The art of Slow Living in Andalusia

Stepping into Andalusia is like finding a portal to the past. It takes me straight back to my youth in the '60s and '70s, an era where craftsmen still went from door to door, sharing their trades with the neighborhood. And so, my childhood was soundtracked by the bells of the milkman and the call of the fishmonger. Fast forward a few decades and back in Belgium, that "human touch" has been replaced by cold, heartless vending machines. You find yourself standing on a rainy street corner, pleading with a metal box for a loaf of bread, only to find out it's sold out.

But here in Olvera? I've landed with my backside in the butter!

Every morning, the baker doesn't just arrive; he practically serenades the streets. It's not just about the bread; it's the mandatory daily gossip session with the neighbours that keep us all informed. Then you've got the gas men hauling their "bombones de butano" like they are delivering gold, and - believe it or not - the bin men show up every single day. Even on Sundays! Back home you'd need a royal decree to get your trash picked up on a weekend. If that isn't luxury, I don't know what it is.