ARCHIVED - Did you do anything interesting this weekend?The windmills of Torre Pacheco

What happened this weekend,Saturday,  Torre Pacheco, day of the windmills

2010-04-26

"The windmill trembles with pleasure as the wind kisses its face, The windmill turns its face to the wind so it can smell the countryside, the windmill hates progress, and the windmill starts to die when it loses its wings"

Torre Pacheco, Sat 24^th April 

Once the bulletin has gone on a Thursday night, the big pressure is off and we can catch up with domestic chores and plan the next 3 days.

In this job, were expected to know the minutest detail, and the only way to do that is to visit everything in person, check for disabled toilets, find the nearest parking and the best menu del dia, take our own photos and find out all the bits the Spanish presume we already know when sending out press information, such as where the events are actually taking place and at what time.

Finding out about them in the first place is the biggest challenge, as the Spanish very rarely give more than a couple of days notice and this weekend was no exception.

Torre Pacheco hold an annual celebration to honour their windmills and millers, with a Romeria and bit of a knees up to accompany the celebrations.

The information arrived out of the blue on Friday morning, in plenty of time to promote the event for the Saturday (!!!!)

Such a shame, we put it on the site, but knowing that there was little chance of giving enough notice for the word to spread, but went along ourselves to photograph it for next year, as now we know its happening, we can catch it earlier and get it out there in time.

What a beautiful morning it turned out to be.

We went to the El Pasico windmill on the outskirts of Torre Pacheco, which was open for the morning, sails flying and ready for business.

There was music, free beer and crisps for anyone who turned up, and the millers were delighted to see English visitors taking an interest in their heritage. We were whisked into the mill by a fourth generation miller whod worked in the mill from childhood and shown the intricacies of turning the whole  roof to follow the wind, trimming the sails on windy days, pulling on the brakes when the sails were practically flying and how to control the height of the millstones to achieve different grades of flour.

He said it was exhausting work, running up and down the stairs to tip in sacks of wheat, then take out the sacks of ground flour at the bottom, constantly trimming and adjusting the sails, the millstones and watching the wind as it changed, adjusting, listening and checking, as mistakes just meant more work.

The millers were paid by local farmers to grind their wheat, a couple of sacks at a time, and kept back part of what they ground as their payment, which was then sold as their wages.

What came in had to go out, and wily farmers had a number of little tricks they would employ to wangle an ounce or two out of the miller, so as a small boy he was employed to make sure that nothing left the mill until it was meant to!

Nothings changed, its hilarious watching the old boys at the olive press when we take the olives in- they always try to stand on the scales and rob a few litres of extra oil.

A lovely little poem sat on the windowsill about modern technology destroying the windmill, which cant translate as its just not the same, but included lines such as , "The windmill trembles with pleasure as the wind kisses its face, The windmill turns its face to the wind so it can smell the countryside, the windmill hates progress, and the windmill starts to die when it loses its wings

Having explained his past, the miller took off the brake, there was an almighty clunk as the sails started to turn, and the grindstones sprung into action, the floor shook , the air turned white with flour dust, the stones crushing the wheat feeding in from above.

To see it working and experience the pride of the millers in this restored windmill was actually quite emotional, and to see the sails whirring around outside and the machinery operating, was a real joy and we were so grateful to have had the chance to experience it.

Next year, we hope that some of the people who use the site will have the same opportunity to feel the windmill purring, the sails singing in the breeze and the pride of the miller sharing his life with us.

On the way home we stopped off at a ruined windmill in Las Palas to photograph that, and ate fresh chocolate cake from the little bakers in the village, sitting in an almond orchard amongst blood red spring poppies and yellow daisies. In the car was a fat round loaf of bread, fresh from the wood fired oven at the back of the shop, made with flour from a modern mill. The family who run the bakers used to bake with flour from the ruined mill we were looking at, which sat there with broken sails and crumbling stones behind us.

Its such a shame to see the windmills die.