Spanish Surprises, Spanish Delights

A month in Spain surprised us and delighted us! Top ten of each!

Surprises

1. Adjust your clock! As a Spaniard told us in the south no one would get up before the sun rises at 8:00. Kids have to be in school at 9:00. Parents go to work by 10:00. Just move your US clock up two or three hours. Breakfast at 9-10am. Lunch at 2-4pm. Dinner after 9pm. In restaurants at 8:30 you’re eating with tourists, at 10:00 with locals.

2. Crossing streets can be hazardous — not because the Spanish are crazy drivers. They seem pretty polite. But not motorized scooters and bicyclists. Proceed with caution. The crosswalks are a few yards away from the corner to give left-turning vehicles a place to go. The cars will usually stop for pedestrians in the crosswalks, but the two wheelers often do not. Be careful!

3. Spain is up close and personal. Tapas bars are crowded. Tables are close together in restaurants. They seem to like it that way! One Spaniard told us it’s as if we must feel the “breath of the people on our cheeks.”

Crowds at popular tapa bars spill out into the street

4. Service can seem abrupt. Not rude. Just very few of the pleasantries that pass for polite banter back home. In restaurants, the waiters fly around. No “how’s your day going” or “how are those first bites tasting.” In one restaurant we were reminded of the old British comedy Fawlty Towers, given the yelling and frantic pace of the wait staff. (Of course, a fine dining experience in Spain is quite different.) We’re talking about the tapas bars, the bistros and more casual restaurants where we hung out.

5. Order what you want. Ordering a 1 euro espresso and 2 euro snack is absolutely OK. One Spaniard told us there are almost no public restrooms in Spain because you just stop, have a quick bite or drink and use the WC. Want to split a dish? Not at all uncommon and, in fact, it is often expected a table would share several dishes. Not very hungry? Order a half portion or even a tapa portion.

6. Franco’s legacy lives on. And it’s unresolved—feelings still run deep. Some still admire the fascist leader, others loathe him. This should not be a surprise to those of us from a country still dealing with the legacy of slavery and segregation. Franco died more than 45 years ago. Today’s right wing politicos trace many of their issues back to what they see as a better time when Franco defined what it meant to be Spanish.

7. The Catalan independence movement is a very strong undercurrent in Barcelona. Yes, we’d read about the desire by many Catalans for an independent Catalonia, with the region split roughly 50/50 in polls. Seeing the pro-independence flags hanging from balconies all over Barcelona, the graffiti in Catalan, and the police presence on the Day of Spain national holiday when pro-Spanish nationalists paraded through the streets of the city in an in your face political march, made it very real, very immediate, very intense.

“We take power” in Catalonian and Catalonian flags

8. Catholicism is more cultural than practiced. Cathedrals and basilicas are everywhere, but often empty. The birth rate is 1.2 children. The south is more Catholic, the north less so. Another legacy of the Spanish Civil War—the Catholic Church was strongly supportive of Franco as his army moved from the south to the north in the war. Many in the north still resent the Church for its complicity in the Franco years.

9. Royal family is definitely not the icons the British royals are. The Spanish king and his family are not very visible, often criticized for corruption and are seen by many as a drain on the economy. As one person reminded us, few people would even recognize a picture of the king, queen or their children. The former king is now living in Dubai in exile and not welcome back. Again some of this attitude may go back to Franco’s death and the hasty re-establishment of the monarchy one day later.

10. The Spanish do not like spicy food—a shock to us.

The delights?

1. Spanish high speed trains! Clean, efficient, comfortable. Taking a five hour train ride was less complicated than any airplane trip we have ever taken anywhere. Easier security. Roomier. Less waiting time. Departure and arrival near the city centers.

2. Tapas and the wine scene. Usually quick, often delicious, and almost always cheap. Spanish omelette (tortilla), potatoes with a paprika sauce (patatas bravas), Russian salad (ensalada Rus), Spanish ham (jamón) or anchovies on toast were staples. But many tapa bars have their own specialties or twists on these standards. Some were simple affairs. Some were gastronomical masterpieces. And wines by the glass—often the house wine was outstanding—house made vermouths, and cavas (the Spanish version of champagne).

3. Moorish architecture. From the Alhambra in Granada, the Mezquita in Cordoba, the Alcazar in Seville to simple doorways in small villages, the Moorish influence infuses much of the Andulacian region. Complex, intricate designs. Gorgeous tile work. Beautiful water features. Cool garden courtyards.

4. Living the streets! The energy, the liveliness. Sunday afternoon extended families gather in outdoor restaurants for long lunches with kids running around the table. Particularly on weekend evenings before dinner, couples, families and groups of friends just saunter down the main streets seeing and being seen. In many squares, playgrounds for the kids and, conveniently, cafes or bars for the parents.

5. Flamenco! Okay we went to see a show mainly because it seemed the thing to do. We weren’t prepared to be so impressed. The guitar mastery. The singing — somewhere between the Moslem call to prayer and Portuguese fado. Then there was the dancing. We learned there are several styles reflecting Gypsy, Moorish and Jewish influences. Don’t miss it if you are in Spain!

Pictures weren’t allowed at our flamenco show but we did see this street performer.

6. The Belle Époque and Art Nouveaux in Barcelona. Blocks and blocks of late nineteenth and early twentieth century homes and apartments. Several of Gaudi’s stand out among the less experimental and fanciful designs. The broad octangular intersections to create the space for horse drawn vehicles to turn around and space for some of the best architecture.

7. The stained glass window of Sagrada Família. While the entire structure is amazing, the afternoon light coming through the west windows stunned us.

The window on the left generates the light on the right. Totally dazzling.

8. The white villages of Andalusia. We loved our “home” in Vejer de La Frontera. All the charm of Italian hilltop villages with the overlay of Moorish style.

9. Hiking in El Estrecho Natural Park. A steep climb from nearly sea level to cloud forests with views to the sea and Morocco.

10. The cost. Food in restaurants is unbelievably cheap compared to the US and the rest of Europe. Meals for two with drinks rarely cost more than 30 euros. Wine—3 euros, espresso-1 euro, tapas-2-3 euros (or free with a glass of wine). Again, you can spend much more but the quality at most moderate restaurants and tapas bars is so good, why bother. Prices do climb a bit in the heavily touristed Barcelona.

Barcelona Undercurrents

Barcelona is, without any question, a beautiful city. And an historic city. And that history has left wounds which are apparent today, even if they aren’t always obvious.

It was our last full day of our month long trip to Spain, October 12. Columbus Day or Indigenous People’s Day back home. In Barcelona and Spain it was the Day of Spain, a national holiday. The street in front of our hotel was closed, we were told, for a parade. (One more instance of a gap in translation — not a parade but a march). Of course we altered our plans for the day to hang around and watch the action.

A block from our hotel barricades were set up and police stood by as city workers scrubbed away graffiti on the sidewalk. Not sure what it was all about.

In Catalunya Square, the main square of Barcelona, a number of tents had been set up and music blared. The early crowd was obviously having a good time.

But we had heard that this was not a day the pro-independence Catalans celebrated. They would be staying home. A few years ago fights had broken out between factions — the pro-Spanish unity groups versus the pro-Catalonian independence groups. And there has been a controversial referendum on Catalan independence a few years ago. We don’t know the whole story for sure, but Franco’s legacy of represssing the Catalan language and speech still hurts here. One young man told us about his Catalan grandmother being exiled to France during the Franco years and Catalans being arrested for simply speaking their native language.

The ultra right-wing party of Spain. For more info on Vox https://www.reuters.com/article/uk-spain-election-vox-factbox-idUKKBN1XK0LQ

The gist of the banner, “I speak Spanish at home. Why not at college?” Apparently in an effort to preserve the Catalan language a certain percentage of college classes must be taught in the regional language. Not a surprise that this has become a political issue.

“Equal work, equal pay” with a reference to the lower wages paid in the south of Spain.

Emotions were clearly high. Complaints about Catalonia not paying enough in taxes. Signs in green — the color of the Vox right wing party — declaring no steps backwards.

Aspects of the march and rally felt like a MAGA event, but we don’t really know, except many participants carried both green Vox signs and Spanish flags. Apparently, the vote for the Catalan region to separate from Spain reflected a nearly fifty-fifty split. The issue may or may not split strictly along cultural lines.

Couple of the guys all dressed up and a very animated woman being interviewed by the media

And it does remind us that behind the historical sights, the charming cafes and beautiful buildings in almost any tourist destination, there is lies a complex set of not necessarily resolved issues.

As we walked the neighborhoods in the five days we were Barcelona, we kept noticing flags hanging from the windows—flags that supported the creation of an independent Catalonia. Despite the flashy pro Spain events of today, we know that a strong undercurrent for independence still exists.

Somehow we do have a knack for finding political demonstrations. And we do find them fascinating, often more so than the tourist sights. What does that say about us?

Seville Part 2; wrapping it up

We spent nine days in Seville — longer than your typical American vacation would allow most to do. But we’re retired. We have the time. And we like settling into a place for a while. Seville was a good option for us.

We did the major sights with guides the first two days we were here. After that we just explored the neighborhoods, took a day trip to Cordoba and another to the Doñana National Park.

First Cordoba. We were wowed by the Mezquita. The contrast between the Moorish elements and the 16th century church was stark. The openness and space of the mosque. The iron gates and small chapels of the church. Not knowing much about either religious tradition, we weren’t sure what to make of the differences, but certainly felt the Moorish design was more comfortable and less intimidating.

A not-to-be-missed sight for us was the patio garden tour. Every May Cordoba holds a contest to determine the best patio. Some patios are private and others are shared by several homes. A group of the perpetual winners in the annual contest have put aside their competitive spirit and come together to create a walking tour — for a small fee. Each garden had similar components — lots of plants in pots hanging on the walls of the patio, a bird or two chirping away in a cage and water. The patios are small oasis’s for escaping the heat (even in early October it was 90°). Bougainvillea. New Guinea impatients. Azaleas. Impressive.

We also visited the small synagogue, built in 1314, and used for over a hundred years until the Jews were expelled from Spain. And this is one of just two or three synagogues remaining in Spain. Before the Inquisition, Spain had a flourishing Jewish community. We visited on Yom Kippur and came away reminded of how fragile tolerance can be.

The trip to Doñana National Park was like a trip to an entirely different world. The town on the edge of the park, El Rocio, is a white washed but largely modern town for the horsey crowd. We were told by our guide that all of the new townhouse style homes come with stables! And that at the height of the season the sleepy town swells to thousands. Hardly a person in sight and just a couple horses the day we were there.

We spent the day in a four wheeled drive Jeep, driving over what looked to be dried river beds, although our guide said not so. However, much of the area is under water after the winter rains. But the only water we saw was in irrigation canals. There are three main attractions to see in the park. We saw two of them — what our guide called the queen of the park, the Imperial Eagle. We dubbed the Griffon Vulture the crown Prince. The king, the Iberian Lynx, remained elusive. We didn’t complain; we added over a dozen birds to our life list.

And we saw plenty of the Red Deer, some of the bucks with huge sets of antlers.

Back in Seville we wrapped up our visit soaking up the ambiance and checking off a couple more sights.

Old pictures of the Seville Bull Arena show the ring hasn’t changed much over the years. It’s hard to imagine today’s audience sitting on the brick benches, but apparently they do. The section for the press seemed too close to the action, but then I thought about the photographers who stand alongside the field in football games and occasionally get hit. Of course, like all the other tourists Peter had to pretend he was a bull fighter.

The Archivo General de Indias (Archives of the Indies) was a gorgeous Renaissance building. We tried to translate the descriptions of the items in class cases with limited success — treaty between Spain and Portugal dividing up the new world, contract between Columbus and Spanish monarchs, reports from the colonies. Interesting even if we were looking at copies of the originals.

Of course, then there was our pursuit of food. We had toured the Triana Market with our guide on our second day in Seville. An excellent place to buy fish of all sorts, some meat stalls and a lot of small establishments offering tapas. A great place for a snack. We tried to tour the Mercado de Arenal, only to discover it was a victim of the pandemic. Only a few places remain open — a bike rental shop, a small vegetable stand and maybe one or two others. Sad.

We had originally intended to do quite a bit of our own cooking while in Seville. However that didn’t happen. The two of us could eat dinner in a casual tapas bar with a couple glasses of wine and three or four tapas for a quarter the cost for dinner back home. Maybe less. So why cook? Plus, the markets with fresh fruit, vegetables, meats and local delicacies just weren’t around the tempt us. The mini-markets in the old part of the city where we stayed did provide the basics — so-so bread, cheese, juice and such for breakfast. Shopping there we did cook a light dinner of sausage and vegetables on pasta one night after too big a lunch. That was about the extent of our cooking.

Then on our next to last day when we found a mega-charcuterie store in Triana. A huge number of jamons hanging behind the meat counter. Butcher hacking up whole chickens. A huge selection of different cuts of pork that we don’t see at home. A glass case of aged veal and beef. A case full of Spanish cheeses.

We finally found where locals shop — probably a quarter mile from the nearest tourist attraction. We drooled and quickly went to the Triana Market for lunch.

Seville was our last stop in Andalusia. We have heard that our next destination, Barcelona, is quite different. We shall see. For now, we have been charmed by this corner of Spain.

Think Small

We’ve done an awful lot of traveling over the years. Big cities like Rome, Tokyo, London, Moscow are great. Even the smaller cities or big towns — Avignon, Granada, Prague — are amazing. The cathedrals, the town halls, the castles, the museums! But we’ve come to the realization that our fondest memories often come from the small towns and villages where we’ve been lucky enough to spend some real time — from a week to a full month — Gradil in Portugal, Motovun in Istria, Buoux and San Siffert in France, Potrero in Costa Rica, Kinvarra in Ireland and now Vejer de la Frontera in Spain. Again and again our memories (and our stories) come from those small corners of the world.

Clockwise from top left Kinvarra, St. Siffert, Cevalu, near MonteVerde

These are towns most people have never heard of. Some are big small towns like Vejer and Motovun, but others like Buoux and San Siffert are dots on the map with maybe one restaurant or cafe and virtually nothing else.

While small, we have chosen these locations with care. We look for a place offering multiple day trips and sights within an hour or so drive. We look for villages big enough to have a coffee shop, a restaurant or two and a market. And we look for charm — some historical buildings, often on a hilltop with views and a place a bit off the beaten tourist trail.

What makes these small towns more attractive to us? Being able to return to a home base where you get to know the locals feels almost homey. It gives us, however superficial and temporary, a sense of belonging to speak to the same neighbors each day, drink espresso at the same cafe. It also encourages us to slow down, focus more on being somewhere rather than dashing off to catch all the must see sights in a famous city.

Of course, this comes with a few caveats. For the most part, you need a rental car. Most of these small towns are not easily reached. And you need the luxury of time. If you are in a country for a short stay, you will want to see the major sights before venturing off the beaten path. Fewer locals will speak English. And in most of these towns, good mobility is essential —lots of walking, often on cobblestones with steep hills. No taxis.

That said, we were lucky enough to find Vejer de La Frontera — one of the best examples of a great small home base in southern Spain. From there we could drive in 15-30 minutes to a number of different beaches for walking and swimming. Want to try wind or kite surfing or just plain old-fashioned surfing?

Not exactly our thing, but another option. Gibraltar was 90 minutes away, Cádiz 40 minutes. Roman archeological ruins, the other more famous white villages and Jerez, the Sherry capital, all within easy drives. From our home base we could hike from the village or drive in under an hour to more challenging hikes. Enough to keep us busy for a week.

Then there was the town itself. Just wow! Approaching from the east, the white buildings in the distance just spilled down the very steep hill. Once we arrived in the town, we realize there were two hills – one ancient and one modern, but in both all the buildings were white. Definitely a Pueblo Blanco. The only exceptions were the beige sandstone church in Castle perched high above the old town town itself. And despite all its picturesque qualities, it was a real — complete with laundry hanging from clothes lines.

View of the old town and church from our “home” in Vejer de La Frontera

In the valley between the two, there was a community of white washed buildings two and three stories high built 100 years ago. That’s where we stayed. Our place was one of several sharing a small courtyard. Our neighbor, José, greeted us as we came and went and locked the courtyard gate promptly at 9:00pm. He spoke such a colloquial version of Spanish we could barely understand him, but through pantomime and speaking louder he managed to explain how to manage the gate.

At the street level in both parts of town there were often shops and restaurants and on the upper floors apartments and homes which meant there were a lot of locals. It is a tourist town, but mainly Spanish with a handful of Brits, Germans and French. Amazingly, we never heard an American accent in the week we were there.

From the old town in Verja de La Frontera looking towards new town

The streets are narrow and steep but nevertheless, cars, taxis, scooters, motorcycles come through at terrifying speeds, often plastering pedestrians against the stone houses. In August they run bulls through the same streets. We wondered which was more dangerous – cars or bulls. But we soon found the best pedestrian friendly routes through the town.

And from our foodie perspective, the town was heaven. There were plenty of restaurants, a number of big grocery stores, wine bars, cervecerias, pastry shops, cafes and a food market (a smaller version of the San Miguel market in Madrid) offering tapas from the vendors selling fresh seafood or charcuterie.

On the advice of two British ex-pats we found several amazing restaurants — El Jardin del Califa a standout for ambiance and food and El Quixote for its food and friendly staff. El Jardin del Califa sprawls on the side of a hill over multiple levels. Inside is a warren of passageways stairs and very narrow low doorways – sort of a reflection of the town. The main dining area is a lovely courtyard patio, the cocktail lounge has a beautiful rooftop terrace with breathtaking views. And the food – Morrocan! Tangines, couscous, dates and olives. El Quixote — wonderful fusion food and no ambiance, but lots of locals. Basically Spanish dishes with some very Asian accents — scallops with a kimchi cream sauce browned with a culinary blowtorch at the table, a stir fry of Iberian pork and vegetables served on Asian noodles. All delicious.

Night view from terrace at El Jardin del Califa

Not all small towns are food havens like Vejer de La Frontera, of course. But most will have some very good regional cuisine or specialties. We still dream about the fois gras in St Siffert, goat cheese in Apt, truffles in Motovun and oysters in Kinvarra.

Yes, we will continue to travel to the great cities and towns for their history, culture, vibrant energy, and gastronomy. But there will always be a place in our travels to think small.

Seville, Part 1

“Seville doesn’t have ambiance, it is ambiance”, wrote James Michener. And our introduction to Seville certainly supports that assertion. We spent our first two days with our guides rubbing shoulders with tourists from all over, dodging cars and motorcycles along the narrow streets and seeing the sights. Yes, Seville does have something special.

Like most travelers, we read guidebooks to prep for a new destination, talk to fellow travelers to get tips, but once there, often just follow our nose. We have learned, however, that a good local guide provides more insights than a guidebook and knows the community better than our fellow travelers. They invite you to see their towns through their eyes, with their insider’s knowledge, passion and pride.

We hired guides for two different tours of Seville — Penelope for the more typical tourist route. The Royal Alcázar and gardens. The Sevilla Cathedral. The Barrio Santa Cruz. The Jewish quarter. And the second day Maria led us on a gastronomy tour — because after all, we travel on our stomachs. A couple shops that offer local delicacies or traditional foods. The Triana Mercado. And several tapas bars. A brief dip into tasting sherry. We asked both of them for tips on where to get good local food, where to shop and what other sites to visit. Armed with their advice, we are ready to take on Seville on our own for the next few days.

In both cases we got much more than we bargained for.

First the food. Like many tourist cities, food is more expensive and often less authentic the closer you are to the major sites. We found good tapas restaurants off small squares a bit further away from the Seville Cathedral. We love the Spanish approach in many restaurants. Order a couple dishes and share them. Splitting or sharing meals is expected. Tapas bars often offer dishes in three sizes — tapas, media raciones, and raciones or plato (single, double or full order).

Upper left meatballs, pork cheek tapas sized and Russian salad media racine sized below

Tapas are often eaten standing at the bar or around a tall table in the midst of a crowd. As Penelope said, it is as though Spaniards want to feel the breath of others on our cheeks. And because the bars are so crowded, everyone practically yells to be heard. Intimate, yes. Quiet, no.

Many restaurants don’t even open for dinner service until 8:30 in the evening. But the tapas bars are busy starting with the lunch crowd in the early afternoon, then the after work crowd grabbing a snack (and a drink) a couple hours before dinner and they may stay full late into the night for the dinner crowd.

While food is always on our minds, our trip to Seville and Spain has not been entirely about food.

Yes, we are interested in the Spain’s history, but capturing it is complicated. The right wing in Spain would like you to believe that historic conquest of the Moors made Spain more Spanish, and keeping immigrants out now does the same. As you look around and see ancient palaces in the Moorish style built by people who lived here for hundreds of years, it’s hard to say to say their descendants aren’t as Spanish as anyone else. Identifying the Seville Jewish ghetto ignores the breadth of Jewish contribution to the city. And looking at the architecture built after the second conquest (“reconquista” is a term now appropriated by the right wing), it’s good to remember in the 14th century the Christian King Pedro I had the 10th century Moorish castle rebuilt by Muslin workman to capture both cultural traditions. Such is the complexity of history!

And if Seville is not just about the food, it is not just an historical museum. It is also a living city.

The Metropol Parasol, informally know as The Mushrooms, was built as an urban renewal project a dozen years ago—controversial both for its design and changing (some would say destroying) a decaying neighborhood. An elevator ride for 10€ takes you up to the viewing platform. From there you climb up to walk around the top of the structure with incredible views of the city. Exiting down the flight of stairs you go past placards describing how many bolts were used, how much Finnish pine was used (and trees replanted) and other points of civic pride. The largest wooden structure in the world!

From the top of the Metropol Parasol, we counted over 30 churches, monasteries and convents. No wonder at 9:00am each morning the church bells ring and ring and ring.

Seville’s Cathedral

Seville is know for its religious processions, where during Holy Week, or in honor of a church’s patron saint, members of neighborhood group carry floats depicting religious statutes are carried from their home church to the cathedral and back. A process which can take hours, if not the full day. While we were not there for Holy Week, we did stumble across a training session.

Clockwise from bottom left, first team stopping, getting out, second team getting into place and lifting float.

As we continue to explore Seville, we will continue to hear Maria and Penelope in our ears, reminding of the lessons they shared with about their home.

Eating Madrid

Well, first impressions after a night and a day or two. Madrid is amazing—seems more lively than Rome, Paris, or London, more restaurants per acre, more potential foodie experiences than any place we’ve been! “Living in the streets” is their motto and it shows. They say “an army travels on its stomach”. Well, so do we. Maybe jet lagged fogged impressions but seems this is a city we are going to love.

View from our hotel terrace in the Malasana district

We arrived at 10:30 pm at our beautiful very IKEA Nordic apartment in the Malasana district just north of the city center, unpacked, and went out to get a bite to eat not expecting much. Yes, we know Spaniards eat late….but 11:30 pm? Young people (and a very few older ones) everywhere. Malasana turns out to be a very hip twenty something mecca where we probably increased the average age ten years district wide.

Decided to eat at the first place we found — the funky La Pasa Gin Bar (the real name). Yes, a gin bar, and run by Dominicans (no, not the monks). The place was packed but our host found us a table—we were clearly from another planet and exotic to them. Ordered “gin tonicas.” In Madrid, this prompts a floor show. Did we like citrusy, dry, aromatic, spicy? We settled on one citrusy and one dry drink. Our server returned with two large goblets filled with ice and four gin bottles for us to smell and select. With a flourish he poured the selected gins (we opted for two different Spanish gins—we are in Spain after all) into the goblets each with different garnishes or aromatics — juniper berries in the citrus version and sour orange slice in dry. Each tasted totally different from the other. Gin and tonics back home pale in comparison.

Dry on the left and citrusy on the right

Yes, there was food—an eclectic mixture of Caribbean, Italian, Spanish and a small measure of Thai. Jamon croquettes, burrata cheese salad and chicken skewers on Thai rice noodles. Generous portions for sure. Food was good, gin tonicas great, people watching superb. Best of all, the Dominicans were great hosts.

So far have yet to meet any local who hasn’t squeezed out us of our very limited Spanish and added their slightly better English to engage us in conversation. Everybody is ready to drop everything and schmoze. Clearly they are charming us!

Next morning we had arranged a food and market tour. Always our preference to get to know a city first by its markets and food stores, and with an apartment kitchen we were ready to do some cooking. The historic sites can wait. Our guide turned out to be German—a charming young woman fluent in Spanish who had given up a career in finance in London to do this. It really is helpful in some ways to have a foreign perspective—she had gone through the learning experiences and was well aware of the cultural shocks you would find in Madrid.

We started the tour with Churros in a restaurant that had been in operation over 100 years, a plaque on the sidewalk outside announced — the city of Madrid’s tribute to the older establishments. Not normally a fan of churros, these were delicious! Ate every bit! And then wandered to a cheese shop that only sells small batch cheeses in Spain, even if the style of the cheese is French or Italian. The owner also makes his own butter and ricotta in-house. And then it was off to the market.

The highlight was Los Mostenes market near our apartment—a local covered market well off the tourist path. It didn’t look like much from the outside, but inside it was two floors of food stalls and small cafes with a stool or two offering specialties from around the Spanish speaking world. The prices were less than half of those at the famous San Miguel market. It was bustling with locals.

After chatting with the local jamon merchant (who was critical of the high prices of jamon in the tourist stores) and several other vendors she knew well, we stopped at the local fishmonger, bought some shrimp, calamari, and took them over to small counter restaurant in the corner of the market, where the owner pan fried them with a squeeze of lemon for lunch for us.

We were sitting next to a butcher still in his bloody apron who was on his lunch break. Local charm. We loved it and our three course meal — tortilla (a Spanish omelette), paella (the owner was not from Madrid so he was “allowed” to make paella) and our seafood which could not have been better prepared. We were also introduced to summer red wine — a fruity red mixed with sparking lemon soda — more commonly consumed than sangria. Again delicious.

We ended our first day armed with a list of restaurants to try, routes to walk and tips on how to navigate dining customs in Madrid. Obviously four full days and five nights in the city will be insufficient to do it all. Traveling on your stomach takes time.

We will simply be forced to return.

Kinvarra — location, location, location!

A friend of a friend who had grown up in Ireland, but now was a New Yorker had told us we would love Kinvarra, a small village outside Galway. He was right. Sitting right on the quay, the town’s history goes back to ancient times with a 16th century tower house, Dunguaire Castle, (a common residence for the medieval rich) which you can tour for €8 and a medieval banquet at additional cost— both of which we skipped, although we did walk around the castle. A few sailboats and small fishing boats were anchored in the bay or tied up to the quay. Picturesque to say the least.

The town itself consisted of just a few streets. But unlike some cute villages, there was nothing artificial about Kinvarra. The pandemic apparently had taken a toll given the number of shuttered businesses—a sign of very real world problems. Nonetheless, on the weekend the place bustled. Outside of the old town were some very nice, modern homes and a few early twentieth century estates. Ireland lost many of it humble nineteenth homes during the famine and period of widespread emigration. It lost many of the manor estates during the civil war and struggle for independence.

From Kinvarra, we drove an hour or so to the Cliffs of Moher, to the Burren, Galway and Connamera. It was our home base for several days and worked nicely. There was enough to do in the village itself — a couple restaurants, a modern hotel done up to look old with a thatched roof, three or four coffee shops and several pubs filled with locals on weekend nights.

Again, on the advice of our friend of a friend, we drove to Connemara, an other worldly landscape of mountains, waterfalls, saltwater inlets, marshes, rock walls and peat bogs.

It wasn’t long before we were saying we had saved the most scenic for last and regretted we didn’t have more time to give to the area.

As we drove along, I could see some fields had sections which were lowered as though someone had dug it our for a foundation for a house. Then I noticed the color of the soil and saw a pile of carefully cut pieces stacked. Peat. Cut and drying for fuel. In the 21st century. I wondered if it was just nostalgia or if people still used the peat for heating their homes. It was clear that a lot of this land had been dug up and fairly recently. One of the frustrations of independent travel can be not getting answers to question like this.

Our friend of a friend had also said he didn’t care for Galway. We tended to share his impression, but we were there on a windy, wet Sunday afternoon. Our impression might have been different if we had been there in the evening for some of the traditional music. We did enjoy walking along the River Corrib, along the docks and the open air market.

We ended up the day at the Glenlo Abbey for dinner in a railroad car from the Orient Express Train. A bit kitschy, but fun. Allegedly the cars from the real train, plus one that had been used in the 1974 movie and one that had been used to carry Winston Churchill’s body back to Marlborough House. And the food was quite good and the service was superior!

Kinvarra was also recommended to us because of its music scene. And the main location for that music was right next to our temporary home. Unfortunately that building was undergoing a major remodel. And we never did find any other site that had traditional music.

BTW, the mussels at the Keough Restaurant were absolutely fabulous both nights we ate there. Tiny, tender and perfectly cooked, although with a different sauce each night. There’s also a very well stocked Spar grocery store for those like us who want to cook in. Prices for meat were comparable to home, but produce was top notch and much cheaper. Of course, we were there in time for the Irish spring lamb. I did feel a twinge of guilt after our meal whenever a saw a sheep pasture without any lambs.

From Cliffs to Burren

Like almost all places we visit that are super touristy, we got there early. There were only a dozen or so cars in the parking lot and a handful of tourist buses. Even so, we simply followed the stream of people heading into the 30mph wind and towards the Cliffs of Moher.

I’ve been told that a decade or so ago parts of these cliffs could only be seen from your hands and knees while you crawled along the edge. I don’t know if that is true, but I know I would not have been there had that been the case today.

When we bought our tickets at the gate, the attendant told us to turn right, or north for the better views. Of course, that’s what everyone had been told and it was pretty crowded. At the far end there is a gravel path but the sign saying “closed” caused us to turn around.

Instead we walked south, along a good gravel path, with some curious cows watching our progress. We probably walked, going both as far north as we did and then further south 2 or 3 miles, and we could have walked further, but we had more to see on this windy day.

We had approached the Cliff of Moher from the town of Doolin and missed the traffic and stream of tour buses. As we left the Cliffs and headed to Ennistymon we met bus load after bus load of latecomers who were about to join the ant hill march around the Cliffs. Get to the major tourist sights early!

A quick lunch in Ennistymon and we were off to our second destination for the day, the Burren Centre in Kilfenora. We asked for advice on a 3-4 mile walk in the area and we’re directed to Carran where we could park our car at a local pub, Cassidy’s, and walk a loop that is part of the Burren Way. In contrast to the Cliffs Of Moher, we had the walk to ourselves except for a couple of older women out for a stroll.

The ice age and receding glaciers did a number on Ireland, In the Burren it appears the glaciers simply rubbed the top soil away and exposed whole, round mountains down to the bare limestone. Erosion and water did the rest of the work to create an other-worldly landscape. I read where an enormous percentage of the native plants to Ireland survive in the cracks and crevices of the Burren.

There is also what is reported to be the remains of an ancient circle, in the style of Avesbury or Stonehenge, but smaller.

After the walk we enjoyed a half pint in the pub.

A day in contrasts, but the constant was the wind.

Walking maybe more dangerous

Walking around towns more than once I have almost stepped out into oncoming traffic. Checking over my right shoulder to look for cars just isn’t second nature to me. But now driving……we haven’t come close to making a significant mistake.

Driving is Ireland is not nearly as hard as you might think. And for this trip, we even drove a manual transmission, so hitting the correct gear (in a six gear car) took a while to master. Nonetheless, it was worth ever lurch and stutter start. We got up close and personal to corners of Ireland no one in a tour bus gets to see.

The roads in Ireland are very well marked. Between a good road map and a GPS system on a phone, we manage both small obscure country lanes (too small to really call them roads) as well as the motor ways. Sometimes we had to round a round-about twice to find the right exit. Sometimes we drove a few dozen yards in the wrong direction before finding a place to turn around and correct course. The famous Wild Atlantic Way (which is really a collection of scenic routes and not just one road) are clearly marked with a wavy blue line. Signs are also color coded.

Outside of the cities traffic was light. And Irish drivers seem to generally be pretty polite and courteous. Don’t think we heard one horn honk in the three weeks we drove the Wild Atlantic Way. We deliberately hit the major tourist routes like the Shea Head Way as early as possible to avoid any busses or crowds.

You do have to learn some vocabulary. “Traffic calming” signs mean speed bumps ahead to slow traffic down. “Go Mall” we soon learned meant slow down in Gaelic. The warning sign alerting us to “Horse Boxes” stumped us for a few minutes until we realized it was a reference to horse trailers. While we had been warned sign on the Dingle Peninsula would all be in Gaelic, the reality is there were plenty of signs in English and route numbers are still just numerals.

Driving on the “wrong” side of the road does take a bit more vigilance. The navigator has to help the driver when making turns. We refer to a left turn, as a “near side turn,” keeping the passenger or navigator “in the ditch.” A right turn is across a lane of oncoming traffic — what we call a “far side turn,” again with the reminder to keep the navigator near the ditch. In many ways, driving is light traffic is easier, as the car in front of you is a constant reminder of where you should be.

The narrow country lanes, often just a bit more than a car width wide, are lined by what appear to be soft hedges of wild rhododendron or hardy fuchsia. In reality, those bushes hide the stone walls which would not be the least bit forgiving should you tap one.

And we did run into an occasional farm animal on the road, but not nearly as often as we did in Scotland or Sicily. And the occasional biker or walker and baby stroller. We hopped on a ferry to cross the River Shannon and found the system less complex than at home.

The only real excitement we had was when we chose to drive out of Dingle over Conner Pass. The sign as you begin the final three kilometer climb to the summit was intimidating — but also reassuring as we knew it meant we would not be dodging buses and big trucks.

Once at the summit, the views in both directions were stunning. The work of glaciers thousands of years ago to the north and the town of Dingle on the bay to the south. The drive down the north side was definitely one car at a time in places, with a sturdy rock retaining wall on the cliff side and clear visibility of the road ahead.

Bottom line? Driving in Ireland is not that big a deal. Enjoy the freedom of going where you want when you want. Relax. You really can’t get too lost — you’re on an island.

Kinsale without Sunshine

Our refrain has been for three days, “that would be a gorgeous view if the sun would just pop out for a minute.” And “that would be a fun walk if the rain would stop.” Kinsale has a lot to offer even on a very wet June weekend. In the sunshine it would be hard to beat!

A medieval town, with bits of the original wall still standing, Kinsale is a touch point in Irish (and British) history. Walking the town you can hardly walk a short block without encountering a historical reference. A small pocket park marks the site memorializing the famine. Another has a monument to the War of Independence. And another to the maritime history of the town. Today it is filled with colorful shops and restaurants catering to tourists.

Situated near the entrance to a long, narrow bay, Kinsale is dominated by its harbor, its fishing fleet and pleasure boats. Working fishing boats still are tied up to the docks (and local restaurants brag about their fresh seafood) Lobster pots set alongside the boats. As we said, it would be incredibly picturesque if the sun were shining.

There are great walks to the north and south of town. The path along the south side of the harbor leaves town, climbs a bit past a group of homes (some quite modern and elegant) and becomes a pedestrian walking path out to Fort Charles. Between the slated-sided and typical whitewashed house, there’s a great view back at the condos lining Pier Road and the Kinsale Yacht Club.

A few kilometers from Kinsale is the Lusitania Museum and Old Head Signal Tower. The tower was built as part of an early warning system up the eastern coast of Ireland built to announce any potential invasion by Napoleonic forces in the early 1800’s and has been rebuilt and restored. Today the site also serves as a memorial to the sinking of the Lusitania in 1915 and the interior of the tower is a small museum. Ships from Kinsale were among the first to the scene after the attack and rescued many of the survivors. The names of those lost are listed around the memorial. On a clear day you can see for miles from the top of the tower. We were a bit surprised the best views and a historic lighthouse are off limits as part of a private golf course. Obviously the tradition here does not match Scotland where even St. Andrews Golf Course was open to non-golfing walkers one day a week.

We kept waiting for the clouds to lift and see the Kinsale in sun light. Never happened, unfortunately. Maybe next time?