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Early weekend

Three days of writing as planned – it’s harder than I expected and quite tiring. Also characters went off-plan and started introducing new plot lines and new characters which weren’t in my outline at all. Whether any of it works remains to be seen. I had arranged to meet Natalie and Graham, who have a house in Antequera, in Cordoba on Friday. They would take the train and I’d meet them at the station.

20170511_171018 Thursday brought an absolute downpour and the forecast for Friday was dodgy so I sent a message asking if they want to postpone but we decided to risk it anyway. So I set off in blinding rain with the wipers the only things going fast along the windy road through Villanueva de Algaidas to reach the A45 autovia to Cordoba. All was well and I made it to the very modern station with a huge plaza in front of it in good time. But it seems there’s no short-stay, pick up and drop off parking. However two cars were waiting in a slip road in front of the station which had bollards to stop you entering from the obvious direction. No one seemed to be about so I failed to see a No Entry sign, went in did a three-point turn and was ready to receive Natalie and Graham when their train arrived just five minutes late.

All aboard we headed off for the recently opened Gourmet Food Mercado de la Victoria which I’d not visited before. There was one further tour past the station before we found the correct route to the market, parked easily and bought a ticket for €1.70 for the maximum stay of two hours. We walked across to the market but it was only just getting under way so we walked down a little further to a café that offered breakfasts. We asked the waitress if we could have a cloth to wipe our pavement table and chairs before sitting down. She came herself and gave us a dry base but warned us it wouldn’t be for long – rain was coming. And it did before she was even able to bring us our first coffee. So we scuttled inside while the rain lashed down on Cordoba. Natalie had thoughtfully provided two umbrellas so we only got mildly damp as we moved from café to the market. It’s a fun destination in a wrought iron pavilion with lots of small outlets for a wide variety of food and drink inside. It’s modelled on the Mercado de San Miguel in Madrid which Dee and I had discovered by happy accident several years ago. It was by now past midday so time for a beer to dry off, explore the market and then move the car. When I got my next ticket it’s expiry time was 18:02 which came as a surprise until I remembered that they don’t charge during siesta from two o’clock till five-thirty. Plenty of time to explore the old town and the famous mezquita

May is the time for the Festival of the Patios in Cordoba and the first corner we turned led us into one. Spectacular arrays of geraniums in pots rising to the sky through a three-storey courtyard with excellent ground level planting too. The lady standing looking proudly on told me that she looks after the whole thing on her own. We didn’t do the right thing and pick up a plan, visit all 60 of them and vote for the one we liked best. This one if you scroll down the list in the Juderia section was Judios, 6.

Flowerpots to the sky

Natalie and Graham in the patio

After admiring the patio Natalie and Graham led me to one of Cordoba’s most famous bodegas Guzman a proper Spanish place that doesn’t have a website for me to send you to. Three vast barrels dispense Montilla-Moriles – we are in Cordoba not Jerez after all – but the fine dry cold wine accompanied by some excellent goat’s cheese in olive oil made for a pleasant moment or three watching established locals and whizz-in-and-out-tourists explore this iconic bar. A very atmospheric, authentic corner of Cordoba.

We then moved on past the queues waiting to enter the main attraction which we had all visited before but were impressed by the cleaning that has been going on revealing colourful Arabic designs on the exterior walls of the building which was started in the 700s and as with so many buildings has changed religions and had bits added over the years.

8A15BAFC-0974-464C-AFC8-CCC380842190 To the south, the banks of the Quadalquivir have been opened up and developed and we took the opportunity of a sunny spell to walk across the Roman bridge, even earlier than the mosque dating from the first century BC and rather spoilt by some later concrete balustrades. Time for a visit to a favourite which Natalie had recommended to Dee and me on our visit in 2010 El Churrasco. We just had a drink on this occasion but it is famed – rightly I remember – for the size and quality of the meat it grills. (photos thanks to Natalie, I’m rubbish with phone photos and didn’t have a camera with me).

The place was occupied by a constant stream of diners, often queuing for some time to get a table. We supped up and walked on through the old quarter in which Graham and I looked round at one point to find no sign of Natalie. She had vanished into a favourite jewellery shop, purchased a bracelet and left the umbrellas behind. We decided to wait for her to catch up with us in a bar situated on a corner she would have to pass so we would spot her. They had a delicious looking tapa of chicken liver with a mushroom sauce, which sounded appetising and just had to be tried. And then another had to be ordered once Natalie rejoined us. Then it was time to head back to Mercado Victoria for lunch – a parillada (mixed grill) of steak, sausages, morcilla and chorizo with chips and those delicious pimientos de padron small green peppers blistered in olive oil and sprinkled with sea salt. Back to the car for an easy exit from Cordoba and back to La Parilla.

The hamlet where I’m staying has two bars and of course we had to pay them both a visit. I deposited my guests in the first and took the car back to the villa, just in case. We met up here with Paul and Tamsin who look after the house for its owners and live here all the time. They had to leave, so we walked up to the other bar where a little hunger was returning and tapas were available. Excellent morcilla de Burgos, which is black pudding with added rice, topped by a quail’s egg at Graham’s special request – he is extremely fond, some might say excessively fond, of fried eggs in all sizes. I’m going to fry him an ostrich egg one of these days! Also there were some very good homemade ham croquetas – a staple of Spanish tapas which can often disappoint. These were crunchy outside and creamy and tasty within. The bar is run by a charming young couple who have a six month old baby whom we could see and hear on the baby monitor sitting on the bar. Lucia is lovely. He’s from Catalunya, came for a holiday, met, married and stayed.

It was just as well we’d been eating steadily all day because despite inviting them to stay the night I hadn’t really thought about food to offer them. As it happened all we needed was a bottle or two of a stupidly good for its €2.75 price Ribera de Duero and then to bed around 2 am in proper Spanish style. And I didn’t have to listen to or watch our plucky defeat at Everton or Hampshire contrive to lose to Glamorgan after scoring 330+.

On Saturday I did provide homemade tostadas con tomate y ajo and coffee out on the terrace where we are promised another changeable day before it brightens up on Sunday and soars to 30 degrees all week next week. We then set off to return Natalie and Graham to Antequera where I can’t leave without a visit to their local – and oft-visited by us too – La Socorilla.

On several previous visits we had been promised a trip to the rabbit restaurant – Venta El Conejo on the outskirts of Antequera. It’s a bit erratic serving only rabbit and opening when they are available. So we’d never made it together. We walked through the former textile factory district of Antequera of which I was completely ignorant but there’s a river valley with lots of buildings of increasing dereliction which were once a thriving industrial hub with 13 factories making woollen goods and blankets along the course of the Villa river, now dammed and diverted so it’s a trickle until it dries up completely in July. It seems they developed from the mid-1800s and died out early in the twentieth century. We reached the rabbit restaurant and ordered a plate and a half of rabbit and a platter of chips with a side salad of tomato, onions and garlic. All were huge, all were delicious. Following yesterday’s offal tapas I enjoyed rabbit liver and kidneys but drew the line at its tongue which may have been a mistake given how tasty all the rest was. Oh and of course there was a perfectly fried trio of eggs to round it all off. Then back through the town and a small shower for a final coffee at La Socorilla before driving back to La Parilla. On Sunday true to promise the skies are blue the temperature is rising and the week ahead looks good. Washing’s on the line – dry within an hour – I’ve swept storm debris off the patio and am listening to a distant hoopoe call – I saw one yesterday with a great flash of pink, black and white – the wonderful odour of ripening figs and these trees with their pretty pinky mauve flowers and yellow seed pods. I’ve never seen them in bloom before. I think they are a kind of acacia but will ask Paul when I see him.

Time to get back to the real work now listening to Semele which I only know from extracts in preparation for the whole thing in two week’s time at Garsington Opera. It’s great Handel, good tunes, lots of drama and as usual the Gods meddling with mortals. Precursors of politicians, I’d say. Looking forward to it very much.

Spain again

High Plains Drifter

On the way south through Zamora province there are fields of beans – chick peas and habones which are somewhere between broad and butter beans, big and tasty. We’ve run out of vines as the land gives way to cattle and pig rearing under the cork oaks whose acorns make the ham from around here so tasty. As it happens I’m on Route 66, Autovia A66 and it doesn’t feel much like our trip in Arizona and Nevada except for the amount of road kill. It’s a fairly empty motorway – why can’t the animals dodge better? Sight of the day – sorry still no stopping – comes just south of Salamanca where the road crests a slight incline and there are the Sierra de Gredos still covered in snow. The road passed Béjar and there were signs to La Covatilla ski resort. Then after another gentle climb – no hairpins or gear changes – there’s a sign for a pass at 1192 metres above sea level. These really are high plains in the west of Spain – the film title I borrowed wasn’t actually one of those spaghettis shot in Tabernas in Almeria province. As the road continued my attention was drawn to a stunning piece of music that was totally unfamiliar. I’d enjoyed the company of Catalunya Musica until halfway across Aragon and had then managed to retune to RTVE’s classical station. That’s the national broadcaster – BBC equivalent. I caught a bit of the announcement that it had Anne Sofie van Otter and the Swedish Symphony orchestra. I later traced it to be Wilhelm Stenhammar’s Song: a Cantata in two parts. I’m listening to it now on the RTVE podcast and it’s even better without car noise.

The A66 progresses into Extramadura which is the most famous region for Bellota ham but I was very surprised by the number of newly planted fields of vines and of vines planted as infill between rows of olive trees. I stopped for a coffee and mentioned my surprise to be told that the whole area had been revitalised in 1999 when Extramadura finally got its own denominacion DO Ribera del Guadiana so quality and prices had risen and farmers were encouraged to plant more vines. It was a hesitant conversation given my shaky command of the language but informative. Most of the new vines are in Badajoz province at the east end of which, now on the N432, I enter Cordoba where the only planting to be seen throughout the whole province is olives with the exception of a few grapes around Montilla south of the capital and in – it seems – a dozen other villages where the wines are classified as Montilla-Moriles and have a striking resemblance to sherries and a similar variety from fino to the sweet Pedro Ximenez. I have occasionally taken a sip of fino from a bottle labelled CB Alvear only later to appreciate that it’s a Montilla not a sherry.

20170508_152136[1] So I arrive in Rute just after three which seems like a good time for lunch before shopping. I recall that nice restaurant and bar we used to go to – Venegas, just up the road from Mercadona where my shopping is planned. So I go in, order a beer and ask what they have as tapas or small raciones and lo and behold they have carillitas de cerdo. These are pigs’ cheeks and became one of Dee’s favourite dishes. Coming from beside that large amount of bone the meat is really tasty and tender. These were served in a sauce with almonds. And how appropriate that he should be watching over me from the counter.

A week’s shopping completed I then drove on through Iznajar and turned right along to La Parilla, right on the border of Cordoba and Malaga provinces. The last part of the journey was a bit hazy and I thought I might be tired or my cataracts were getting worse only to realise that insect spatter had nearly obscured the windscreen. I’ll give it a wash tomorrow.

The house is still as lovely and welcoming as I remember.

There’s a bit of noise from the olive oil cooperative in the village but otherwise just the birds and the rustle of a light breeze in the trees.

Cooperative Hojiblanca

Always loved the lone pine above the olives

I’m unpacked, a week’s washing is on, finished and out to dry and writer’s corner has been established and occupied in preparation for the real task to begin tomorrow.

Oh and the pool area still looks attractive but the sun’s gone off it now and I’ve been busy. And horror – I have to cook for myself tonight!

Spain again

A quiet Sunday in Zamora

I didn’t even take the car out of the parador garage today. After yesterday’s drive and with another 680 km tomorrow it seemed a good idea to use my feet for other than pressing the accelerator. Last night’s dinner at Rincon de Antonio was delicious and when I suggested that I might try a DOC Zamora he replied “Zamora es Toro” and directed me to one of his favourites on the list – Victorino. It proved an excellent accompaniment to the six course degustacion menu.

I should have been shooting audio at 11:00 when most of the town’s churches clanged their bells to gather the faithful – and they clang these are not tuneful chimes but raucous “get to church now” blasts. Lots of the people clearly preferred the call of Mammon as there was a flea market in full swing right in front of the parador. By the way the parador courtyard was back to normal today. There were a very few interesting pieces but most would have exceeded the baggage allowance so I just looked and left.

Just below the parador is Zamora Museum which I was encouraged to enter by a couple of church-bound locals – probably trustees. It was an very interesting small museum with lots of archaeological finds from its long history, an early mosaic floor and some fine jewellery, lots of medieval masonry from destroyed churches and palaces and some paintings and sculpture, among which were two pieces by Mariano Benlliure whom we’d discovered in Valencia on our 2015 visit. He worked and studied in Zamora in the 1870s as a teenager.

I then decided it was time to pay the Duero a visit and fortunately you can walk across the stone bridge, along the gardens and children’s playgrounds on the left bank with great views of the weir (!) and then back over the new road bridge and back to town along the right bank through a splendid avenue. It was a lovely reflective stroll for about two and a half kilometres reminding me a little of Boston’s esplanade on a Sunday with cyclist, joggers and rollerbladers but all on grass and sand.

The weir up close

Parador from the other side

Guess what? Arty grafitti

Lots of families having fun and a few who’d been sent out to the baker’s. Others needed help but were out taking the warm air.

My walk ended by the famous Aceña de Olivares the first sign of industry in Zamora in 986 – or at least that’s the first written reference so they may have been even earlier.

They are flour mills driven by the power of the Duero and were in use until the early part of the twentieth century. They have now been restored and are powered up at 19:00 every evening except Monday so you can go in and see the machinery worked by the water. Maybe later on I’ll whizz down again – although that will entail a steep up to get back. I did make that up to visit Zamora’s castle – of course it has – the grounds of which have sculptures by local artist Baltasar Lobo who died in 1993. A lot of them are very pleasing and on this visit at least, I wasn’t made to do silly things beside sculptures by my companion.

I continued my stroll through the medieval old town passing a super triple stork site through to the newer area where I got confirmation that yesterday’s weather prediction was very close if not there – it was 26° as I passed by so it might have got hotter. It’s fairly typical of Spanish towns with elegant avenues, parks and not-too-ugly apartment blocks and some interesting designs for children’s play objects.

By then it was time for tapas and I elected for my first slices of ham from the paleta always a delight and gave myself a real surprise by ordering sopa de ajo which I’ve always thought of as the lesser known cousin of gazpacho. Not in Castile is it a chilled white confection. It’s more like French onion soup with garlic, pimento for spiciness and toasted cheesy bread circles floated on the top. It was very tasty and when I explained my surprise the waiter advised me that what I had expected is called sopa de ajo blanco and that this local version is the real thing – nothing like regional rivalry.

Then back to the parador to check up on the cricket – easy win for England, much needed one for Hampshire and to get packed up ready for my drive south tomorrow. A deserved beer on the terrace before dinner in the parador tonight and an early start in the morning – although breakfast is included and very good as always with fruit, yoghurt and cereals, eggs, bacon and sausage, cold meats and cheese for all the Dutch and German visitors and then a selection of breads and pastries. I won’t need to stop for lunch – just frequent coffees.

I’ve spared you the full romanesque and modernismo photo essay but here are a few favourite details to conclude. I love the bronze sculpture of the guy just walking down the street with all the others returning from church and the joy in decoration of the modernist architects.

Spain again

Spain from E to D

Saturday was the big drive day traversing Spain to the north of Madrid. I didn’t get to prepare brilliantly for it. I’d had a very good dinner on Friday in the parador, carrot (lovely word in Spanish zahanoria) and orange soup followed by oxtail in crispy filo parcels with grilled aubergine, courgettes and peppers. Having only eaten a breakfast croissant and some crisps with a beer all day I was peckish and this went down very nicely with a glass or two of Ramon Bilbao rioja. I went and illustrated the blog, posted it and began to feel a bit nauseous. Not common for me at all. It settled and I went to bed but couldn’t sleep for ages and just as I was drifting off a mosquito whined by. Lights on, magazine at the ready but I couldn’t spot it. Brain clicks on in my doziness – I packed jungle formula for down south but why not here too? So I spray myself liberally and pull a sheet over my head. Eventually I hear no more mozzie and drift off for what can only have been an hour before the people two rooms along from me decide it’s time to check out – who checks out at 4 am unless you’re in an airport hotel? They have noisy children, lots of luggage and take ages. Fitful dozing follows until deep sleep at I guess around 7 – not what’s needed with a long day’s drive ahead. So I spring awake at 8:15 in a panic and am out and on the road by 8:40 only a bit later than intended. Just for the record Tortosa to Zamora by the non-toll route is 660 kilometres and I had wondered once or twice about the wisdom of doing it on my own.

E to D? Spain has two major rivers (well they might count the Quadalquivir in Andalusia too), the Ebro which flows east to the Mediterranean just downstream from Tortosa in the famous delta. The Duero flows west and becomes the Douro in Portugal before hitting the Atlantic – Zamora is the last major city on the Duero in Spain. I have once again selected the no toll road route – it’s also the shortest by 50 km. And it proved to be an oenological odyssey. It also gave me a theory about the colours of the Spanish flag – as they used to say on Beyond Our Ken and Round the Horne: “The answer lies in the soil”. Few of you will recall these but they were very funny radio shows. The soil is either pale golden yellow or deep red throughout my journey today. The wine route bit? I started in the denomination Terra Alta which includes yesterday’s winery where, as in Penedes the day before, the vines are showing lots of green leaf. As I cross from Catalunya into Aragon we enter Cariñena and on into Calatayud. Here there are a few shoots but the fields are mostly low black vines. Much of the rest of Aragon seems devoted to grain production with fields displaying 30 cm shoots in the most wonderful variety of greens. Whether they are different seeds or just different stages I didn’t stop to ask – in fact I didn’t stop apart for breakfast so no pictures for this section – I’ll have to paint them with words. These greens range from bright lime green like euphorbia flowers, through emerald and forest through to a dark steely bluish green. I really did want to stop because these greens against the newly ploughed bright red fields looked amazing and went on and on. Sadly, although there wasn’t much traffic on the N234, the sides have very steep run offs to discourage the practice of stopping. Then we popped into Castile y Leon and Ribera de Duero right next door to the Rioja where there was no hint of a shoot. We’d just gone through a pass at 1060 km above sea level so even spring is quite chilly up here. One day I will go to Peñafiel the heart of Ribera de Deuro which has a massive castle and loads of great looking bodegas dotted beside the excellent CL116 – a truly great drive – must have been made by the Romans. There are a few stretches of road which are designated A11 – Autovia del Duero but lots of it has been started and looks like the money ran out. There are a lot of unfinished projects of all kinds that reflect the poor state of Spain’s economy but the ones the do finish are very impressive. Once into Valladolid province it’s all Rueda where the verdejo grapes produce their own fine wines and are shipped next door to make white riojas. Then once we cross into Zamora province it’s Toro made from its eponymous grape the vines of which are showing small shoots. Zamora of course also has its own DOC but I’m not sure I’ve tried it – maybe it would be rude not to.

I make it to the parador in time to set up the computer and listen to Watford at Leicester on Hornets Player but I have a premonition and the plethora of cafés in the sunny Plaza Mayor with the promise of a beer win out. I did keep an eye on the progress and was pleased to hear that the crowd were chanting Quique Sanchez Flores – oh that they would bring him back. Anyone but Mazzari next season please – no I don’t mean that. There’s a long list of managers we don’t want. 3-0 again conceding in extra time. Not good enough.

By the way this parador is not a castle but the palace of the Dukes of Alba and Aliste – quite impressive though.

There’s a massive wedding on today so the normally elegant courtyard has an inflatable gonk bouncy castle. Well it keeps the kids out of the bar! Fortunately our favourite resident is still in place and I might take him for a ride around the ramparts tomorrow.

Zamora is a beautiful Romanesque town with the largest concentration of churches in that style in Europe. 24 of them all built in the 12th and 13th centuries – so that’s tomorrow’s photo blog. It’s due to be 27° so it might be shorts and sandals and a gentle walk about. Or inside several of them for a cool moment.

Right next to the parador is the Teatro Ramos Carrion which was a ruined hulk last time we were here. It’s been restored, had a modern extension added and created a new square with views over the Duero. It reopened to the public last year. There’s also another theme of these blogs that followed me to Zamora – the modernisme (oops that’s Catalan – modernismo) trail.

And given I ventured into hydrology on the Ebro in the last blog it’s worth noting that the Duero in Zamora also has a diagonal diverting weir to regulate the flow which you can spot along with the ruins of the first bridge dating from Roman times.

And now we’re out west another fascination for me is storks’ nests. They seem to like church towers in this shape (1) and it’s not often you get above one (2) at feeding time. This one (3) was just around the corner but they had to make do with the lower slopes of this glossy spire (4).

Zamora has one restaurant with a Michelin star and Dee and I dined here the last time we were here together celebrating our tenth wedding anniversary. Guess where I’m off to tonight!

Spain again

Ebro and beyond

I always thought the Accu part of Accuweather was short for accurate or accuracy – not any more. It was one of those grey mornings that don’t encourage you to leap from your bed into enthusiastic activity. When I did venture onto the balcony it was windy and there was a hint of drizzle on the breeze. So bye-bye lazy day by the pool. One of the great things about paradors is they all have loads of corners where you can sit and knit, read, sew or paint according to your inclinations. However once I had made the effort I decided to drive up the Ebro valley for a bit towards a place we had visited before – the so-called Cathedral of Wine – a modernist masterpiece in Pinell de Brai. There might be a theme emerging here! First however I detoured into Xerta which lies right on the banks of the Ebro and its clever canal. I parked and sat down in the main square for a coffee and the sun came out. Coffee done my jacket went back into the car as it was already 20° at 11:30 and I’m only 10 Km up river from Tortosa which still looks cloudy. It’s a typical old medieval village with one exception to the norm. Being on the river bank it’s flat whereas all the other villages I went to today are built on the top of extremely steep hills – ooh my calves!

The river bank walk reminded me very much of a similar stroll also beside the Ebro but way west in Haro in the Rioja. Elegant wooden fences, plenty of places to sit and picnic and the interesting contrast of the slow-moving Ebro and the rushing canal.

As I walked back through the village there was evidence that the citrus season is all but over although I did see another septuagenarian scrumping a few remaining oranges – to be fair he may have been legit. I didn’t like to ask. On my perambulations through the narrow streets I concluded that a third of the population was over 70, a third pregnant and the other third at work or in school. Back in the main square I discovered the reasons for the canal.

This marker up the side of the church shows the level of the floods – it’s ten metres at the top – that used to devastate the whole area because of the unpredictability of the flow in different seasons. So in 1857 they built a diagonal dam across the river – some evidence points to a much earlier Moorish effort to control the river – which siphoned large amounts into the canal which is used to supply towns and villages and irrigate the fertile lands of the area. A hydroelectric plant followed in 2002 so the waters of the Ebro are put to good effect.

That’s my history quota for the day so I set off for culture. The town of Horta de San Joan has a Picasso Cubism Centre so I think I’ll pay a visit. On the way I get diverted by an amazing mountain rock formation. This one is in the Natural Park of Els Ports and it made me think how, wherever you go in this amazing country, you’re a never far away from mountains with amazing outcrops. This one is known as the Dog’s Head and, of course, The Castle. I think the dog’s a spaniel given its long ears – maybe a setter. But as I looked at them I remembered the mountains at Montserrat far north from here and those of El Torcal hundreds of miles south near Antequera all with amazing shapes. Fabulous!

The dog’s head and the castle

The dog’s head

Dee on the way to Montserrat

Dee in El Torcal

On the way I have an opportunity to snap one of the roundabouts I obsessed about the other day and a sign that I thought would amuse any of the IT buffs out there with its nifty digitalism.

Of course after parking up and mounting the steps and steeps to Horta de San Joan I discover that the Picasso place only opens on Saturdays and Sundays – rubbish planning again. It also seems only to have reproductions and photographs of the mates he spent time with in Horta – might have been quite interesting but not essential, I think. After all that effort there was an attractive square with a bar with a beer with my name on. It was lunch time for the workers who are destroying the town centre before rebuilding it and they are all playing cards – quite competitively I would say.

On I go with a brief stop in Gandesa to El Pinell de Brai and the Cathedral of Wine. Designed by César Martinell, a follower of Gaudi, it opened in 1917 and has elements in common with yesterday’s winery at San Sadurni. There’s a lovely ceramic tile frieze showing the wine making process. Sadly since we were there before it has now opened a Michelin starred restaurant but it’s only open on Saturdays and Sundays – poor planning again. Totally inadequate prior research I’d say. For me the amazing brickwork of the vaults inside and the windows that look like wine bottles to me are pure mastery of form and function. And the way the modernists use light is brilliant. Glad a made a return visit.

visita-tast-vins-celler-pinell

I also walked up to the top of the village up streets so steep they reminded me of a trip to Zahara de la Sierra in Cadiz province where we and the locals traversed diagonally from side to side in order to make it up vertiginous slopes. It also gave me an insight into how quickly and recently Spain has modernised. This municipal water supply was only turned off in 1998 when piped water was made available to the whole village.

Back to Tortosa and back into the gloom – warm gloom it has to be said and a wander through its excellent central park and splendid market hall – a pre-modernist architect making great play with light again (some dispute about who actually designed it) – and past a poster that told me the medieval festival – Renaissance I stand corrected – happens every year in July – probably won’t make it back this year though.

Spain again

Heading south

Breakfast and packing accomplished, the SatNav lady asked me politely if I wanted to avoid toll roads. I’m in no rush, many motorways are boring so I elected to avoid them. There were a few tricky sections on the NII south from Girona as they convert it into an autovia – the A2. I’m not sure how that will go down as it’s pretty well parallel to the AP7 in which the P stands for Peatge or pay. It’s a commercially operated 900 kilometre toll road that goes the length of the Spanish Mediterranean coast from the French border to Vera in Andalusia. Now there are already free to use sections around the major cities as part of the deal between government and contractors but it’s an interesting point here.

It then heads off to the coast and I have wonderful sea views and holiday apartment blocks all the way down to Mataro where we cut inland to bypass Barcelona to the west, passing the Circuit de Catalunya where the Spanish Grand Prix will be held a week on Sunday. I’m very glad at this point that she seems to know where she’s going because there are some sections that would have had me asking my navigator to reach for the atlas. However we pop out the other side of Barcelona with signs to Tarragona which is good since I know that’s on the way. Much of my route is on the N340 which must be incredibly long as I’m at kilometres in the 1100s. I later confirm that it’s the old Roman Via Augusta and starts in Cadiz and goes to Barcelona. 375px-Spain.Catalonia.Roda.de.Bara.Arc.Bera Its Roman nature explained an odd bifurcation of a twin track section round a stone archway the Arc de Bera – I couldn’t stop but, thanks to Wikimedia Commons, I can show you what I saw. It was a sunny day, progress was good until a saw a signpost for San Sadurni d’Anoia. I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the town but I’ve read it on lots of bottles of cava. San Sadurni is the capital of cava so a diversion seems essential.

cava vines

Juve y Camps San Sadurni

It is situated among field after field of very neat low level vines – I later learn that the spring pruning restricts each wine to two branches to increase quality at the expense of volume. As I enter the town the first winery I happen across is Juve y Camps the cava we enjoyed at Martin Berasategui’s last August. Sadly they only do tours by prior arrangement both here and at their winery at Espiells out in the fields. Maybe one year there might be a cava winery tour like the excellent Bilbao and Rioja one a few years back. However the best known and marketed of the cavas, Freixenet, did have a tour about to start so what was I to do? There’s a fine building dating from 1914 and then a huge new factory stretching off into the distance. One good thing is that it’s right next to the railway station so if you are in Barcelona and fancy a cava tour you can do it easily by train.

There was a good introductory video, much of the content of which our guide repeated. With vines destroyed by phylloxera, a couple of families, Ferrer and Sala decided to plant new vines and make a different kind of wine. The Ferrer’s farm was called La Freixenera so a brand was born. They used the methode champenoise but couldn’t call it champagne because of DOC rules. So because the wine was stored in ancient deep caves in the hillsides they called it cava. Freixenet was founded in 1914 and the king and queen came to mark their centenary three years ago. The tour takes in the original barrel hall and caves with racks of bottles for hand turning in the traditional style. However most of their production is now totally mechanised in the new factory building.

In my group I was good at naming the three grapes used in most cavas – perellada, x-arello and macabeo – too much time reading labels! But I failed miserably when it came to guessing their output in bottles per year. I thought millions because they are big. I guessed 10. The answer is a staggering 80 million bottles a year most of which go to Germany and the UK. After plunging to the depths of the cellars we were then conducted on a little train – spared a lot of up on this occasion – back to the tasting room. The Brut Nature was to my taste – very dry but with lots of fruit – but only one as I had to drive. I was tempted to continue my journey in this but security wouldn’t let me near it.

So onwards to Tortosa and my next castle – a proper fortress this one. It’s 200 feet above the town – fine in the car with some good brake and clutch control but later on foot – that’s a lot of steps and all up. Some of my readers don’t do up and I think I might abandon it soon. Boy did the ticker pump! Yes, I know it’s good for me! When Dee and I first (and last) came here, we checked in, had a swim and a shower, frocked up and walked down into town. It was and still is easy going down. We were amazed because everyone was dressed in medieval gear as part of a July fiesta. There were displays of contemporary crafts and I remember us spending a lot of time with a guy making chain mail – one craft I’m glad didn’t come home.

It’s quieter today but I have an explore, come across this beautiful modernisme example with fabulous plaster work and then trek back up and scribble this from my balcony with views of the mountains to one side and a courtyard with bouganvillaea and the Ebro to the other.

One thing has become clear – I love to travel and explore new places. It’s sad when I can’t share them immediately, but thanks for helping. Good weather promised again for tomorrow so it might just be a day by the pool and nothing to blog about. We’ll see.

Uncategorized

Wednesday work out

This was the day I should have joined the competitive Fitbit brigade – a million steps and a hundred thousand stairs at least! There’s a story that Salvador Dali tried to buy this castle when he was trying to give his muse-wife Gala the ultimate gift. It’s a while since I’ve been to Pubol to see the Castell Gala-Dali – 2004 to be precise. I remember it being quite impressive with some outlandish Dali touches but I didn’t recall it as much of a castle. So off I set and was amazed to be directed into a massive outskirts car park – I remember parking on the road just around the corner last time. It transpires that it’s one of the most visited sites in Girona province and that includes his wonderfully mad museum in Figueres with its eggs on the roof, random sculptures and geodesic dome topping the lot. It’s well worth the return visit – especially the jungle of a garden with its fountain dedicated to Wagner – who was well represented in the record collection inside.

I also loved the chess set in the form of fingers which was Dali’s homage to Marcel Duchamp. In the attic is a great display of Gala’s sumptuous frock collection – it’s the era of frocks, OK.

And on the way out in a temporary exhibition space was a series of photographs of him in his home in Port Lligat taken by his good friend Ricardo Sans. Some are candid, some posed and some even double-exposed making a fascinating record of a period of their lives from 1949-1956.

He was a great artist to some and a complete charlatan to others – a bit of both for me as they are not mutually exclusive – but he had poor taste in castles. Basically a cheapskate when it came to buying battlements.

It is reported that when he bid for Castell d’Emporda, where I’m staying, he would only pay in artworks so the then owner declined. There was another one not far away in Foixa but he settled for the building in Pubol. He added some battlements in the garden but for me it’s a manor house not a castle. I had my first hike of the day up a hill and across a field to get a shot of it – church not part of the so-called castle estate.

Castell Dali-Gala, Pubol and right a real castle at Foixa

I vaguely remembered the nearby castle so I set off over there and was not far from Toroella so popped in there to remedy yesterday’s lack of info.

The morning was quite pleasant although thunderstorms were threatened so on my way back from Toroella I slid off down to Pals beach for a walk along the dunes. It’s a beautiful wide sandy beach that stretches for nearly 4 kilometres – I just did about one and then turned and came back. Going north you have a great view of the Islas Medes a protected area with brilliant diving opportunities.

It brought back many happy memories – I think my daughter actually learned to swim here – and for once it hadn’t changed much because of sensible planning restrictions on green zoned land which does provide income from the rice from the renowned Moli de Pals. I suppose it was about twenty years ago when I drove back towards La Bisbal from Girona that I started to exclaim that there was never a roundabout there – with monotonous regularity. Well Catalunya has certainly fallen in love with roundabouts and has made many of them works of art – I might have to do a photo essay one of these days.

One of our running jokes (?) on those early trips was to chorus “One of these days I’m going …” whenever we saw this sign. It’s about how you pronounce it OK. And of course we did.

It is a romantic and beautiful cove (below right) but just as I was about to settle for a beer on the front the rain started. It was nearly time for lunch so I went up to another favourite spot the Faro de San Sebastian. As the drizzle grew stronger we needed the lighthouse to be pointing inland. Now that place had changed – a local bar/restaurant has become a posh hotel with lots of weddings and corporate meetings it seems. Well it’s a great location on a good day and at least comfortable for a snack out of the rain.

Nearby are two other lovely beaches Llafranc and Calella but I decided against them and drove off to the Cap Roig (Red Cape) Botanical Garden by which time the rain had kindly stopped. We’d been before but it’s been transformed into a real tourist attraction with brilliant labelling, wide paths and hundreds and hundreds of steps. The suggested circuit took me two hours and left me in a fine sweat and it’s on a cliff face so incredibly steep. A theme recurred even here – there’s a castle in the middle but it’s closed for refurbishment at the moment – another one Dali could have considered. They have a famous cactus array and you can see why it’s called the red cape.

Then back to the hotel to scribble and shower before going out to a highly recommended restaurant Bo.Tic in Corça just up the road. Then it’s on the road in the morning south to Tortosa where I’m staying in – you guessed it – the Castell de la Suda which happens to be the location of the parador in that city.

However as tomorrow is mostly driving south, I might just talk about Bo.TiC. Bo is good in Catalan, T is the chef Antonio known as Tito and C is Cristina his wife and the lovely front of house. It’s posh, it’s not cheap and first Wednesday in May it’s empty except for me. The locals I talk to blame it on two or three cloudy days and people not coming out from Barca and Girona. However the service I get is off the scale – every one of the 15 dishes on the Menu Degustacion is explained in detail and it helps. Tito who I met later likes to have fun with food from the outset where what looks like an olive is in fact a fondant filled with anchovies and the sauce poured from an olive oil bottle is in fact vermouth. A great start to an astonishing evening which concluded with a dark chocolate pudding in the form of a set of dice – some squishy jellies, some crisp exteriors that crunched to a tasty interior. I got lucky with wine too. I wanted something from the Emporda but there were lots of those on an interesting iPad wine list, so I went for a red from Mas Oller in the village of Torrent which I had driven past for years on the road from the motorway to Begur. It was a syrah and garnacha mix and very tasty, not too heavy for the fish courses and good with the concluding lamb and went well with the chocolate too. All in all a good way to end a stay in the north of Catalunya as I set off south tomorrow to my next castle.

Spain again

What is Spain about?

We’ll come to that later. Let’s start with the watery workout. Comparison I promised – pond and ocean. Thalassotherapy v hydrotherapy. I have to say that warm sea water with fabulous views over La Concha beach in San Sebastian wins hands down. The Balneari spa was good – a pool with jacuzzis and three different jet massage nozzles, a sauna in which I barely broke sweat and the ghastly Scottish shower – so cold! With wet swimmies I set off after a good breakfast headed for some old haunts. Would they still appeal?

The drive was dull for ten minutes to Cassa de la Selva and then I was in the Gavarras mountains on GI 664. Talk about bends! Up and down switchbacks! Every now and then a voice said, “Slow down Mike!”. Quite right too, not that much came the other way. It’s a road with almost no signs of habitation either – just one sign the whole 20km for Santa Pellaia which might have been a hamlet once but seems just to consist of a small church today.

Eventually it flattens out and I arrive at San Sadurni de L’Heura a totally unspoilt old village in which I saw no one on my perambulation – they were all out working in the fields or the chicken coops or indoors cooking and mending although I heard no sounds either.

Next stop Monells a slightly over-restored tourist spot but one where we had spent two excellent weeks in a villa with a pool on the outskirts. The sun dial was on BST and the square was alive with swifts, swallows and martins pausing on their way north. Our stay in Monells was the last time either of us got on a bicycle other than in the gym! As I drove up the road we had cycled I saw this and had to stop – my mum loved poppies, memories of the Tower of London display which we’d shared and a medieval Spanish village all together. Hope you’ll indulge me.

Memories of Dee’s mum hit me then and I made for Sa Tuna where we took Eileen for a break after she’d lost Dee’s dad John. I began then to understand grief. Eileen was good company, very demanding of post boxes to send postcards, but had moments when she didn’t want to talk. This is the house we stayed in for a week.

Once upon a time in a different life I used to own a house in Begur. So I did a drive by to see what my Dutch successors had done with it. It looked terrible – mould climbing up the walls after a wet winter. They obviously hadn’t continued my deal with the local Pintor Rodriguez – he could keep his van in the garage when I wasn’t there and he’d paint the house every spring. Result: fine white house whenever we arrived. Time for lunch in the village which I’m pleased to say still looks beautiful topped by its castle.

However the march of progr – strike that profit has meant that where Dee enjoyed skipping with the local girls and ladies in a communal space, two cafés have invaded with semi-permanent edifices rather than the temporary ice cream stall. Change is inevitable, not all of it good.

Next stop Toroella de Mongri which is work as it features in the novel I’m continuing next week. It’s famed for its mountains which form the shape of a sleeping woman – they even used on the town signs.

As I drove across the plain it struck me that all the water I’d seen from the air as we flew down the coast on the approach to Girona was the newly planted rice fields. Rice is an important crop here and I’m used to seeing the fields bright green not watery brown waiting for the shoots to appear. I drive into town, park, insert money in the machine which rejects it three times. The instructions are clear and I’m pressing the right buttons. Klutz, duh! You don’t have to pay till 17:00 and it’s ten past four. What an honest machine. I share my stupidity with a lady sweeping the steps of a fabric store who smiled sympathetically. I walked through the lovely old town centre to discover from the Town Hall that the people I need to talk to won’t be in till tomorrow so I’ll have to go back or just wing it – it’s fiction after all. Toroella is a special place as Dee and I walked to the castle – the nipple on the sleeping lady’s bosom. We phoned and waved to her sister lounging in the campsite far below. Quite a day!

My next stop was intended to be my hotel but on the way came a diversion caused by I know not what. In a 30 car stream everybody did U-turns and sped off on a dirt road so I followed. It gave me just the viewpoint I needed for the novel so if it ever gets published there will be prizes for the spot.

Last night I stayed in what looked like a castle – tonight I am staying in a castle. There was a good deal – early bird – on their website so I went for it. It included dinner for one night and an exciting room in the tower. That’s my room with my swimming trunks drying in the window. What do towers have? Lifts? No. Steps? Yes lots of steps – good for the fitness regime I tell myself as I pant to not quite the top. The view is magnificent. Worth it? If I survive two days without heart failure – yes. In fact we came to look at it many years ago when it was still under reconstruction by a Dutch couple who have done a great job in converting it to a boutique hotel.

The dinner was certainly worth it – an interesting take on tuna sashimi served on a thin crispy pizza dough base following a delicious sea bass ceviche amuse bouche. Also interesting to me, who became a bit of an olive oil snob a while back, was a local oil made from a variety I’d never encountered. It was very smooth, almost creamy but with a peppery aftertaste. Now I know my Picual, Arbequina and Hojiblanca but I’d not come across Argudell which Wikipedia – God bless Jimmy Wales and do donate if you can – is native to Catalunya. So a new notch on the olive branch. I also ask for some local wine and Desea is suggested. A strange – to me – mix of Syrah, Cab Sauvignon, Merlot and Carmenere. Very soft, very smooth, very drinkable. So that’s tonight. Thanks to all who are following and saying kind things. I will be back.

The view across the Emporda from my room in the tower.

Spain again

Vichy Catalan

The first four months of this year have been rather busy so after fulfilling Dee’s last wishes on her birthday by letting her fly free from the Ivinghoe Beacon, I thought it was time for me to fly away too for a while and catch up with me and my thoughts. Friends and family have been wonderfully supportive and made sure I didn’t sit doing a bottle of scotch every night or something equally daft and making sure that I had plenty of stimulating company, excursions and diversions. So I decided to take off for three weeks in May and where better to go than Spain which has meant so much to us both over the last twenty plus years. So here we go on a visit on my own to some of the places we had enjoyed together and see how it all stacks up.

Well the planning is all rubbish for a start:

DataCars persuade me to leave home at 10:30 for a 14:45 flight despite my assertion that 11:30 would be good, So an early last water of the plants that kind people will keep alive while I’m away and off we go. Not even the slightest pause at the Blackwall Tunnel so we get to Stansted at 11:20 and I’m checked in and through security in double quick time with two hours before they even announce the gate! One of the perks Dee had on her bank account was an airport lounge pass which we had made good use of in the past. I decided to continue the pass from a Groupon half price deal. Was I glad of it today! In a quiet room with a view of aircraft if that’s your thing I had coffee and croissants, read the paper and started to write this. Then it was time for lunch and a glass of wine and then off to the gate feeling calm and relaxed not having had to spend my time being screamed at to buy duty free goods – to get to the lounge and the gates Stansted has copied IKEA so you have to walk past all those designer outlets, and Boots and Smiths, before you can reach your destination.
The best car hire deal was direct with Budget who claimed their office was on Girona airport. It’s not. And they close at 18:00. My flight arrived at 17:45, slightly early, but after baggage reclaim, determining the location of Budget and walking the half a k to get there, the office was closed. However the lady in charge had not quite escaped so a young lady with a bicycle in a big black case and I were allowed to collect our pre-booked cars BUT we had to pay €60 extra for “out of hours’ collection” which the boss lady was most apologetic about and gave us detailed receipts and instructions on how to reclaim it. It’s clearly a scam she doesn’t approve of. She also “upgraded” me to a smart red Audi which is quite nippy and fun to drive.
My first hotel Balneari Vichy Catalan was carefully selected just 20 minutes from Girona Airport and at the source of what had always been our favourite mineral water Vichy Catalan. You can really taste those minerals doing you good – just don’t put it in whisky.

I don’t know how good your Catalan is but this banner mocking my arrival says Festival the last Saturday in April. When do I arrive? The first of May. It also features the person who gives the place its name. Mala vella is an evil old woman who reportedly haunted the castle in medieval times. I checked in to the hotel and set off to find a bar with a UK TV feed so I could watch Watford v Liverpool. Everywhere was closed in fiesta recuperation mode so I came back to the hotel to find that there was a Spanish channel showing it so I could watch us just miss out on at least a point thanks to a wonder goal from Emre Can, a great save from a Capoue shot and the crossbar from Prödl. The Spanish commentators found Vicarage Road very difficult to pronounce. This led to me being by a long way the last person in the restaurant – a time honoured Lesley-Raggett tradition so I excused myself by indicating my watch still being on London time. As with the majority of Spanish staff they were gracious, attentive and had a laugh about it. They didn’t mention Brexit. I did leave a tip. An interesting fact – well I thought so – is that the Balneari Hotel and the Vichy Catalan company were established in 1881 the same year as a certain football club!

So day 1 is nearing its end and my poor planning has been rescued by the fact that the hotel is a spectacular example of modernisme architecture, the town has a lot of fine houses in similar vein and I’m doing a hydrotherapy circuit tomorrow morning just like we did together with such delight in San Sebastian last August. A comparative report will follow.

Boston + July 2014, Retro-blogs

Iceland in October

Card It was last Christmas, 2015, when Dee opened an envelope containing her Christmas present which promised the Great Aurora Borealis hunt in February during a five-day trip to Iceland. Unfortunately, she was in the middle of chemotherapy again by the dates we intended to fly so we looked for the next best window to have a chance of catching the northern lights and it appeared that October would be best. We agonised throughout the year about whether we’d make it or not but we left Heathrow at one o’ clock on 12 October after a leisurely brunch in the lounge. At both ends the request for wheelchair assistance proved vital as not only were the distances considerable but when you are guided through the airport many queues are jumped, corners cut and arrival at the plane is so much easier. The flight was straightforward and we picked up our rental car via a shuttle bus with strict warnings about not driving on non-tarmacked road which might cause chips in the paintwork. There was also a brief discussion about football with our clerk being a Liverpool fan who was very pleased that Watford had just beaten Man United. He’d have been ecstatic if he’d known that in two weeks’ time Liverpool were to beat us 6-1! There was enough light for us to take in the volcanic landscapes as we headed towards Reykjavik’s ring road in order to head off east to our first hotel at Hella in the south of the island.

As the roads became less busy and we entered wilder territory we started to spot plumes of steam coming from the ground and while knowing that geysers existed all over Iceland having them erupt yards from the road was a bit of a surprise. There were also frequent waterfalls on our left – the hillier part of the landscape with a flat plain to our right stretching away to the coast. Untitled-1 The hotel was well signposted and we checked in and were shown to a very pleasant room in the west wing of the log cabin like structure that was the Hotel Ranga. We unpacked, relaxed and then went to the bar for a beer and a cocktail. I was impressed by the range of craft beers – pale ale, red beer, wheat beers and stouts and Dee by the Icelandic vodka in her martini. Next morning we woke to appreciate the view over lawns with hot tubs and down to a river estuary.

We had little choice being so far from anywhere but to eat at the hotel’s restaurant. Fish, reindeer, lamb and puffin are the specialities but we couldn’t quite bring ourselves to eat a whole puffin so settled for wild mushroom soup and a duck salad as starters and then reindeer and arctic char as our mains. There was a very tempting Muga Reserva on the wine list but also a better value Rioja from Torres which was most acceptable. We were joined during our dinner by Fridrik Palsson, the owner who tries to chat to all guests during their stay in order to keep his customer service up to the mark. During a pleasant exchange of travel and service experiences he insisted that we try the smoked puffin which fortunately came in small slices a bit like smoked duck breast with beetroot sauce. Her stomach somewhat delicate anyway, Dee declined but I sampled this extraordinarily fishy tasting meat – but then puffins do just feed on fish so I guess it was only to be expected. Eating and drinking are not cheap in Iceland – no, nothing is cheap in Iceland – so we were thrilled to discover that our meal had been largely paid for by a mystery phone call from the UK which on investigation turned out to be from my daughter. What a lovely thought! Travel and food are tiring but on our way back to the room we nonetheless signed up for the Wake Me if the Aurora comes service whereby the night manager phones you if the skies clear and there’s a chance of a sighting – some guests clearly got lucky! As we’d driven through quite a lot of heavy rain dumped by the tail end of hurricane Matthew or maybe it was Nicole, we didn’t expect to be disturbed tonight. And so it proved and throughout our stay the skies remained unremittingly grey with not a glimmer of northern lights or even sunlight for that matter until our last day.

Gulfoss waterfall

We made it!

So maybe the skies weren’t playing ball but the geysers and waterfalls were not too far away so we spent the next day visiting Gulfoss and Geysir where the eponymous big gusher doesn’t do its stuff much anymore but Strokkur blasts 60 feet of steaming water into the air every six or ten minutes. Both the waterfalls and the geysers were impressive and well worth the rather chilly, damp visit.

Strokkur bubbling up

Thar she blows

The Full Strokkur

The journey back was through some brilliant volcanic and mountain scenery with black lakes, sheer cliffs, waterfalls and lots of fumaroles.

After a very disturbed night our check out and departure saw a pale and delicate Dee climb into the car to make our way to a lunch time appointment at the Blue Lagoon something we had both been very keen to try but which now looked in some doubt. Fortified with paracetamol Dee perked up as the journey progress including overriding SatNav’s instructions and taking us through the Reykjanesfólkvangur Natural Park the splendid scenery and rock formations of which were viewed from a granite chip road so a little trepidation there about the state of the paint work, unfounded thank goodness thanks to my unusually cautious driving.

Typical lava field in the Rekyanesfolkvangur National Park

We made it to the Blue Lagoon and after a few problems and delays with crowded changing rooms and the insistence on naked showering prior to entry to the lagoon, we finally made it out into the 38° water with 4° in the air around our heads. It’s an amazing feeling and we were both very glad we’d persevered. The water feels like it contains lots of healthy minerals and indeed these are what give it its blue colour. Oh and they throw in these iPad photos as part of the entrance fee.

As always there were very tempting things in the gift shop at the usual eye-watering prices. We regained the car and headed off for Reykjavik where we were to spend three nights. The hotel was right in the centre of town – I suppose Hotel Reykjavik Centrum was a bit of a give-away – and there was a convenient pull-in just in front for us to unload and check in before I took the car back to the rental company before they closed at seven.

Our room was great with windows in the pointed tower that stood at the corner of the building. It also had a shower module into which all you need was packed into a very small space – inspiration for our thoughts about building a downstairs loo and shower room at home. I went back down to find chaos at the car. I was in a bus pull-in preventing a bus with thirty Americans from checking in. Oops! There was a ticket on the windscreen too which the rental company forwarded to me later – it was for a tenner! I drove off sheepishly towards the street name on the rental agreement which proved deep into the eastern suburbs beyond the ring road. There was a large shop and warehouse strip but no signs for Thrifty. There was an automotive parts store so I asked in there and they said there were some bays marked with Thrifty in the car park and I should put it in one of those and put the keys through the letterbox of the Toyota dealership. I duly did this more in hope than conviction and then walked to a nearby filling station to see if they could recommend a number to get a taxi back into town. They called a friendly cabbie who was coming in to fill up anyway and within five minutes we were heading back into the centre. Taxi drivers the world over like to grumble it seems and he was bemoaning the growth of Reykjavik swallowing up surrounding small towns in its sprawl, encouraging foreigners to come and take all the jobs and stag and hens parties who always argued drunkenly about the fare. Might have been in London.

Next day over a coffee in a bar just across from the hotel with some ancient coffee grinding machinery as part of its decor, we decided the to take the Reykjavik City Bus tour to orientate ourselves. It didn’t take long and included as a highlight a visit to the bus depot from where we could obtain bus rides all over Iceland! Most impressive.

The tour delivered us back at Harpa the new concert and exhibition centre in the harbour which we explored for a while admiring its hexagonal glass panel construction which threw interesting light patterns around the structure. We found a good place for a light lunch and explored the centre of the city a little further before going back to the hotel for a rest and a read. Over a drink in the bar we chatted to some other guests and discovered that Iceland is often used as a meeting point for far-flung families. Some Germans were meeting up with cousins from Detroit and lots of Canadians with French and British relatives. It makes sense when you think about it – except that what you save on travel costs you spend on food and drink.

That evening we went to the excellent Apotek restaurant where the glittering youth of Reykjavik paraded in all their finery and we sat and consumed excellent food watching them all being peacocks and hens – highly diverting.

One notable feature was again the popularity of puffin and whale on the menu here at Apotek and all over Iceland it seems.

Saturday was our last full day so we made it to the Culture House where we saw a not entirely inspiring art exhibition, some excellent art nouveau furniture and became engaged in conversation with a lady in the splendid library about Icelandic literature and legends and family names. We retired to the hotel for lunch and to listen to Swansea v Watford on Hornets Player. Having taken all three points at Middlesbrough the previous week we had high hopes but when goalkeeper Gomes was named man of the match you know it wasn’t our day but a point is a point.

Dee needed a lie down after all the excitement and I decided to take my camera and go for a walk around some other parts of the city. Just as I reached the lake that projects into the centre the sun came out for the first time and I had a quick hope that there might just be a clear night and we’d get to see the northern lights at the last gasp. A couple of weeks before they had turned off all the street lights in the capital so that people could see the brilliant light display in the sky.

Sun strikes the Parliament Building

and the Free Church

but it was grey again by the time I got to Hallgrimskirkja.

No luck for us though, the cloud gap was small and short lived and soon the grey blanketed the city again.

The sun taunted us again the next day. As we took off and banked over the Blue Lagoon the sun’s reflection flashed across it. We hadn’t got what we came for but neither of us had any regrets about making the trip. The landscapes were amazing and as an erstwhile geography teacher Dee was glad to have seen them. The people were friendly, the food was good and at last I was able to deliver last year’s Christmas present.

And that brings the retro-blogs up to date. It’s been quite cathartic for me to look through our notes again and select photographs to illustrate each blog. There have been moments when I’ve needed a towel to stop the keyboard getting soaked but mostly there’s been laughter and joy at the fun we’ve had and the experiences we’ve shared. Many of you have been kind enough to tell me that you’ve enjoyed reading them – thank you for that. I’m off to Spain again in a few weeks and the habit may return then – watch this space!