AT THE TEA, TEA RACES

One evening, during a solo Spanish getaway back in 2007, I drove 30 km inland looking for a “tetería” many people had been raving on about. A teteria is a tearoom and this one I was told, was a very old Moroccan place set in beautiful surroundings just like in downtown Marrakesh.

I got into the hire car at 8pm, very confident that I would find it somewhere around the inland Costa Blanca town of Crevillente. I got to the Centro Urbano (town centre) within twenty minutes. I parked near a cyber café and Googled “tetería” but could not find any directions. I asked the owner if he knew of it. He handed me the Spanish Paginas Amarillas, the equivalent of our Yellow Pages. My search produced no results.

Being home to a large Moroccan community, Crevillente’s main street has its fair share of carpet shops and halal butchers. I plucked up the courage and, dodging the hanging rugs, I entered a Moroccan bazaar. The owner scratched his head, asked all his assistants. They too scratched then shook their heads, unable to help.

I walked up and down Crevillente’s emptying streets, toying with the idea of stepping into a café or a bar and risking my life by asking the owner to help me locate one of his competitors, and a Moor at that.

I finally decided to ask a Spanish couple walking a German shepherd. “Lo siento, por favor… Do you know where I can find La Teteria?” To my utter delight, the man said he knew it and in Spanish, explained that I needed to head back out of town and drive for about eight kilometres to the third gasolinera, just on the outskirts of Albatera.

Once there, I could always ask around for further directions. I had by now been wandering the streets for more than half an hour. I thanked the helpful couple, got into the car, turned up the volume on my El Barrio CD and sped off.

Within minutes I found myself in Albatera, having counted only two petrol stations. Could I have counted wrong?

Did the Spanish guy include the one on the other side of the road?

I drove around the one-way system and headed back out of Albatera. I spotted an ornate gate flanked by palm trees a hundred yards ahead.
Could this be a quiet place to sip a glass of mint tea?
I pulled in and straight back out, after spotting a beautiful gravestone over a high wall. I was dead wrong, this was a smart Spanish cemetery!

A few minutes later, I arrived at the elusive petrol station, parked away from the pumps and asked the attendant.
He knew where the teteria was and pointed at the right direction.
I turned up a narrow side road lined with cactus trees and began climbing up the hillside. “Three kilometres, on the right”, he had said. At last, I can have something to eat and drink! I kept my eyes open. The hills were peppered with beautiful walled villas covered in bougainvillea. 

I arrived at a junction, forked right, up a one-way road and into a cul-de-sac. Only shuttered summer residences covered with alarm warning plaques and citrus trees laden with oranges and lemons. Not a soul in sight.
I reversed back and forked left. I unwound the window as a small car was edging past. The young driver did not know where the teteria was but said: “Sígueme!” Follow me!

I did… for at least four kilometres, down a dusty dirt track, well away from my intended destination. He stopped at a crossroads and told me to turn left back into Albatera. Once there, someone would help me, he said.I couldn’t believe it. I was back at square one! Back in Albatera! 

I parked the car and approached a young couple walking by. The man said he knew exactly where it was. “I’ve heard this before!” I thought.
“Gasolinera y luego, a la derecha… At the petrol station, turn right up the hill for around three kilometres. There is a white building with an arrow.” He turned to his partner. “La flecha… Blanca o negra?” She thought it was a black arrow. I was to turn right at the arrow.
I thanked them and sped out of Albatera like a bat out of hell, past the petrol station -the attendant was lowering the shutters-, and right into the hills once again.

It was getting on towards 9.30pm by then. I turned my headlights on and zeroed the milometer. After two kilometres, I slowed down and began searching for a white building and a black arrow.
Right as the counter clocked three miles, I saw it!
A square white building that must have housed an electricity exchange. It was covered with graffiti and right in the middle, there it was. A hand-painted black arrow with the word Teteria underneath pointing right.

“Yes! I’ve arrived! All I need to do now  is follow the ‘flecha’…”
I drove down a bumpy and windy lane, past a few dark buildings surrounded by bushes and wooden fences. Not a sign of life or tea.
“This is it. I am lost again!”

Before I got back to the main road and, just as I was about to give up, a car drew up behind me. I parked and smiled at the woman driver, my arms raised in despair.
Before I uttered a word, she asked: “La teteria?”
I said: “Si, senora.”
She smiled and said: “Sígueme!”
She turned back and I followed her car past the quiet buildings I had seen a few minutes earlier. She stopped at another crossroads. I got out of the car. She pointed to the right and told me to go all the way to the end of the lane and I would find the car park.
I thanked her with my limited Spanish, got back in the car for what seemed the hundredth time.

Up and down another narrow lane for a mile or so, I finally found the car park with a dozen cars in it. I asked a man and a woman who had just got out of their car:
“Es esta la teteria?”
“Si.”
I nearly cried with a mixture of joy and relief.
I raced and overtook them down a beautifully-tiled alleyway lined with rosemary bushes, then arrived at a colossal wrought iron gate. A bearded young man in white robes unchained it open and welcomed me in Arabic. My forty years in the UK hadn’t got rid of my North African looks. I said I was on my own. He chained the gate after the couple came in.
I asked if the place served food. “No, we only serve tea.”
I thought: “What an absurd trek just for a cup of tea! I am starving!”
I explained that last summer a neighbour of ours had told us about this jewel of a teteria and I had to find out where it was.
He suggested for me to wander freely around the place and then later share some tea with him when I had finished visiting.

The place was right out of medieval North Africa. Like a Saharan oasis all with palm trees, bougainvillea and stones buildings. In the dusky sunset, to the light of beautiful Moroccan lanterns, I went from one tiny room to the next, absolutely dumbstruck at the decor. A palace right out of the Arabian Nights!
There were all kinds of seating areas, indoors and outdoors. Cushioned sofas, low wooden chairs, intricately carved tables, scented candles…
A few people sat here and there quietly chatting while soft Arabic music played through archaic speakers dotted in nooks and crannies.
I passed a tiny kitchen where an Arab woman was busy pouring boiled water into silver teapots filled with fresh mint and tea leaves. Stunning brass trays laden with tiny decorated glasses waited to be carried to the customers. 

After spending around ten minutes looking around, soaking in the atmosphere, I realised that I needed food rather than a simple cup of tea. I decided to head back to a restaurant close to my accommodation, but not before promising myself to come back again now that I had found the place. 
The young man, who had welcomed me earlier, looked puzzled as I rushed past him and out of the gate, quickly mumbling that, as it was getting late, I would come back another day.

One hour later, tucking into a juicy steak, I felt really pleased that, despite all the setbacks of going round and round in circles for hours and nearly dying of starvation, I had discovered a magical oasis and could not wait to go back one warm summer evening.

Carmen Del Campillo