Quinamavida

This afternoon, Rachel, her mother-in-law Monica, and I went bathing - a hot spa resort several kms outside Linares. Following the obligatory cold shower, and wearing the obligatory, and hugely flattering, packamak hats, we wallowed in the warm, smelly waters of the piscina. Fellow bathers made us all feel like youngsters, and Rachel was as a babe in arms, although a bit more of the babe in the Brazilian bikini, which is almost a non-event. She has the figure for it. Totally unfairly, I blame mine on my children ... So, there we were, enjoying ourselves floating around, nattering away, R and Monica in Spanish, me in Stranglish. Truly excellent. The spa is faded Spanish colonial grandee in style, lots of palm trees, lots of treatments involving liquid chocolate colour mud, and a hushed silencio everywhere - it's a serious place.

Outside, the driveway is surrounded by giant and gorgeous sinus-clearing eucalyptus trees and the spa grounds lie at the base of the Andes. Going home, rattling down the trackway, we diverted to an Artesania - crafty souvenirs - this one a stone works, using ancient volcanic tufa embedded with leaves and tiny pine cones. As the sun set, a soft blue blanket of mist spread over the fields, leaving the trees floating above it, and there is a sharp autumn chill. Rachel, who disdains having a maid, and is thus careless of her social status here, came home to a dying fire. Oh how she wishes for central heating and a thermostat!