🇪🇸 Our Unexpected Relocation to Andalucía, Spain — An Unconventional Innkeeper’s Story

🎉 Anniversary Post – Nine Years Today Living in Spain 🎉

A personal, spiritual account by Hazel, Cortijo Fruitful Hills Co-Owner/Developer

Nine Years Ago, the Inner Warnings Came Loud and Clear…

“It’s the End of the World as We Know It… and I Feel Fine…” R.E.M song

The words arrived out of nowhere.

That chorus began playing in my mind—loudly, joyfully, relentlessly.

Again and again.

It wouldn’t stop.

Not until I paid attention.

And at other times, I was engulfed by an impending sense of doom. Something terrible was on the horizon, on a grand scale.

Bemused and alarmed, I wondered how on earth one could feel fine in such circumstances.

I prayed and continued to seek further wisdom, guidance and provision.

Life in the human world continued as usual.

Andrew was Associate Rector of Burnsall Parish, North Yorkshire. We lived in the grand Georgian Rectory by the riverside, in the stunning Yorkshire Dales National Park.

We had the place freshly decorated and furnished it with beautiful antiques to give it a traditional feel.

We had intended for it to be our home for years to come.

I carried on silently struggling as a vicar’s wife — appreciating the beauty of England’s history and heritage, the stunning countryside, and the opportunities and kindness the parish showed us as a family.

Yet with heightened levels of awareness and sensitivity, my experience of reality — and of what moves within it — has always been vastly different. It is rarely easy to reconcile the two.

Spiritual Dynamics

The spiritual opposition ramped up for me, as it often did.

Spiritual warfare — encounters with energies and spiritual beings that felt fierce, brutal and profoundly anti-life. There are aspects of evil and darkness I have experienced that few people seem willing to speak about.

Alongside this came fairly frequent episodes of intercession, when immense spiritual burdens would descend upon me — my heart and soul pierced by the suffering and sorrow of the world.

At times, the intensity was overwhelming.

And somehow, through it all, I still had to try to lead an ordinary life.

Perhaps this is part of the strange tension of a life devoted to inner seeing: shopping, parenting, home, studying — while simultaneously encountering dimensions of experience that are anything but ordinary.

Then there was what I call my dying alive — the inner deaths of identities, attachments, beliefs and versions of myself as they met the fire of truth and unbounded awareness.

There were also times when it seemed as though everything was communicating.

Spirit. Buildings. Landscapes. Objects. People. The collective unconscious. The atmosphere.

Everything carrying something.

Unspoken words. Unspoken histories.

Reality itself crying out to be heard, felt, seen and witnessed.

Every era has its upheavals and turning points. But during those years — much as I do now — I felt as though I was living inside the birth pains of something immense: old structures breaking apart and powerful forces of life and destruction in tension with one another.

Trying to navigate all of that — spiritually, psychologically and practically — while remaining one small human being inside it was no small thing.

And beneath it all were the ongoing struggles, and my continual striving to recover from severe M.E. / Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, which has affected me for most of my adult life.

I admit, there were times when my thoughts and prayers became very simple:

I seem to have landed in the wrong universe.
Get me out of here.
Beam me up, Scotty.

An Unexpected Time of Change

Then ordinary life changed too.

For personal and family reasons, Andrew decided to take early retirement from the Church of England, and we were faced with the question: what next?

After leaving the parish, we moved to Knaresborough — a beautiful riverside town in North Yorkshire, with its historic castle, dramatic gorge and distinctive character.

We had a rental property there, and it gave us some breathing space.

Grace made friends, learned to ride her bike, and befriended a ginger, one-eyed cat.

We enjoyed the riverside walks and the charm of the area while working out what came next.

One place that stayed with us was St Robert’s Cave — a medieval hermit’s dwelling carved into the rock face beside the river, where a man chose to live simply and quietly, apart from the noise of the world.

It spoke to us both.

Once again, I tried to make the most of things, but the sense never left me: something dark was on the horizon.

Despite my best efforts, I could not settle.

We were supposed to be somewhere, doing something. But frustratingly, I couldn’t sense what, where or how.

A Camper Van Trip — and Another Uncomfortable Vision

To celebrate Andrew’s 60th birthday, we purchased a T6 VW camper van and had it professionally converted.

It was a great vehicle, ideal for family holidays.

We borrowed a dog for Grace and set off on a family adventure through the countryside.

Continuing to seek direction, during the trip the word Marbella unexpectedly appeared, clearly, in my mind.

Initially, I wanted to ignore it. It was the last thing I had expected to see. But there it was — bold and insistent.

Ever since I was a child, I had insisted that one day I would live in the sun. Having to give up my residency in Australia because of severe M.E. had been a significant blow.

Years earlier, I had made vision boards filled with images of the life I longed for: sunshine, swimming pools, nature, blue skies, freedom and animals.

But dreaming about something is one thing.

When the possibility of it becoming real suddenly appears in front of you, all those old ingrained patterns, accepted norms and comfort zones can come crashing into view.

Oh no, I thought.

I knew something of the challenge — and the pain — of what Joseph Campbell described as the hero’s journey. The call to adventure is one thing. Actually answering it is quite another.

And this particular call made very little sense.

I admit, my geography isn’t great. I knew Marbella was somewhere in Spain, but I had no idea where, so I Googled it and found it on the map.

My research led me to a Piers Morgan documentary about Marbella — corruption, gangsters and a reputation that didn’t exactly paint it as an ideal family destination!

Scary, to say the least.

It sounded dangerous.

I felt deeply uncomfortable.

What on earth was this all about?

And what if I was wrong?

Or worse — completely nuts?

Interestingly, I later discovered that what I had seen within was remarkably similar to the Marbella sign on the bridge over the main AP-7 road.

I discussed what I had seen and sensed with Andrew, who, I think, did his best to acknowledge what I was experiencing.

Life moved along, as it does. Some doors closed. Others opened.

Andrew and I began discussing Marbella more seriously and looking into Montessori school options for our daughter, Grace.

None of us spoke Spanish.

Neither of us knew much about Spain.

Some people thought we were mad.

Honestly, faced with that much unknown, sometimes we wondered ourselves.

We said yes anyway.

To arrive in time for the beginning of the school term, we had just two months to significantly downsize our lives.

Most of our personal belongings had to go, including many of the antiques we had bought to furnish the Georgian rectory.

A lesson in detachment, as it turned out.

We crammed what we could into our VW camper van, which Andrew would drive over later. We filled the garage with everything we couldn’t deal with in time, packed eight suitcases, took three bikes, and boarded a one-way flight to Málaga.

We had ten nights booked in a hotel.

Beyond that, we travelled with hopes and prayers.

The Mission

Brexit was looming, meaning the rules around residency could change significantly. No one really knew what Brexit would bring.

It was August. Holiday accommodation was expensive. Time and resources needed to be managed carefully.

We hit the ground running and set about becoming legally and practically established in Spain, holding onto two useful pieces of advice:

If you want to have a small fortune in Spain, bring over a large one!

And:

There is a way things work.

Lawyer Angel

I expect some people may think those two words don’t naturally belong together! But we really did meet a Lawyer Angel.

Recently returned to Spain after working in the UK and dual-qualified in both countries, our lawyer Angel went the extra mile to guide and support us through the residency process and beyond.

Spain is renowned for its bureaucracy and, with our complete lack of understanding of how things worked here — along with our many questions and concerns — he truly had the patience of a saint.

Once the legal groundwork was underway, we could finally turn our attention to where we were actually going to live.

We loved San Pedro de Alcántara, part of the Marbella municipality, and thoroughly enjoyed our time there.

Its charming pedestrian boulevard, dotted with contemporary sculptures, children’s play areas, bustling cafés and numerous cycle routes through the town and along the seafront, gave it a wonderfully family-friendly feel.

It was certainly very different from the Marbella I had encountered in the documentaries.

The town has since seen significant investment, including a major coastal regeneration project transforming its beaches and promenade.

Divine Timing

After a number of potential house purchases fell through, a new friend introduced us to Coín — a countryside town we had never heard of, around 30 minutes from Málaga and Marbella.

We loved the space and quickly realised that our property budget could go much further there. It also seemed far better suited to our horse-mad daughter, as the area is well known for its equestrian community.

So we continued the adventure and booked a winter let, complete with a swimming pool and chickens.

We had plenty of time booked there, but I suddenly felt an urgency to start looking at longer-term rentals.

Almost immediately, I found one online.

It had only just come onto the market — a fabulous property nestled in the hills of Las Lomas. The kind of place I had pasted onto my treasure map years earlier.

There was already a long waiting list, but somehow we managed to be first.

We viewed it.

We loved it.

And we secured the rental, with a view to purchasing it.

We loved it there.

With fantastic views, nature, land and privacy, we felt blessed.

For fun, I built Grace a zipline from the house terrace, designed to land right in the swimming pool. We bought chickens and a giant trampoline, and supported a local animal rescue charity — including fostering four kittens and two crazily energetic puppies, who did a fine job of destroying our new outdoor sofa cushions.

Grace and I built a tree house in the avocado plantation and started a mini forest school for her and her friends, learning about foraging and local plants.

And we adopted Johnny — a good-natured Mastín-Labrador rescue dog who became part of the family.

Chickens and a Zipline

We loved the property and decided that, at the end of our ten-month lease, we would buy it.

It needed some improvement and updating, but nothing that seemed unmanageable. It could have been a lovely home for us.

But then I couldn’t sleep.

Despite my best efforts, my spirit would not settle.

I could feel it, without a doubt: there were problems underground.

I had no physical proof.

But I knew.

Later, issues emerged that confirmed my concerns — and we avoided what could have become hugely expensive problems.

So the search began again.

Driving far and wide across Andalucía, we widened the net, including Sotogrande and the surrounding countryside. We put offers on two separate houses.

Both revealed potentially costly pitfalls before we got too far.

At one property, the seller assured us the area was peaceful and quiet. Then, driving past unannounced one day, we discovered that the hotel opposite — a former monastery — was hosting a wedding and blasting out music.

Loud music.

My nightmare.

We withdrew the offer.

The hunt continued.

Again and again, we found ourselves drawn back to Las Lomas, the hillside area between Alhaurín el Grande and Coín in Málaga Province, close to where we were already living.

Then I fell in love with a hilltop house.

It needed modernising, but to me it felt perfect — my place in the world.

Andrew wasn’t so keen. We made an offer — at an amount he suggested — but it wasn’t accepted. The seller blocked us, and the property was eventually sold to someone else.

My heart sank.

To this day, that place remains dear to my heart.

A Nightmare of a Project — We Bought It Anyway

The neighbouring property was also for sale and had been sitting on the market for quite some time.

Interestingly, it was owned by a woman called Hazel.

It was also something of a local landmark, sitting opposite a beautiful property formerly owned by Status Quo guitarist Rick Parfitt.

We had viewed Hazel’s property more than a year earlier and walked away.

Our private verdict had been fairly emphatic:

A nightmare of a project.

Dark. Gloomy. A potential money pit. Far more than we wanted to take on.

But now our rental agreement was coming to an end. The landlord was angry that we had chosen not to buy his property, and we were being threatened with significant holiday-rental rates if we stayed beyond the agreed period.

The pressure to find somewhere was immense.

As usual, I prayed, sought guidance and tried to sense the way forward.

And Hazel’s property came back.

It landed persistently in my mind and refused to leave until I paid attention.

Andrew was firmly against even revisiting it.

Absolutely not.

He wouldn’t budge.

It took considerable persuasion but, with no other viable options emerging, he finally agreed to view it again — “just to humour me,” he said.

Then something shifted.

As soon as he stepped onto the property, he knew.

This was the place.

Long overdue for a project he could really get his teeth into, Andrew suddenly became full of enthusiasm for its possibilities and potential.

We moved forward with the purchase.

In February 2020, it became ours.

Weeks Later, Spain Entered Its First Lockdown

And we got to work.

Each in our own way, we began co-creating the space that would eventually become Cortijo Fruitful Hills.

From the beginning, the intention went beyond simply owning a beautiful property.

We wanted to create a high-quality, nature-rich place where people — particularly those carrying responsibility and pressure — could decompress, rest, rejuvenate and perhaps transform in whatever ways they needed to.

A Tranquil Oasis in Difficult Times

A place of support for those on the front line, working for good — however that may look.

Andrew threw himself into the land, gardens and buildings with remarkable energy and determination.

There were countless trips to garden centres and local suppliers, alongside the gradual introduction of permaculture principles.

Furrows were dug along the contours of the hillside to slow and retain rainfall.

Much of the land was covered — through countless wheelbarrow trips — with horse manure brought in by the skipload from a local stables.

The aim was simple: turn the land into a sponge, build the soil and bring life back into it.

Over time, that work helped create the rich, fertile ground that gives the estate its distinctive character today — alive with wildflowers, colour, texture and abundance.

Andrew also discovered and developed an impressive skill for working with the natural stone found all over the property, creating walls and access steps that better connected the many layers and levels of the land.

One of the extraordinary things about the property was how nature-rich it already was.

After viewing so many properties in Spain, we came to realise just how unusual this was. The land was already filled with mature trees, Mediterranean plants, palms, citrus, nut and olive trees, and extraordinary old succulents — some trees potentially 100 to 200 years old.

Nature itself, together with the care and planting of previous owners over many years, had already given the property an incredible foundation. There was history in the landscape long before we arrived.

Our role became one of building upon what was already here.

Andrew added a wide variety of trees, succulents and Andalusian herbs such as rosemary and lavender, complementing and developing the established planting rather than replacing it.

Combined with the work on the soil, water retention, gardens and natural stone, the different layers gradually came together — preserving what was already special about the land while helping it become even more abundant.

Sangrias by the Swimming Pool? Nope, All-Night Exorcisms!

My work included the spiritual and supernatural side of things — clearing the land, buildings and atmosphere.

It was rough, arduous and multi-layered.

There was a lot to do.

At times, I felt guided towards objects both above and below ground that felt energetically putrid to me — as though they were carrying or anchoring something deeply discordant in the place.

They had to go.

And they did.

There followed many long, painful and intense spiritual battles as I worked to clear and transform what I was encountering.

All senses open.

Praying. Listening. Discerning. Feeling.

Wrestling with discordant energies, furious oppression and forces that felt profoundly dark and threatening.

There were nights when this went on for hours, sometimes most of the night, leaving me needing to sleep well into the following day.

And almost all of it happened discreetly, invisible to the outside world.

When I questioned myself — and of course I did — I tried to remember how little of reality human beings are physically equipped to perceive. We see only a tiny fraction of the electromagnetic spectrum, while religions and spiritual traditions across history have spoken in different ways about unseen dimensions, spiritual forces and their interaction with the physical world.

Whatever language one chooses for these things, my experience of the place was changing.

Transformation was happening.

And it still is.

During those early months, another line arrived clearly in my mind:

“Grow me a garden that’s bursting full of life.”

The message carried such awe-inspiring love that it still stirs me when I think about it.

Andrew certainly got to work on that one.

These days, he happily shows guests everything we have growing here.

And now, when we drive through the gates, we enter a vibrant, green, living oasis — building upon the extraordinary natural richness that was already here when we arrived.

For this part of Spain, it is unusually lush: mature, layered, abundant and bursting with life.

Scenic view of Cortijo Fruitful Hills, with its richly textured greenery, nature-filled gardens and land, around 200 trees including palms, cacti, citrus, almond and olive trees, and sweeping views of the mountains, countryside and whitewashed towns.

We take a deep breath of relief and appreciation when we arrive at Cortijo Fruitful Hills.

Over the years, we have welcomed many guests from around the world, and the reviews we receive continue to encourage and inspire us.

People most often comment on the peace and tranquillity here.

We are especially happy to welcome repeat guests, and when we have availability, some choose to extend their stay and even invite friends to book one of the other apartments too.

Having both travelled ourselves, it matters greatly to us to genuinely deliver what we advertise — beauty, quality and a place that lives up to its photographs, rather than disappointment waiting behind them.

Video: Garden Apartment at Cortijo Fruitful Hills, filmed two years ago — with even more improvements since, including a rooftop terrace with locally made iron railings and incredible views.

Andrew holds the position of property manager and is the primary point of contact for guests — welcoming, knowledgeable and genuinely invested in making every stay special.

Of course, none of this makes for a conventional innkeeper’s story.

And now?

I remain largely behind the scenes — part hermit, lover of solitude, learning, discovery and the natural world. I work on our online presence, the ongoing development of Cortijo Fruitful Hills and my other projects, and spiritually prepare for the times ahead.

Grappling with questions of life, humanity and eternity.

And, in deep surrender, praying and dying alive…

Show me the truth.
Regardless of the cost.
Whatever it takes…

As I sit here now at Cortijo Fruitful Hills, enjoying the peace beneath an old Holm oak tree, I look back on our unexpected relocation to Andalucía, Spain, with wonder, amazement and awe.

Thankful to have crossed the Rubicon and established a rich and interesting life here in Spain.

Concerned for the world, and trying to make a difference for others in these difficult times.

Curious about who might find their way here next — and what they might discover for themselves.

If you would like to learn more about Cortijo Fruitful Hills, please explore our website and blog.