Snowball Oranges
A Winter's Tale on a Spanish Isle
by Peter Kerr
Overview
From the Publisher
It's the stuff of dreams: A Scottish family gives up relative sanity and security to grow oranges for a living in a secluded mountain valley on the Mediterranean island of Majorca. But dreams, as everyone knows, have a nasty habit of not turning out quite as intended. Being greeted by a freak snowstorm is only the first of many surprising "experiences," and it isn't long before they realize that the orange farm they've purchased is a bit of a lemon. However, laughter is the best medicine when confronted with consuming a local delicacy containing rats, the "live-chicken-down-a-chimney" technique of household maintenance, and attending a shotgun wedding. Their colorful Majorcan neighbors restore the family's faith in humanity, and help them adapt to a new and unexpectedly challenging life in this deceptively simple idyll of rural Spain.
Snowball Oranges is hilarious and revealing, full of life and vivacity, set against the breathtaking backdrop of Majorca.
My thoughts
I've read a lot of 'moving to xyz' books because I love travel essays, but this was one of the better ones I've read. So many times the books are written by authors moving to France or Italy, but this is the first I've read about Spain. I had to switch gears from occasional French words to Spanish words, which was quite refreshing.
Another thing that sets this book apart from other books in the genre is that the writer is Scottish. The banter between he and his wife is quite entertaining! I must tell you that I fear the tongue of a sharp Scottish wife! Mrs. Kerr told it like it was!
Very well written book, delightful story, interesting characters, a great book overall!
Favorite Passage
Fair enough, I did like cats all right, but at that particular moment, I felt more like a boot-up-the-cat's-arse person. I had had one pair of perfectly good trousers and two reasonably good legs mutilated in the space of twenty minutes, and I knew deep down that what these cats really wanted was us out of the house - their house. Nevertheless, I couldn't bring myself to tell Francisca that, and she probably wouldn't have listened anyway.
She continued to lavish praise on my "obvious love for animales." Her patron saint from Assisi would have been proud of me, she said, then paused and crossed herself pensively.
