teapotmonk.com

It has often been said in jest that the average Brit moving abroad leaves their cranial matter somewhere close to baggage reclaim at Malaga airport. Others, perhaps reflecting deeper, have pointed accusingly to an earlier time where, with defences down, the armchair traveller was first titillated and later seduced by a multitude of insane travel shows depicting innocents abroad. It is at this point critics argue, that the first significant loss of grey matter takes place.


For what knowledge do most hold of the country that they have now chosen to reside in? What do they know of its rich and turbulent history, its broad and fluid culture, its linguistic diversity and its contemporary politic? The TV depicts little else than sun beds and seashores, fantasies for the unfulfilled. What truth did you acquire as you queued amongst the hordes fleeing North Europe, intent on purchasing a life abroad? What did you learn of the perplexing and widely misunderstood regulations regarding land purchase?
If you are one of those that fell for the hype and purchased your “dream villa” in a part of “unspoilt Spain”, you will probably have found yourself lumbered with at least 15.000 sqm of unwanted fruit trees or a barren north facing slate mountainside and be wondering to yourself, why this is so when all you wanted was room for a pool and somewhere to park the superfluous 4x4.
The reason why rural land has such strict sale conditions is because it is important to try and protect the countryside from being turned into faceless urbanisations. Needless to say that in spite of such regulations the whole of the countryside is being turned into faceless private urbanisations because we all know of at least half a dozen property speculators that share blood ties with the local alcalde.
Amongst such myopic madness, sunburnt shoulders are collectively shrugged, more Rioja is ordered (the limit of your linguistic level) and conclusions are drawn that …well…. that’s Spain after all and the Spain we have all come to love and hate, operates according to its own internal and unfathomable set of rules.
Where though does this leave you, now that the agent and the seller have lefty to share out their inflated earnings? Of course initially you wont mind because after all, what you have acquired is just a big back garden, and is this not the true fantasy of every True-Brit: to be a land holder, an estate owner, to be a country squire abroad?

So for the first few months you’ll be merrily dancing around the nispero groves at midnight plugged into your MP3 player spouting dubious interpretations of Gypsy King lyrics. But, beware. For one day a wiser friend will whisper the true origins of Los Reyes Gitanos and as for those cute looking little apricot fruits that were so “charming “ to have by the handful – they will come to pose a pretty problem when you find you have 40.000 to dispose of.
For the truth is that land management is a full time job and although you may be a dab hand with a pair of secateurs, and you may have had years of experience potting up spider plants you are going to need a whole lot more knowledge, expertise and sheer physical help over the years to come.
You can of course be lucky and acquire just a patch of land with almond and olive trees defined as secano (hard as concrete, needs no extra water and thrives on neglect). But if your Big Back Garden has been defined as riego it will mean irrigation pipes (those are the big black snakes that lie between your trees and trip you up as you conduct your midnight twirls), vast water reserves, pesticides, herbicides and fertilizers. It will mean that you will be employing Paco once a week to spray this, burn that, and to offer mumbling incoherent phrases about the moon’s phases. It will probably mean that you will have to employ a team of fruit pickers each harvest, unless that is you like the idea of wading through a rotting carpet of fruit for six months of the year.
Whatever way you look at it – for the new wave of rural dwellers - it will mean trabajo, mucho trabajo. So what do you do when you find yourself encumbered and overwhelmed? Well, you could try Howling for help and recruit a Willing Worker On an Organic Farm.
Last December, just as the first few flakes of snow began to flutter earthwards settling precariously on our heavily laden olive trees, it was our wwoofer Steven from Germany that helped us to pick the crop and get it to the olive mill before the mid winter frosts really took hold. One month later when we needed help to clear the land in preparation for our first vegetable garden, it was Warren the wwoofer from South Africa who did most of the heavy work: digging over the soil, planting the seeds, clearing rocks and even building a make-shift fence to keep out the wandering cabra montes.
The previous year it had been Barry and Eileen from Newcastle who had arrived to help us with our early morning bonfires.
When the generator needed an overhaul and the chainsaw blade needed retiring after a hectic pruning weekend, it was these two spirited souls that helped us strip, lubricate and reassemble the parts. And last month we had a French saxophonist in our swimming pool. Jeremy was on his way to the African coast and stopped by to help with pool repairs. All wonderful people sharing a wonderfully simple ideology: Wwoofing.
WWOOF began in the UK in 1971 when Sue Coppard launched the project as a means for people to access the countryside in Britain and to support the growing organic farming movement. Small farm holders enthusiastically took to the idea and it soon spread to other countries as woofers from overseas took back the notion to their home countries. Many countries now have their own Wwoof organisation, but Spain belongs to a group that has no central structure and so belongs something called Wwoof Independents.
In theory, all farms or land holdings must be run on organic lines, but this is interpreted fairly loosely. Provided land is maintained with respect to the environment, and you can show some attempts at sustainability or alternative agricultural practices, then you would qualify. You can join by visiting the web site and the cost is approximately 15 pounds per year. Its probably worthwhile having a regularly accessed email address, as this is the most common form of contact.

Wwoofers are not only a source of physical labour; they can also help you see the bigger picture by sharing stories of people and practices abroad. Many have worked in other countries; many – like yourselves - originate from other countries and bring with them a broader range of skills and expertise that you could find locally. Whatever the issue, Wwoofers help put it all into perspective. But don’t forget that it’s not just about taking. In return you give food, shelter, your company and an opportunity to share your skills. In this way the whole process hangs together.
Here on this hectic coastal strip of Spain there are not many models of people working and living together in a way that contributes towards a healthier and less materialistic planet. On the contrary, the area is being stripped of its cultural ancestry and being replaced by a serpentine shopping mall stretching from Portugal to the Pyrenees. As this monster encroaches further inland it is tempting to withdraw into complacency believing that everything is outside your hands. However by becoming a Wwoof host you can play a small but significant role in demonstrating an alternative way to get things done. A way in which all parties benefit, no money is exchanged and land is prevented from falling into disuse.
Maybe we may even learn a thing or two ourselves. Stranger things have happened.





To apply or to find out more visit: www.wwoof.org

© Paul Read