Once again, blogging has gotten away from me and not for lack of material to write about! Perhaps in a few weeks I'll have time for a "back-blog" or two, but the main news around these parts lately is my parents' visit. :)
My mom and dad arrived just last Thursday night and are unfortunately leaving this coming Wednesday. A too-short visit by any standards, but a visit, regardless of duration, is always welcome, of course.
Last Thursday we got Emily dressed up after our daily siesta and headed to Málaga. "Ga" and "Poppa" didn't get in until 8:45 so we had plenty of time. And while that may seem to be a late hour to be driving back and forth from the airport, I assure you it is not. In Spain they don't refer to 8pm as the "afternoon" for nothing! ;) Emily met them in the arrivals lounge with kisses and immediately took my mother's hand to begin leading her around the airport. My mom, for her part, practically threw down her bags to get on all fours and coddle, kiss, and chatter with Emily the minute she came through the little exit gate. It was adorable to see them...but we did have to pull my mom up and out of the way of other travellers.
At home we had a late (for my parents) dinner, and then we all headed for bed. I worked Friday and needed to be up by 6am. However, around two in the morning, my dad burst into our bedroom shouting in whispers something about a "fuego, FIRE"! I was half asleep and not processing his frantic spanglish. I thought somehow we had lit the garage on fire when I had ignited the thermostat for my mom before heading to bed. He clarified that the fire was in the campo, but it was "pretty big" and should call the fire department...
He had gotten up from bed to go to the bathroom and heard crackling coming from outside (we of course had the doors and windows open to let in the cool, night air). At first he thought it was leaves rustling in the breeze, but when he pulled aside the curtain to look out over our upstairs terrace, he saw a fire not 50 meters from the house burning quickly through the dry weeds alongside the train tracks and flaring impressivly with each slight gust of wind!
La Roda has no fire department, news that shocked my father. "Call the police!" was his response, but it took me a while to think how I'd do that since I don't know they're number. Finally I thought to grab Angelines's phone (who was mumbling that it was probably just some farmer burning slash and we should just leave it) and was able to find the number among her contacts. "The number you have reached is unavailable" was the message I got after dialing the local police--typical. My dad was becoming increasingly alarmed by the lack of emergency support we have here in rural Spain and becoming more and more worried about the spreading fire.
I finally remembered the Spanish equivalent of 911 and dialed 061; but this, as it turned out, was only a number for medical emergencies and I was told to call 112 instead. I was in my underwear standing up on my terrace turned fire look-out, choking on smoke and finally on the thrid telephone call I got ahold of someone who would alert the appropriate authorities. At this point, I just had to laugh...and also thank God that it wasn't my house that was on fire!
While we waited for the firemen, the fire drew more of an audience. Some passerby came up to take pictures and our across-the-street neighbors all came out in their flip flops and PJs to see what the ruckus was about. Nobody knew who to call or what to do, and I felt pretty on top of it being able to tell them all that the authories had been informed and that a fire engine was on the way.
About 15 minutes after my call, the Guardia Civil showed up. These are not firemen, but similar to national police. By the time they arrived, the fire had petered out and was really nothing to worry about. Even so, they jumped out of their car with a fire extinguisher and headed out to the fire's edge, just a glittering line in the dust at this point; but when they reached the line and pulled the trigger it turned out it was empty! A bit chagrined, the officer came back to our little group of spectators and explained that they had used the extinguisher the other day and forgotten to replace it..."Does anyone have a bucket of water?", was his question.
By the time the fire truck arrived, with flashing lights, (but to my disappointment no siren) the Guardia Civil had already put out what was left of the blaze with our neighbor's bucket. The firefighters in full gear--helmets, boots, fireproof pants, etc.--inspected the area, but didn't even need to unroll the hose. What seemed at first to be quite a dangerous and exciting incident, had fizzled into nothing more than a large patch of charred ground along the railroad track. We even started to feel a little silly for calling the authorities, but you can never be to careful with these things. Had there been more wind that night, things could have got out of control quickly and although there probably wouldn't have been any structural damage, it certainly would have left a much more lasting and ugly scar on the terrain.
So my dad the firefighter saved the day (or night as the case may be) on his first evening on vacation here in España. Thankfully, no real harm was done and so all the mishaps and poor coordination make for nothing more than a fun story to tell, but it does give one pause. I hope I never need the fire brigade to come any faster than they did last Friday night!
Gracias por tu cumplido!
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