And now what?

So the book is ready for print in two languages, - Reflections from La Herradura, and in Spanish: Reflejos del Paisaje Humano de La Herradura. It’s a story-telling journey through an enchanting village –, and it is good! Not because I say so, but because both my English and the Spanish final proof-readers, who do not know me in person, say so! My confidence is intact, but, I have to admit, the journey to get here was both exhausting and interesting. And now, the final result is a unique combination of guide book, history book and biography rolled into one, offering the reader a privileged, ‘behind the scenes’ look at life in La Herradura and a fascinating glimpse into the minds of its artists and visionaries. I’ve written it in a conversational style that makes it accessible and suitable for all types of readers. I even made a special oil painting for the cover which depicts a flamenco dancer and a white village separated by a horseshoe, as the Spanish word ‘herradura’ means horseshoe in English. To realise this book in both languages I have paid the translator, various proof-readers and other set-up costs, both in cash and with art, and finally the English and the Spanish version are now in the care of the print-on-demand printer that I work with. So far so good! There is that word again…. Good!

But now what?
Now I need to get the book to as many readers as possible in order to help turn this special village, (the place I fell in love with on my first visit in 2004), into a cultural hotspot, as that is my dream and that of many of the artists, musicians, writers, painters and other interesting souls who have participated in the book. Launching a book costs money. In order to do it well I need a considerable amount and my pockets are now empty.

Why do I care?
Well apart from having invested about a year and a half of my life and a lot of money in this project, I also care about this village that is my home. It deserves to have its cultural agenda more widely known. Many interesting things are happening here and you might want to know about them when you get a chance to visit La Herradura, which quite frankly, is a must.

So I have to find a solution. After having studied crowdfunding sites I realise that I do not have enough followers on social media or personal email contacts to organise a successful crowdfunding project. It has to be more personal. I have to put on a brave face and ask for help.

I NEED YOUR HELP!

Angel Galdo F. and Mercedes Rubio (the first sponsors)

To make things interesting for any potential sponsors out there, I will be offering an incentive - call it a ‘Thank You!’ in the form of a raffle. Every donation of 10 € will be allocated a raffle number. So if you donate 50 €, for example, you will get 5 raffle tickets. On the day of the launch of the book, which will be on 17th of April 2016 in La Cochera in La Herradura, the prizes will be drawn by someone who has not been involved in the process of creating this book. Don’t worry if you do not live in the neighbourhood. If you win, your prize will be shipped to you the following week.

In order to cover the costs of the English and Spanish book and the cultural website that I am currently working on I will need your help! Whatever I can raise will be invested in the launch and to pay off expenses incurred along the way. So whatever you would like to donate, please feel free…every little helps!

I am offering a range of prizes for the raffle - big ones and not so big ones. These will include:
• 3 flamenco hangers worth 15 € each
• 2 sets of 20 postcards worth 25 € per set
• 2 sets of 12 mandala cards with envelopes worth 30 € per set
• 2 sets of 3 books – Cheers, Secret Thoughts and Reflections from La Herradura, in English or Spanish worth 49.50€ per set
• 2 sets of 4 mandala prints worth 60 € per set
• 2 wooden flamenco wall-hangers each worth 95 €
• a ‘surrender’ ceramic statue worth 235.00 €
• an original mandala painting worth 375.00 €
• an original flamenco painting worth 900.00 €

Front and back of surrender statue (9x9x9cm)

Sponsors are important
Your money counts and as a token of appreciation, everyone who has donated 100 € or more, will be named as a sponsor on the special cultural La Herradura website that is in the making, with, if desired, a photo with a caption and/or business link (optional) to a website. Sponsors of more than 250 € will be mentioned both on the website, see above, and in the book.

Sponsors go into a separate raffle for the oil painting (Seaside Reflections) used for the cover of the book, worth 2,500 €.

‘Seaside Reflections’

So would you like to be part of this interesting cultural project? If so, please send your donation via PayPal to renate@renate-kunst.nl / Opt for donation and write down your name. Any amount is welcome but for raffle tickets the minimum amount is 10 €. You can also transfer your donation directly into my bank account in The Netherlands, Arnhem

IBAN number NL71 INGB 0005 541225 in the name of R.H. van Nijen
Or into my bank account in Spain, La Herradura:
ES04 0487 3219 2790 0001 0003 BIC GBMNE SMMXXX in the name of Renate Henriet van Nijen
Please state your name and email address and ‘La Herradura project’!
As soon as I am notified of your donation you will receive an email with your raffle ticket number(s).

Thank you so much - here’s to helping to put La Herradura firmly on the cultural map!

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A Food artist in Spain

What does food have to do with living as an artist in Spain I hear you wonder? Well, I like cooking, I enjoy writing about food, I tend to slightly change recipes that I find online or hear about and I even like to create my own recipes. I think that means that I am creative with food, in other words, I am a food artist. Living in Spain means you have access to wonderful indoor and outdoor markets with an abundance of vegetables and fruits. Needless to say that the produce freshly picked from nearby lands are usually very tasty as they have had plenty of sunshine. My weekly shopping list always includes a colourful palette of fruit and vegies such as tomatoes, cucumbers, papaya, broccoli, and artichokes when in season, and much more. I am in the lucky position to not having to buy avocados, nor quite a few types of fruits as Miguel, my husband, owns a small farm where he commercially grows avocados,

chirimoyas* and nispolas*.
He has also planted a few banana, orange, lemon and mango trees for family consumption only. Great news for a foody, with a preference for healthy foods, like me. However, I do tend to eat more than my body can process. Having inherited a thyroid problem and fat genes instead of money means it certainly is a challenge to keep my body in shape. In fact, I have failed miserably and now that menopause has been added into the mix I often see myself reflected in the shape of a tele tubby, with bingo-wings both above and below the elbow, when passing a shop window. My body is screaming at me with aches and pains as soon as I move and a blood test I took six weeks ago showed that my cholesterol was too high. That and the shrunken clothes in my walk-in wardrobe made me decide to sort myself out. But how? I have never been much of a meat eater and the biggest part of my life I was a vegetarian, and eggs, milky coffees and most of all cheese and yoghurt were part of my diet, more so than carbohydrates and recently I also ate the odd piece of fish. It did not turn my body into a healthy vehicle and meant I had to make a drastic change, so the past six weeks I have spent as a vegan. Although I thoroughly enjoy my smoothie of banana, orange and spinach and cleverly create vegetable spreads and super delicious sweets made of dates, nuts and coconut I now am back in the world of carbohydrates. Potatoes with vegetables or wholemeal bread with home-made humus and crunchy salad leaves, tomatoes and some avocado slices easily replace cheesy pastas. So how come I still have all these aches and pains and am not even slightly going in the direction of being the stick-insect that I perceive most vegans to be? What am I doing wrong? OK it doesn’t help that my aching temple, as some people refer to their body, is rather incapable of doing intensive sport activities, but even so I feel rather frustrated that I haven’t shed some weight at least. I do not want my life to be about food but here I am, writing about it in my blog with yet another resolution to cut out half of my healthy fat consumption and reduce my carbohydrate intake again. And the artistic part of all this? Well, perhaps I have to find a way to get my body back into shape with extreme measures. That does not mean that you have to as well and I still enjoy writing about food. Thus I have decided to share recipes that I have created or heard of and especially loved, over the past twenty years or so, on my new blog. I will add snacks and dishes regularly and you can expect to find quick and easy to make dishes with an Italian or Spanish flavour, original recipes that people eat in their homes and are usually not served in restaurants, as well as dishes you have perhaps heard of and recipes you have never heard of. Feel free to check it out here.
www.renartsworld-food-artist.blogspot.com

• The chirimoya is thought to be a fruit native to some parts of Southern America, but it was then transported to many places including Andalusia in Southern Spain. It has a creamy texture and is very sweet and is often referred to as a custard apple.
• Nispola refers to a Spanish exotic fruit. Nispolas were imported from the Far East in the 18th century grown for the Spanish market. Its flavour is a blend of peach and pear but can be somewhat sharp. It is known as a Japanese medlar pear.

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Gnomes with an opinion

A few years ago on a very hot summer’s day my telephone rang. Hi Renate, how are you says Monica, a German lady who I had met years earlier at an art fair. Monica asks me whether we could meet up, as her partner Gerda had 'been told' that we had to exhibit our work together in a village along the coast. I was curious and the next day I drive down the long winding mountain road to visit the remote cottage tucked away in a sea of green avocado plantations and silver-green olive trees. I turn right into a dirt track which leads to the house of Monica and Gerda and am greeted by big smiles on their round faces. It feels as if I am entering a delusional world and I suddenly think… They are going to eat me! However, I am warmly welcomed by the two very big ‘white witches’ as they call themselves. They are both wearing the same big blue dress without sleeves with a Kangaroo type pocket on the front. Their huge breasts are dangling clearly visible and freely under the thin cotton fabric. It feels soft, hot and humid during the awkwardly long hug. Messy long, grey hair is framing their white, sweaty faces, completing the picture. Makeup doesn’t fit into their world. Gerda looks somewhat wild with her watery blue eyes. They tell me that she is the creative mind and the healer of the two. I am invited into their home, an oasis of calm in a wonderfully warm atmosphere. Everywhere I look I see angels, Tutankhamun replicas, ceramic sculptures and buddha images.

I feel relaxed and at ease. Whilst Monica is giving me a cup of herbal tea Gerda tells me about the gnomes and fairies that are invisible to most people. With a mysterious smile she explains that many think she is crazy, but continues very seriously that gnomes and fairies have told her that it is time for a joint exhibition of my art and their dresses. Monica, who seems to attend to all Gerda’s wishes listens. There is a fairy-tale atmosphere and their strange harmonious relationship seems to work perfectly. Gerda pours me another cup of tea whilst Monica enters the living room with a large number of sweaters, jackets and dresses hand-knitted by her. I am totally amazed when I see the beautiful colours and motifs used. The cardigans and dresses have long pointed hoods that perfectly fit their pyramid-like shape. Gerda then explains that she has received a message from her gnomes to create square dresses. Monica leaves the room to get them and shows me a variety of thin one-size-fits-all square dresses made of thin cotton fabric, beautifully hand-painted by Gerda with colourful symbols and flowers, birds of paradise and Egyptian motifs on the square dresses. They tell me to try one on and I am pleasantly surprised as for someone who never wears a dress I am filled with enthusiasm. I very much admire the work of Monica and Gerda and tell them that I feel their clothing is certainly worthy of an exhibition. They don’t sell their work to the public but Monica and Gerda like to exhibit their dresses and cardigans along with my paintings and ceramic sculptures. It seems like a good plan and I feel optimistic and happy when I drive back home; the exhibition date set.
Two days later my phone rings... I am very sorry Renate, says Monica, unfortunately the gnomes have told Gerda that after all it isn’t the right time for an exhibition
I cannot help but feeling disappointed!

Talking about angels, feel free to check out my designs on environment-friendly tote bags (no more plastic bags floating in the oceans) in RedBubble

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A smoky adventure

Last Friday I was shaking whilst sitting on a cold iron bench at the bus stop, waiting for my bus to my ceramic class. It wasn’t an earthquake but an elegantly dressed Spanish lady. Her leg was nervously making rapid movements which made the bench vibrate. My fantasy took her along on a journey of possibilities. From a dentist visit to an appointment with her lover to tell him that she was going to leave him. I was soon distracted from my thoughts by the spring bird song in the tall trees on the small roundabout in front of the bus stop. It was 22 January and rather worrying to hear these migrating birds singing their beautiful song. A far too mild winter, with far too little rain is confusing the local flora and fauna. I didn’t get much time to think about that as the bus arrived and I had to prepare myself for my weekly discussion with the bus driver. I have to get off at a bus stop that is not very familiar to most drivers and for some reason I have seen a different bus driver every week, which means I have to explain, plead and put my foot down to be allowed on the bus. This day was no exception. When I mentioned my destination the initial reaction from the bus driver, like most weeks, was “I don’t stop there”. I then insisted and explained where it was and mentioned some landmarks. This usually does the trick, but this time it didn’t. The bus driver wasn’t having it and told me there was no such bus stop. The queue behind me was growing but I remained calm and friendly telling him that I was taken there every week and that he could check the existence of the bus stop on his digital ticket machine. Reluctantly he did and I was allowed on the bus. I sat down on one of the faded chairs and looked at the chair in front of me which said “fasten seat belt” a reminder of the long-distance international trips of these now local buses. The seat belts had been taken out and nobody, apart from me, seemed to think that this half an hour journey, for some even longer, along a bendy road and often next to sheer drops down to the sea, with, it has to be said, breathtaking views, is a good enough reason to fasten a seat belt. I said a little prayer and sent some white light to the grumpy driver to get me safely to my destination. It worked, and I walked into the ceramic studio all in one piece. It was a special day and I was nervous. I have done ceramics for many years but I had not experimented much with glazing and had never done Raku. This was my main reason to join the ceramics class with a nice mixed group of people, (English and Spanish, me being the only Dutch person) both beginners and professional artists.

It was my very first Raku firing experience and I came prepared with a mask as I was told it would be a smoky event. Our teacher is an interesting, very knowledgeable, sweet bodybuilder, usually scarcely dressed in shorts and a vest, both summer and winter, and most nights delighting us with the smell of his four boiled egg whites that he brings along in a Tupperware box and consumes during the ceramic class. For the occasion he wore some highly flammable sports trousers, which I found rather worrying. He had been firing up a kiln earlier that day, filled with the statues that had been painted with special Raku glaze. After the class, when most of my classmates had left, the kiln was opened. It was an amazing spectacle. The red-hot statues were taken out with a special tool and then dropped into an old oil barrel filled with sawdust. Every time the teacher had dropped a ceramic object into the barrel we rapidly added a few handfuls of sawdust, which of course took fire immediately. As soon as all the statues were in the barrel it was topped up with even more of the stuff. Then the lid was quickly put on the barrel and subsequently covered with a wet cloth. There was smoke, a lot of smoke, so we made sure to wait at a safe distance.

Approximately 15 minutes later the statues were taken out of the barrel and put into a big basin filled with cold water, to then be cleaned with a hard brush under a running tap, revealing the end result. The colours were stunning, a mixture of purple, blue and copper with silver and turquoise touches, reminding me of the colours of an oil leak on a puddle of water. They were better than I could have hoped for, it was a magic moment.

My hair, my skin and clothes were smelling like a wood log burned in an open fire, but I didn’t care. With my statues safely wrapped up for the journey back, I returned home. It had been a great and satisfying adventure. Three days later I was lying in bed and shaking. There was no Spanish lady to be seen. It was an earthquake, 6.5 on the Richter scale, which had woken up the entire Malaga and Granada coast region!

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The final chapter…a new chapter!

The final chapter has been approved and this means the end of a year of interviewing, writing and revising stories for my book ‘La Herradura Reflections’. A book that I wanted to write without really knowing why. Curious as this may seem, there was a strong urge within me, an urge born out of curiosity and irritation. I was curious and irritated about the fact that so many interesting cultural things happened in the village where I live, La Herradura, and that I always seemed to hear about it after the event had taken place. Why did I not know about the great flamenco spectacle on the village square, why did I miss the opening of that interesting exhibition? Why did I not know about the live Jazz music in a local café or about the Blues festival? For a part it had to do with my own ignorance of course as most events were publicised on A3 size posters put up on information boards on the sea front and some even mentioned on a big banner waving in the wind between two palm trees on the beach. I have to admit, I am usually busy imagining a story, remembering an adventure, repeating a worrying thought or thinking about my shopping list whilst I make my way through the village, unaware of posters, information boards and banners. But who were these artists that had found their way to this village, why were they here and what inspired them? I knew my own artistic story of coincidence or destiny, depending on one’s view on life, but what about their stories? I decided that I wanted to find out and the idea was born. I was going to write a book. I first created a questionnaire with 24 questions and approached some artist friends. The ball started rolling and every time I interviewed an artist, they gave me the name of several others. My list of artists like writers, dancers, musicians, singers and painters was so long that I had to create some conditions. I decided that all foreign artists had to live in La Herradura for longer periods every year and be more or less full-time artists with no other job on the side and that the Spanish artists had to either live in the village or have a house or studio in La Herradura. Whilst I was interviewing the format of the book took shape. I wanted to share the fascinating village history and evolution and give voice to some interesting characters and organisers of cultural events as well. Each story would have a description of the village, taking the reader on a journey through its streets and nearby mountains and giving a peek into the minds of the artists. Little did I know what I had taken on. It wasn’t the first time I had written a book in a similar format, interviewing people to then write their experiences in a story-telling way in the first or third person. For my book Cheers I interviewed partners, children and friends of people with an alcohol addiction and also alcoholics and healthcare workers, to show the human side of this world-wide problem and to help those affected by it to find a way out of their situation of isolation and despair. All interviewees read and approved their story before publishing, but remained anonymous. I wrote and published the book within a period of five months. My La Herradura book is a different story, possibly because it isn’t anonymous, but it has been an amazing journey. Most interviews took place in the privacy of my living room. No doubt the coming and going of predominantly men of all sizes, shapes and ages, entering our front door whilst my Spanish husband was out working, raised some eye brows and gave the housewives in the neighbourhood some interesting gossip material. I met most of the artists for the first time at my front door and it was fascinating to hear their reasons for coming to La Herradura. They explained how they found it, why they decided to stay and how the village inspired them. I felt inspired by their stories and amazed about the interesting facts that I learned on the way about flamenco, archaeology and much more. The stories almost wrote themselves and apart from a few minor tweaks most interviewees were happy to approve their stories. I felt it was all flowing really well. I always write in English but I had decided that this book also needed a Spanish version since it is taking place in and talking about a Spanish village, so every time I finished a story it went to my translator. I feel lucky to have found someone bilingual who was willing to do the translation in exchange for one of my larger paintings. During my year working on this book I had no other income and no budget for translators or proof readers so I feel blessed and grateful that they love my artwork so much that they are happy to do the work, and it is a lot of work, for a painting instead of money. After the translation and a quick proof by one of my Spanish family members the story went to the Spanish language artists in question. The word mañana suddenly showed its full potential. I am Dutch but not having lived in my country of birth for over sixteen years means that I do not consider myself very Dutch anymore, however, punctuality and sticking to appointments and promises are pretty much ingrained into my system. In those cases that I have become a bit negligent and fail to do as I said I feel bad and ashamed. I also don’t like to bother people and the fact that I had to remind some of the artists numerous times to read and possibly tweak and approve their stories made me feel hugely uncomfortable. It was very obvious to me that they were unaware of this as most of them were ever so sweet and complimentary about my representation of their experience, but there were also moments I felt I had to tiptoe through a mind-field and keep my Dutch direct to an absolute minimum in order to keep some egos happy. This chapter is now closed and I can relax. It feels great that the last story has been checked and approved and now in the hands of my Spanish and English proof readers who are taking care of the final grammar checks before it can be prepared for print and the launch in this coming spring. A new chapter in my life is about to start. One of spreading the word, getting it to the reader and most of all, let it go, as my next book is already taking shape in my head when I walk through the streets of my home village of La Herradura, totally unaware of the posters and banners announcing yet another interesting cultural event.

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Happy New Year

And now it is 2016 and I survived the Spanish festivities. I managed to stuff the 12 grapes in my mouth on every last second of the year, twelve in total, which made it rather hard to give my husband a romantic Happy New Year’s kiss with both our cheeks full of grapes, looking like a pair of happy hamsters, but they were soon washed down with former grapes better known as ‘bubbles’. The first of January was a day of laziness which included not wanting to prepare our lunch. In Andalusia most people have their main meal at lunch time, which is usually somewhere between two and three o’clock. I have happily adapted to this habit and as an artist I can decide on my own timetable so that is not a problem. My Spanish husband is absolutely perfect as he is a near obsessive cleaning disorder gentleman with the emphasis on gentleman. He says that I am not good at cleaning and he is probably right, my disorder is being disorderly. I am not allowed to clean, he does that, but I take care of the laundry, setting up and taking down the Christmas tree, and cooking, lots of cooking, two times a day. Well the main meal at lunch and the evening usually an egg variety, a salad and fruit or some bread with an orange with a tiny bit of salt and extra virgin olive oil for example. Don’t laugh, try it, you’ll be pleasantly surprised. Good thing I love cooking and he loves eating it. But this first of January I felt like a day off as far as my cooking duties were concerned and I also decided to postpone my healthy eating, no carbs, and no sugar New Year’s resolution for a few days. So off we went for a Chinese meal in the village. Unfortunately I forgot to take a stomach protector which I do need when eating fried food. Delicious as it was I nearly choked that night on my own acid reflux with a strong spring roll flavour and had to sleep sitting up the rest of the night out of fear the acid would come up again during my stay in dreamland. Not good. Luckily my time had not yet come and today is the last day of a rather long winter festivities period, Three Kings Day, a national holiday and very much celebrated in Spain. Last night, on the 5th of January we went out to marvel at the spectacle. The relatively small village of La Herradura is suddenly heaving with life. Mostly villagers and their families. Several beautifully dressed up carnival type wagons are slowly rolling along the sea-front, filled with people in colourful costumes. Three wagons carry the three Kings and their wives. Plastic footballs and lots of unhealthy, brightly coloured sweets wrapped in plastic are thrown into the crowd, creating a buzz amongst the children who collect as many as they can. In between the wagons there are groups of local children, from the very small to teenagers, dressed up in a specific theme and dancing to very loud music to the amusement of the spectators. Three Kings Day is the most important children’s ‘fiesta’ in this Mediterranean country. Although Father Christmas is now also commercially very much present in Spain, no doubt to the kid’s content as this means double ‘pressies’, Three Kings Day is the main event where children get their gifts. Around 19.30, the parade arrives at the main square and the Kings and their wives sit down on chairs on the stage. Gifts wrapped in shiny paper with big bows, previously handed in by the parents, are stacked in the background of the stage. One packet at a time is handed to one of the Kings and the name on the present is called out, the happy child comes up to the stage, receives the gift, gives the King a kiss to then rush off again into the save arms of mum or dad, all beaming with pride and happiness. Today is just a relaxed Day, all the shops are closed and children are playing with their new gifts. Tomorrow normal school life starts again. The New Year can truly begin. Mine as well. I am full of positive plans and with great hopes for this exciting upcoming year. Spring rolls are not on the menu anymore, but, drumroll, there is a spring in my step now that I have overcome the last hurdles in the process of writing my latest book, La Herradura Reflections. That’s it … you’ve heard it here first. 2015 was a year filled with interviews, investigation, writing stories, getting them translated, proofread and approved. The final result is a unique combination of guide book, history book and biography rolled into one in which you get a privileged, ‘behind the scenes’ look at life in La Herradura, and a fascinating glimpse into the minds of its artists and visionaries who live or work in this seaside village I now call my home. The book will be published in spring both in English and in Spanish. As usual the cover will be one of my paintings. Actually, this one!

Bring it on 2016 as I have every intention to make this a very happy New Year! Would you like to be kept informed about my books and my art news? Send me an email to renate@renatevannijen.com and I will add you to the list. All my books are for sale on Amazon!

Christmas with a difference

My family wasn’t very traditional and I cannot even remember having spent many Christmases together. Christmas has only grown into a commercial celebration in Holland over the last few decades or so. When I was a child it was merely a period of spending time with family and friends and having some Christmas decoration in the house. Giving gifts was not part of it. As a young adult I used to spent either the 1e Kerstdag (1st Christmas day) or the 2e Kerstdag (2nd Christmas day), as we call it in Holland, at my parents’ house for a meal and just to be together. But if I didn’t feel like it, it wasn’t a big deal, it certainly wasn’t an obligation. There also was no typical Christmas food tradition in Holland, apart from some seasonal sweets. It was more about extravagance in foods that we did not eat during the year and of course, the obligatory too much of whatever was served. On New Year’s Eve my brother and I were dragged off to some party, usually great parties, with lots of traditional ‘oliebollen’ which literally translates into ‘oil balls’. Don’t be fooled though as they are delicious balls of dough deep-fried and covered with powder sugar. Midnight was always amazing with the typical Dutch custom of firework displays by most families in every street and neighbourhood, turning the entire country for at least 15 minutes or so into a colourful display of lights and bangs with people going out into the streets with a glass of bubbles to start the New Year wishing everybody the best! Then I met an English man and together we moved to Spain. Christmas became a tradition and soon I found myself sitting in front of the television watching English shows with a silly paper hat on and a Christmas cracker in my hand. A fake nylon Christmas tree with cheap shiny balls, tinsels and lights were taken out of the box each year to be set up in some corner and then, during the weeks leading up to Christmas, lots of small gifts wrapped in shiny paper were accumulating below the tree. I loved it. My now ex-partner being an excellent cook also insisted in preparing a typical English Xmas meal every year, including all the vegs and Yorkshire pudding. The left-overs turned into a fantastic bubble and squeak that we ate on Boxing Day. Christmas decorations in Spain weren’t as over the top as we had known them to be in Holland and the UK, but the Christmas tree in the square and light decorations over the streets certainly brought us into a festive spirit. Then I married a Spanish man and got an entire family with it. The outside Christmas decorations were still the same and in some cities like Malaga they have turned it into a true art with lots of lights, certainly worth a visit. Another sure sign that the festive season had arrived is a television in a corner of the local bar or restaurant with children singing the winning numbers of the Christmas lottery in a boring tune and groups of people from a local choir going around the village singing songs to collect some money for charity, the Spanish equivalent of carol singers. However to me personally this festive season got a whole new meaning when I got to know the family traditions. Now at best of times I fail to understand why many of the Spanish people living in southern Spain don’t do heating and my ‘new’ family is no exception. Their excuse that it doesn’t really get cold and winter lasts only a couple of months is not very true as many expat living here can confirm. Oh yes, winters can be like northern European summers with temperatures over 20 degrees during the day, but when the sun goes down the temperature drops below 10 degrees, not only outside but also indoors. Many houses are built to keep the sun out and no natural heat is coming in. So out come the jumpers, many layers of them, and the dressing gowns that are put on as a final layer. There usually is a round table with a small under-table heating to provide some warmth to a cold body. Cold and cracked dry skin on the hands and a runny nose don’t seem to bother them. My Spanish family is no different. My mother in law, a tiny, possibly due to old-age shrinkage, feisty and very funny 84 year old can barely walk as she shuffles into the patio in her four or five layers of jumpers and trousers, to sit in the sun to heat up her, as she calls it… frozen legs. The under-table heating is only used as an exception as she is so used to a life time of saving up for the kids and spending the least possible on herself. She would not have it any other way. The December holiday makes no exception. Spain doesn’t know a second Christmas day or a Boxing Day so the festivities are squeezed into Christmas Eve, where the family enjoys a meal together and Christmas day where the family enjoys lunch together. In my Spanish family the only tradition is to eat lots of prawns, big prawns usually, which come with some side dishes and too many deserts and seasonal fried cookies and other sweet treats. The left-overs are then eaten on Christmas Day. The lucky ones get to sit at the table with the under-table heating, with the table-cloth held underneath their chins to get maximum effect of the welcoming heat, but the not so lucky have no option but to come in layers or to keep their coats on. No Christmas tree or decoration to create a pleasant atmosphere and gifts are only given to the two young children in the family on Christmas Eve. There is no obligation to spend the entire X-mas Eve or day together so when the last bite of super sweet desert has vanished into our bodies everybody rushes out to do whatever they fancy doing that day. After having taken part in two of such Christmases I suggested to somewhat break that family tradition. Now living in our new, renovated house with wonderful pellet-stove, which was a serious condition of me to even consider getting married, heating up the entire house and creating a wonderful atmosphere with its real flames, we have suggested to celebrate Christmas Eve at our place. A Christmas tree in the corner of the room with sparkly Christmas lights, a pleasant heat, no more coats on or runny noses, just a lot of cooking for me, but fortunately that is one of my hobbies. Last year it was Chinese, which was greatly appreciated and this year I will present an abundant selection of tapas. And the visitors bring the desert. Sounds good to me. And New Year’s Eve? According to tradition that is spent in the house of one of my sisters in law. A very cold house. We sit there with thick jumpers or our coats on, a television is showing silly sketches by men dressed up as women, slightly too loud. The family cheerfully recalls some curious past events in the local village. The meal consists of mainly meat dishes, something I dread this year. After having seen too many cute piglets, cuddly cows and happily jumping about lams with colourful knitted jumpers, all saved from the slaughter house, on Facebook I can no longer eat meat, even if it is disguised as a tasty pate or sliced salami. Guess I’ll be bringing my own dinner. At midnight we all pop 12 grapes into our mouths on the counts of the last 12 seconds of the passing year. A few hugs and kisses and best wishes and off we go…. Usually home to sleep off the exhaustion of the stressful Christmas season and with the full intention to comply with our New Year’s resolution to never do this again! But, as is the case with so many well-intended resolutions…! Wishing you all a wonderful Christmas and a Fantastic 2016! My Christmas Gift to you is a download of my Christmas art card. Feel free to use it as a digital X-mas card to send to your friends and family! http://renatevannijen.com/merrychristmas.pdf If you like to be kept informed about my art work you can enrol for my newsletter. Please send me an email at renate@renatevannijen.com and I will add you to the mailing list. MERRY CHRISTMAS