo is home to the world-renowned Iberian pigs. The portly black pigs feast free range on the acorns of the oak trees that cover the mountains and is, in my opinion, the very best pork you will ever find. It is so good it has its own annual festival, and so it should. Read my blog post on why the local pigs really are the cream of the crop.

Conclusion:

My campo life is a tranquil, nature-based haven filled with wine, friends and ponies and here is where I intend to stay.