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Walking down Heart Attack Hill!
We had a house full of furniture and two cats to bring from the UK, to our new home in Gran Alacant. The easiest option for us, was for Jamie and me to fly from Southampton Airport and for Darrell and close friend Dale to drive from Britain, down through France, into Spain and onto the Costa Blanca; two days in a van with me, Darrell and the cats, was likely to end in bloodshed otherwise.
This was a journey that took Dale and Darrell several days to complete. In France, halfway through the journey, they stopped at a cat friendly hotel and rested as long as they could, before completing the journey. When they arrived, it was a frantic few days of unpacking, before Darrell dropped off the van in Alicante, and we could finally start to live our lives, far away from the troubles of the past.
Sitting in the tiny lounge, surrounded by boxes, slightly shivering on a cold February day, I remember how happy I was to finally be away from Britain. Our last few months there were not the best, and Spain was just the new start all of us needed. None of us knew the area at all, so once Dale had left for the UK, the three of us began to explore our new home of Gran Alacant.
The 'Rehab,' or 'Recovery train,' (recovering from life in The UK) was our first venture into this quiet urbanisation. This miniature train, on wheels, would circumnavigate Gran Alacant several times a day, and we could hop on and off as and when we liked. After a particularly wobbly walk down Heart Attack Hill, to Molly Malone's Irish Pub, the first pub we visited in GA and one of our favourite haunts, We caught the train, just outside the bar and travelled the short distance to the Centro Commercial. This modern town had everything you could need, including several supermarkets, Mercadona and Lidl, the obligatory tobacconist, where I would by my Mojito flavoured cigarettes at 4.35€ a packet, half the price they were in the UK, and of course plenty of bars and restaurants.
Barloko, as it was named then, was situated at the top of the main shopping centre and during our first few weeks we went there several times. We hadn't yet found our own neighbourhood local, Sierra Mar, which was actually hidden away in a small gated community, down the bottom of a rather steep incline, a few minutes from our house in Calle Canarias.
At Barloko, or Roger's bar as we liked to call it, we met many of the locals at this popular venue and of course the amazing Roger himself, who was always a friendly face, even when things weren't going our way. He would often sit and chat with us, explain a bit about Gran Alacant and help us find our way around. Roger is one of those characters you just can't forget, and it was always lovely to see him.
We also spent a lot of time in Alicante itself, just a forty-five-minute bus journey away. This cultured city, full to bursting with architectural wonders, a beautiful castle and our favourite part, the marina, was just what we needed to get over the UK. It was a World away from the drudgery of Britain and even in winter, we could sit in our preferred venue of choice, 'Soho Mar,' just passing the time of day, forgetting our worries and feeling every bit like we were on holiday.
Of course, we weren't on vacation, we were there to start a new life in the sun and by the beginning of March, it was time to start building a future, and looking for work in Gran Alacant.
Out of the three of us, I was the first person to find a job in GA, at 'The Easy Horse Care' Charity shop in Plaza Mayor, at the bottom of Heart Attack Hill, a fifteen-minute walk from Carabassi. I worked several days a week and was paid a small wage to keep me going while I looked for something more permanent. The charity did what it said on the tin, rescuing horses and donkeys in the local area; this magnificent shop, consisting of furniture on one level and clothing above, was my first real foray into the neighbourhood of Gran Alacant. At first, I was a bit dubious about taking on the position, after my bad experience working for a charity in the UK, but my reluctance soon passed, as I made friends, worked hard and began to integrate into a community that welcomed me with open arms.
The Charity shop opened my eyes to the well established Expat community, and it wasn't long before I began to venture out more and more. Sierra Mar, was a short walk from my house on the hill, so I wandered down to this friendly square whenever I had the chance. It wasn't long before 'Zest,' a newly opened bar, became my second home. Lee and Brett were the perfect hosts and always welcoming, as were Steve and Paul behind the bar. Along with Aunty Pam, who cooked the best comfort food and was always free for a hug or two, they soon became akin to family in Spain; these were familiar faces in an unfamiliar World. When confronted with a new beginning, it is important to find your niche, somewhere to feel relaxed and at home and for me at least, Zest was it.
It wasn't long before I got to know the locals and when Darrell was called away to Australia, a few months after we arrived, these were the people that got me through. Darrell's Mother was diagnosed with cancer in 2016, and although we didn't know it then, our time would be cut short in Spain because of her illness. With Darrell travelling back and forth to Perth, I made the best of a bad situation. Settling into life in Gran Alacant was the most important factor, in me staying there for as long as I did. Had it not been for my Mother in law's illness, in all probability we would still be there now.
Of course, part of settling into a new neighbourhood is establishing lasting friendships. Luckily I met long term friends Andy and Katie, who lived just around the corner from me and then there was Paul and Michelle, who were instrumental in making me feel a part of their lives, especially when Darrell wasn't there. It is true to say I went into myself a lot more and became very withdrawn at times, but when you see your dream ebbing away, it is all you can do to cope with the changing landscape.
Gran Alacant was an easy place to settle down, it had everything I ever wanted and more - people I cared about, a community of like-minded individuals, helpful friends and local residents, and the perfect location on the Costa Blanca that worked for us. It wasn't in the throng of Benidorm, it offered a more relaxed place to live, but with a busy social scene that came into its own, especially at night, making you feel you were actually somewhere bigger. With so many nationalities living in one place, it was the best choice for us, and I am so glad we lived there, even if it was for only a few years. The memories I made, and the friends I still have today, are a tribute to the place I was honoured to call home, and a fitting homage to the Expat community who looked out for me, in a way nobody had done before!
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We must have been driving around for what seemed like hours, all the while trying to find free Wi-Fi, so we could contact the letting agent; frustrated, I threw my hands in the air, in the back of the cab and asked the driver to stop and drop us off in the centre of Gran Alacant. By this time I was red with rage; no one seemed to know where the house was, and worst of all, all the bloody street names were exactly the same. What sort of place was this? Even the taxi drivers didn't know where they were.
It was early on Monday morning, the sun was shining, but it was cold, not 'British cold,' but chilly enough to shiver. Now, when one considers moving to Spain, one never actually believes it is cold in winter, but it was the 1st February and the chill was biting. Stood by the kerb side, phone in hand, frozen, tired and thoroughly fed up, I shrugged my shoulders with despair; can this day actually get any worse?
As I walked up and down the pavement I managed to get a signal, and after a bit of frantic googling, to my surprise, I discovered the real estate agent was literally just around the corner, and luckily for us, he had just opened the shop. I must have looked a right state that morning, as I traipsed in to the OP Group office with Jamie and two suitcases in tow, but as I collapsed on the chair in the office, a smile crossed my face; we had done it, finally done it, moved to Spain, away from a life that had kept us trapped for so long, and I couldn't be happier.
In the office, I took a large wad of Euro's out of my handbag and handed them to the gentleman behind the desk, apparently this is how they like to do business in Spain. Cash was king and to be honest, I was finally relieved to offload it. Luckily for me, the contract was in Spanish and English and seemed self-explanatory, but then I never bothered to read the small print anyway, just wanting to get to the house and finally start to unpack!
Our Agent was English, having moved to Spain with his Spanish wife, and he was pretty knowledgeable about the area, full of useless information and the odd word of advice. Right from the get go, I realised this place was going to be very different to what I imagined, and I could tell an element of 'ducking and diving' was called for. Nevertheless, this wasn't Britain, and I didn't really care how challenging the next few weeks would be, I was just glad to be in Spain, a country where Darrell and I had always wanted to live.
The drive to our casa in Calle Canarias was short, probably about ten minutes, but it was up hill all the way. We drove through most of Gran Alacant on route to the house, and the views were spectacular, as far as the eye could see. Turning left at Sierra Mar Square, we drove the short distance to where we would be living. Up until now, we had only seen a photograph on a web page. Heading down a small side road, we arrived at the top of 'Heart Attack Hill,' appropriately named by the local Expat community. Our casa sat proud on the left-hand side, overlooking Carabassi and Alicante beyond. As he stopped the car, still nattering away, I was struck by the most awesome view I had ever seen. Opening the car door, gingerly walking towards the wooden fence, the only barrier between us and death, I stood there for several minutes, just looking out at the vista before me and fell immediately in love.
Through the gate and up to the front door, we walked inside the small terrace house, or quad as they are called, with a tiny backyard, no bigger than a cupboard and a smell of damp like you wouldn't believe. The agent said an airing would sort that out, but I seriously had me doubts. There was no central heating, insulation or ventilation; the windows were single glazed and the floors were marble; the house was colder, than anything I had lived in before.
After saying goodbye to the agent, practically throwing him out the door, still talking away, we started to explore, what little there was to explore. Essentially we were living in a two up, two down, which was a lot smaller than I was used to. The saving grace was the rooftop solarium, which took two flights of stairs to reach. As I pushed open the door at the top of the house, a freezing cold gust of wind nearly blew me off my feet. Once again I stood there aghast at the stunning, panoramic views; this time I could see right out towards the sea. The stale, mouldy odour throughout the house paled into insignificance as I took it all in. Despite its many faults, this house at the top of Heart Attack Hill felt like home already, and I was happy and content in a way I hadn't been before, living in Britain!
We lived in the house for a little over a year, by which time, the novelty of the views had really worn off. In winter the windows leaked like a sieve and I would often come home to a deluge in the lounge. The mattress in the front bedroom was so damp, it had to be replaced, and the condensation was horrendous. Worst of all however was the freezing cold winters, of which we saw two. The lack of heating was so bad, I walked around with a duvet wrapped around me and our two cats, Precious and Lily, wouldn't leave my side, draining my body heat away faster, than I could make it. This was like living in the UK, back at a time before central heating and double glazing, akin to my childhood in 1970s Britain.
Despite this, the summer was amazing, hot, up to 45 degrees, but with each small urbanization having its own swimming pool, it was easy enough to cool down. My enduring memory, will be the amount of times I climbed up and down that mountain to get to the bars in Carabassi, no wonder it was called Heart Attack Hill. Climbing back to the top, filled with cheap Spanish beer, was always a challenge, especially on one notorious evening where I stumbled and fell, hitting my head on the edge of the chasm, waking up moments later half hanging over the edge. Just one step closer and I would have been a gonna.
One of the locals said to me one evening, after a few too many sherbets, that the amount of people who went missing in the mountains around Gran Alacant was incalculable. Of course, I didn't believe a word of it, as they winked, just before my expedition back up the hill. It was a reminder, however, of just how different this place was, and as much as I complained about it at the time, today that tiny little casa has more memories within its four walls, than I would have collected in a lifetime. This house will always be a part of me and vice versa, and I look forward to the day when I can finally visit Gran Alacant once again. As humans, we do form emotional attachments to homes, and despite moving over thirty times since 1992, my first Casa in Spain is the one I will remember most. It was a brutal introduction to Spanish life, but it was also a positive one. When I dream of Gran Alacant, I dream of the house on Heart Attack Hill; memories that will live on in perpetuity!
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Well that's it, another year over, and I couldn't be happier to see the back of it. I think, looking back to the death of The Queen, I realised just how bloody dreadful a year it had been. Her passing just emphasised how bad it was for me and Darrell. Despite the difficulties we experienced as a couple, the saving grace was of course leaving Britain at the beginning of September, on our adventure of a lifetime. I can't actually believe that was four months ago now. Walking away from everything was just what we had to do, for our own sanity and peace of mind. Despite missing friends and colleagues from work and my Father, I haven't really looked back since, happy to lay 2022 to rest!
I didn't see in the New Year last night, as I would have done in Britain, in fact I was in bed asleep by ten o'clock. I did manage to welcome in 2023 from Sydney, but with Perth being three hours behind, I decided to go to bed. There are so many different time zones in Australia, it makes you realise just how big this country is.
This morning, I was awake by 6 am as usual, so managed to welcome in 2023 from London. In a way, this was like the final goodbye from a country I had called home most of my life, but a place I have certainly fallen out of love with in recent years. Whether it's the state of the economy, the God awful endless, discredited Tory Governments or the difficulties at home on a personal level, I am just thankful, I can put this horrendous period to the back of my mind and move on. There was however a twinge of sadness, as the festivities played homage to our late Queen Elizabeth, reminding not only me, but all of us, that 2022 was definitely the end of an era!
Of course, not everything was bad, and I am glad I made so many wonderful friends in Portsmouth before I left, who will always be in my thoughts. Whether from Tesco, The Newcome Arms, or Cancer Research, all of these weird and wonderful characters will share a special place in my heart, wherever I am in the World. Without them, the 'Pandemic Years' would have been that much harder to bear!
I would like to wish all the readers of Roaming Brit a happy and prosperous 2023 and hope you all get everything you wish for in life. Thank you for continuing to support this blog, sharing your thoughts and ideas, and now being a part of my new life down under. Happy New Year!
