Going to blazes

Giles Brown escapes an inferno and for once it wasn’t his sex that was on fire

LAST UPDATED: 2 Jun, 2015 @ 15:01
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LIVING in the Casita in the middle of a UNESCO-designated biosphere, fire has always been one of my biggest fears.

WILD FIRE: In Istan
WILD FIRE: In Istan

I’m not so concerned about the danger to myself as the Casita is lakefront and so, in the event of a blaze, my plan of escape mainly consists of grabbing 50 Shades the cat, leaping into one of the kayaks and paddling madly away from the flames.

But earlier this month my worst fears came true when fire struck the hills around Istan.

It was a Sunday and, as  I had a couple of guests staying over from Switzerland, we decided to hit the beach.

I also host a radio show on a Sunday and, not wanting to be disturbed from my few hours of free time with my (female) companions, I turned off my mobile.

As I parked the car outside the studio I switched the phone back on and it immediately began ringing.

The first call was from Marco, one of my neighbours. He told me that there was a fire close to the Casita, and when I asked him how bad, he answered “Ufffff”.

Marco is a lawyer and not prone to exaggeration, so I knew “Uffff” was serious.

The Yummy Mummy was on the phone next, saying that she could see the smoke from her place, about halfway up the Istan road, and I should get up there sharpish.

As I sped up the road I could see plumes of smoke rising further up the valley.

I was halted by a Guardia Civil roadblock and told them I lived on kilometre 11. Where was the fire I asked?

“Kilometre 11” they replied. Shit!

I was allowed to drive up to kilometre 10, where I could clearly see flames as well as helicopters dropping water.

At a second road block I was told that I would not be allowed to drive down the track to my house as it was too dangerous.

Two hours later, the fire was still burning so I decided to go back to the beach.

The girls had fully embraced the beach lifestyle and I found them chilling out on their sunbeds.

When I broached the rather sensitive subject of the possibility of the Casita being burnt to the ground they shrugged.

“If the house has burnt down, have a mojito. And if the house hasn’t burnt down, then have a mojito!!!”

Later that night we were allowed back down the track to the Casita.

The house was untouched but it was close, as the fire had started just 500 metres to the north and the wind was blowing in the opposite direction.

That night we stood on the terrace and watched the torches of the firemen as they made sure the fire was out.

The fire had caused damage, but without the skill of the helicopter pilots and firefighters it could have been much worse.



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