Moving On Part 4
The project, building a house with my wife Sandy, was the most traumatic thing I ever did in my life, it was worse than childbirth.
Trying to find somewhere to live and store our things. Making plans with different opinions on almost everything. The emotional and financial stress. Lost in translation fiascoes in a foreign language dealing with bureaucrats, architects and builders. All these things conspired to defeat us. Plus ‘Hell has no fury like a woman scorned’, I was paying for my abandoned bohemian lifestyle. At one point, Sandy and I almost split and went our separate ways. Fortunately, that never happened, but how we managed to pull it off is a mistery.
On the 29 September 1998, Cana Cavea was ready for the grand tour by the new owners, who’d come to stay in the annexe. The place was so neat and tidy, I wonder why we were selling it. But, with no central heating, a delinquent garden, jobs I’d never get around to finishing, and the unending maintenance of an old house the sentiment soon passed. Sandy was a salesperson and better at dealing with people than me, so I let her get on with it and had a snooz in the barber’s chair outside. Rohan woke me, he had an opportunity to share an apartment with two Felanitx girls who worked in the local supermarket. If he supplied a washing machine, they’d even do his laundry, he also had his eye on our hi-fi, television and a bed. I told him to dream on and went back to sleep.
The next day Sandy was still fretting over the Porto Colom house. I’d been happy with it, but now, with tensions rising, I wasn’t so sure. Sebastian had changed the conditions to 50mil a month for the first year. After that, the rent and tenure would be renegotiated. We told Sebastian we’d have to think about it. Sandy was convinced she couldn’t live there as it was too claustrophobic.
Mel and Sandy went to view a small house by the church in Porto Colom. I wasn’t enthusiastic, so as a distraction, I decided to repair an old army compass. On their return, they reported the house was a dump and not worth the money. I got a bollocking from Sandy for not getting on with the house drawings as we needed prices from builders. I continued repairing the compass, triggering a row, ending in me telling Sandy to F off, which didn’t calm the situation. Sandy and Mel left to house hunt in Santanyi.
The compass therapy worked, and I went back to the house plan. On Sandy’s return, she asked if I’d go to Cala D’or with her and Mel that evening. I said I had to much work, so they went without me. Not my best effort towards détente. Maybe it was me who should ‘get with the program’. Surely not!
The following day I finished the plans to a level sufficient to talk to builders about prices, and the girls went house hunting again. With no success, Sandy was reconsidering the house in Porto Colom, it wasn’t ideal, but we were running out of options.
We went to our plot in Son Bennessar to fix the location for the house. Hajo, who we sold the vineyard to, was on his building site. A civil engineer in his 60s, he came from Germany through France and Spain on a motorbike, I’d never thought of him as a closet Hell’s Angel before. He showed me a 50,000DM quotation for a 2.5kW solar system. We would need more electricity than that, but I was sure I could do one for less.
Never a dull moment, back at Cana Cavea, Tayrne woke me from my siesta. Juan, the son of our friends Linda and Tofo, had arrived on foot. Lucia, his sister, had been run off the road by a speeding driver. I found Lucia on the road with a tow truck, her car in the ditch with a damaged wheel arch. Lucia’s a strong character, never the less, I kissed her cheek and gave her a hug. Big mistake, she burst into tears. Lucia went off with the tow truck. Happy we were able to help our Mallorcan friends, I took Juan to his parents’ house on the Campos-Santanyi road.
Later, Sandy was upset with me. When I asked what was wrong, she snapped “Nothing’s wrong”. Women are hard to fathom. Was it something I’d done, or something she’d just remembered me doing a year ago? I never did find out.
Sandy and Mel went out again in the evening, I had an early night. On her return, I think Sandy was attempting a reconciliation. In the dim light, and with the effects of red wine, she managed to embed her knee into my groin. That put an end to that little episode. I think it was an accident.
We promised Mel before she left for the UK we’d take her to the monastery to see the sunrise. At 06:30 on 5 October, we drove the serpentine road to the top of San Salvador 510 metres above sea level. It wasn’t a good morning for it. The sky was full of storm clouds with flashes of lightning out at sea, and a chill wind blew in from the west. Rays of pale yellow light penetrated fleecy clouds that gradually turned to pink. As the land warmed, wisps of mist scurried across the peaks and valleys of the hills below us. Distant towns and villages twinkled into existence, and in the darkness, lights appeared on the Porto Colom road. As the island emerged into the morning light, a man began sweeping the car parking area.
Beneath the huge statue of Jesus, looking west, I tried to point out to Mel and Sandy where our house would be built. It was hard for them to see in the dawn light. Conveniently a worker’s car turned off the main road into our lane heading for Hajo’s construction sight, so I used its headlights as an indicator.
We left the monastery in morning twilight and headed for Sebastian’s house in Porto Colom to see how it fared in the night’s heavy rain. The place was dry, even with the plastic panelled walls it was welcoming after the mountain cold.
Next morning, with tears from Mel and Sandy, Mel left for the airport with the new owners who were flying out around the same time. Mel was in the ‘happy to have around’ guest category. No problems, helped out and didn’t interfere in our domestic conflicts.
During lunch, Sandy and I talked about how we should go forward. We agreed the best thing was to build the house together, then immediately got into a dispute over the design. With the prospect of homelessness giving him focus, Rohan joined in as a moderator.
We came to the conclusion we didn’t communicate, so we proceeded slowly and listened to each other. After some agreements, I suggested that while I was implementing the changes in the plans, it might be better if Sandy didn’t ask me why it was taking so long.
There was no point in going to the architect until we had a clear idea of what we wanted. My biggest fear was starting the project without a firm design, changes, once the project was running, would be very costly. I went to bed feeling we were making progress.
The following day Sandy sat me down with a cup of tea and smiled.
“Don’t get angry,” she said, “but have you heard of Feng Shui?”
Sandy had a German friend named Barbara. Barbara’s house in the hills behind Vall D’or golf course overlooked Porto Colom and the Med. She was into macrobiotics and that sort of thing. She was one of the worlds gentle people, not eccentric, but she did have what I considered some alternative ideas. Barbara and Sandy had been speaking about the old Chinese way of living and building.
I could feel a significant redesign coming on. I pointed out to Sandy that the old Chinese customs of foot binding and acts of filicide on daughters were no longer socially acceptable. I wasn’t about to start smoking opium or propose to the Council of Mallorca the expulsion of ‘the foreign devils’. I didn’t see the need to divide our and Hajo’s land with a bloody great wall, although in retrospect that might have been a good idea.
I think she caught my mood. However, I left for Felanitx pondering, where we would put the carp pond and get enough water to irrigate a paddy field.
With just three weeks remaining on the Doomsday Clock, with no confirmed accommodation or storage space and with the possibility we might now be building a Yaodong. What could go wrong?