Federico Garcia Lorca

Madrid and Granada 2024

Lorca Day 2 – sort of

I had decided from London to rent a car for two days so as to venture out of town to a few places I wanted to visit or revisit. So the number 4 bus takes me on an interesting route to the station where Alamo have a car waiting for me.

Or have they? My reservation is all in order at the desk but they’ve just had a rush of bookings from incoming trains and it might take a few minutes to sort. I say fine, I’ll just use the loo and join them in the car park serving Granada’s train station. Would I like a Transit? No not with the streets I have to negotiate to get to the hotel’s parking partner. A recipe for excess charges for scrapes I reckon.

Eventually in a Citroen You, with a USB port to hook up my phone for SatNav, I’m off out of there. At the time of writing, after a day’s driving, I haven’t yet crunched the gears, but have hit the wipers when trying to indicate left. A lengthy suburban dual carriageway gets me quickly to the A92 a motorway I know well from its more westerly stretches as it links Almeria in the east to Antequera and Sevilla in the west. It’s not long before Dolores advises me to take the exit for Fuente Vaqueros, across flat farmland with great stands of poplars to the Casa Natal FGL – where he was born. There’s no tour for two hours – well it is winter and nowhere seems to just let you wander anymore.

I therefore head for Villarrubio where Lorca moved next in his young life and find that a tour has just started but that I can join them in the audiovisual barn where a three-screen projection shows us aspects of his life with actors recreating but not speaking and lots of shots of nature and butterflies – he was a big fan of mariposas.

We then move into the house where guide Ana tells lots about the family life of the time, his friends and neighbours and then lets us roam through the property. A smart salon, tiny kitchen and lumpy beds give a good impression of life at the turn of the 20th century.

But there’s a bonus as the trip next goes to a house in an adjacent street which was the inspiration for his play The House of Bernarda Alba. His family shared a well with neighbour, Frasquita Alba Serra, who seems to have been a domineering matron. Lorca admitted she was the prototype for Bernarda the irascible materfamilias who poisons her daughters’ lives in the play.

Before we go into the house there are further video presentations introducing the main characters in the play and acting out snippets from their scenes. It was informative and interesting especially for genuine students, but our random tour group got restless and started to move around. I suggested to Ana that she might keep to Bernarda and one other character per tour rather than all six. I’ll never know.

You can see where wardrobe and set designers get their inspiration!

This has been fun and I find what appears to be the town’s only cafe for a much needed coffee. I chat to one the owners who says she might have had an English couple a few years back but is surprised to hear I’m from London. People tend to do the museum tour from coaches so Villarrubio sees little benefit. Sad.

I head back to Fuente Vaqueros to find the museum closed as it is nearly two – it’s official closing time and clearly no time for a tour. I’m not too bothered because Dee and I did get to see the house on our previous trip and will have photos at home – more rummaging in the loft! In contrast to Villarrubio, Fuente is all over Lorca. Is where you were born more important than where you started writing? Or is it just shrewd marketing?

The Bar Malaga was more used to seeing Brits but was welcoming nonetheless and provided some spicy chicken wings after a bread and chorizo tapa – old school! The tapa originally was a piece of bread to keep the flies out of your drink. I ponder the day as I eat and have one beer – I’m driving. There’s no more Lorca on offer and I’m not going to go back into town and park. A quick Google and I’m on my way.

The Sierra de Huetor nature park is half an hour away and offers walks in the mountains and the source of the Rio Darro. Too much temptation. Satnav rushes me there along the A92 from whose slip road it is accessed in moments. I park up and start to walk.

The mountains here range from 1000 to 1700 metres so there will be ups and downs. Fortunately I find a path that undulates gently but the sign to the source of the Darro heads steeply downhill so I control my disappointment. It’s very mixed woodland and some above treeline barren outcrops. Mediterranean and Scotch pines, holm and cork oak cover an undercroft of rosemary, thyme myrtle and plants I couldn’t identify. It was a soothing walk triggering many memories and providing fabulous light patterns through the trees.

After an hour communing with nature (!) I thought I’d better head back before the light went and I subjected Dolores to lots of “Recalculating Route“ as I wanted a proper twisty mountain drive, not a motorway. It was great through tree-lined well-paved but narrow roads and I only saw one other vehicle. However when I let her guide me Dolores got her own back on the approach to Granada Centre where I think I’ve now been through every polygono industrial around the city and back into the centre through the scariest narrow streets imaginable. In fact I could have done the whole thing more easily without SatNav help as I’ve walked and used buses on much of the route. However I did finally get back to the Parking favoured by the hotel to find a FULL sign. However I parked badly with hazards on and approached the pay desk with my Palacio de Los Navas credentials and to the horror of others behind me I was allowed in to take what did appear to be the last space in the garage. Thanks hotel! I managed to grab a stool in the busy Rosario Varela whose staff wore tees emblazoned with WHAT THE FUCK IS ROSARIO VARELA? Answer: a very popular local bar with a slightly hippie vibe. I asked whether it was Friday or Christmas that led to the crowds and they said Siempre Viernes – so Thursday hasn’t taken over here as the start of the weekend.

Six people just left foreground so I could get a shot. It soon filled up.

Back to the hotel to freshen up and then start the search for somewhere with a table for one. A stool at the counter in Zorro Viejo delivered with seafood gyoza and patatas bravas Zorro style were perfect. Crispy gyoza with cod and prawns and a very garlicky and paprika sauce on the patatas served me well – not gourmet but hip street food is the place’s vibe. Pure theatre watching the bar staff hooking down glasses, clunking giant ice cubes, carrying awesome numbers of plates and glasses just managing to cope with the onrush of orders. One server with multiple plaits and piercings, Pilar, confided “It’s a bit like performance and we love our jobs“. How can we import this’s attitude?

Madrid and Granada 2024

Museo Day

I planned to visit three museums today – Granada’s Fine Arts, Manuel de Falla‘s house and the Museo de Los Tiros and get back to the hotel to listen to Watford v Portsmouth commentary on my phone. The Bellas Artes is up in the Alhambra complex so it was grab a coffee and tostada (tomato, ham and olive oil on a lovely wholemeal toast) in Bongo which is right across from the Alhambra bus stop.

The museum is in Carlos V’s massive ego trip of a palace, had lots of steps, contained a few interesting paintings but swathes of third rate Christian canvases that I’m afraid didn’t detain me long. Jeff Koons had “interacted“ with some of them by placing shiny blue balloons in front of them so that we could reflect. I didn’t waste the pixels.

The outstanding item and a real surprise was a loan of the Three Graces from the Picasso Museum in Malaga. Painted at the height of his classical period, it’s a stunning piece that looks like sculpture until you get close. I’d gazed at it in Malaga and loved seeing it here again.

Apart from that, there were a few paintings I liked and some that had interest for other reasons. One of the main streets near me is called Angel Ganivet who I couldn’t place but thought I’d vaguely heard of. He was a diplomat, traveller and writer who committed suicide by drowning in 1898 after years of syphilis-induced depression – how to get a street named for you and your portrait painted! One of his books was called Granada Bella (Beautiful Granada) so I guess that explains it.

Then it was up towards the Parador to grab a coffee on its terrace for old times sake but the terrace was closed because of an operation I’d never seen before. Did you ever wonder if cypresses had a natural shedding system to keep the elegant slender shape? I had wondered once or twice. Well here’s the answer.

The Parador’s courtyard does have a nice bell tower – it was a convent – and some nice paving patterns.

So I set off for the Casa-Museo Manual de Falla about fifteen minutes walk away to find a sign saying “Tour in Progress. No more than 25 minutes wait“. There was a convenient garden in the sun presided over by a bust of the composer so I sat there and read for a while.

Never go back they say and Dee and I had a magical visit here many years ago when one of our tour party was allowed to play de Falla‘s piano which had been a gift from the makers Pleyel in Paris – they also gave one to Chopin in Mallorca but that’s in another blog ( or search Chopin). No playing this trip but a couple from Granada now living in Elephant and Castle and a Dutch mother and son (I think!) made for a pleasantly small group to tour this fascinating little house. Big things for me were a zither Lorca gave him as a present, a myriad of ashtrays as MdF was a chain smoker and a hypochondriac – a heart attack finally took him – lots of Catholic symbols, but somehow he became a great composer of wild things like El Amor Brujo, La Tricorne and the lyrical Night in the Gardens of Spain. A friend of Lorca, Picasso and Debussy, Diaghilev and Balanchine, He skipped to Argentina when the Spanish Civil War broke out and died there. But 20-odd years of his life are vividly apparent in this little house. An absolute gem.

De Falla’s clock he cherished as it reminded him of his birthplace in Cadiz, another city I love, his office with another super typewriter, the Pleyel piano, the sitting room, pantry and Lorca’s zither gift.

One of my go-to DVDs is the Carlos Saura films that feature de Falla’s El Amor Brujo, Lorca’s Blood Wedding and Bizet’s Carmen. The DVD isn’t available, it seems, but I’m sure they are out there on YouTube. Antonio Gades and Cristina Hoyos are dancers at the peak of both classical, flamenco and modern dance genres – fantastic stuff. Do find and enjoy.

I walk down into Plaza Nueva via a steep stony pathway with slippery fallen leaves – but hey I take it slowly and don’t fall over. Rewarding myself with a beer a rabbit hole appears. I walked along the Rio Genil yesterday but I’m now at the start of a walk alongside the Rio Darro. Can’t resist. So I set now off in the opposite direction to the third museum into the heart of the Albaicin and Sacromonte. The latter is the gypsy quarter and every other building seems to have a tablao flamenco as well as a whole street of shops selling souvenirs you’ll regret once you get home. OK I’m a cynic.

The Rio Darro, one of many bridges that lead to costly restaurants and the remains of a the Arco del Cadi that linked Alhambra and Albaicin.

It’s now time for a light lunch – quite a mission as every restaurant and bar is rammed. However I do find a table beside a multigenerational family with baby screaming until finally breastfed. Ignoring all this I enjoyed a tapas of a bagel with sobresada, olive oil and ham and then some pinchos morunos – herby pork chunks on skewers. But now museum #3 or football? No contest – I’ve already had WhatsApp pics of a happy gang in the West Herts Sports and Social Club and I miss them, so the least I can do is torture myself by going back to the hotel and listening to the commentary.

My route takes me through a part of the city I hadn’t seen before passing the splendid Capilla Real sadly half shrouded in construction awning. But soon I’m on familiar ground and down heaving Calle Navas to the hotel. (Oh yes, as someone said in a comment – isn’t the sky blue!)

Back home. Oh shit we’re behind on 10 minutes through – surprise, surprise – a defensive error. Then in the second half there’s a was it wasn’t it penalty. Well thank God Kayembe scored it. Tension builds – we don’t do draws at home. It all sounds a bit fractious with punch ups and time wasting until – reach for the cava – Rocco Vata scores in the fifth minute of six of added time. Three points – back in the playoff positions. I need a lie down.

But I recovered to go out for dinner – delicious lamb cutlets with a spicy sauce and confit red peppers and a glass or two of a local wine from Granada – a Tempranillo from Bodegas Vilaplana – which was very pleasant indeed and before this trip I didn’t know Granada had a DOC. Ain’t travel fun!

Madrid and Granada 2024

Lorca Day 1

I have always been a big fan of Federico Garcia Lorca as a poet, playwright, composer and martyr. He came from Granada so I had to take the opportunity of exploring his heritage in and around the city. I had seen the stunning Harriet Walter in The House of Bernarda Alba on stage and Glenda Jackson playing Bernarda in the film. And both Juliet Stevenson in a regular performance of Yerma followed by Bille Piper’s stunning portrayal in the adaption at the Young Vic showed the current relevance of Lorca’s work. l’m renting a car later in the week to visit his birthplace and early home in Fuente Vaqueros and Valderrubio but today is concentrated in the city itself. I decide not to breakfast in the Cafe Futbol again as I need to head off in the opposite direction. I do find the requisite juice and coffee but then get sidetracked on the way. I later discovered it was just as well as the FGL Centre doesn’t open until 11:00.

First I walk past this arched entrance which I discover is to El Corral de Carbon which dates from the early 1300s and was an al-fundaq – a corn exchange and lodging house for merchants bringing wheat to the city. It has a splendid courtyard with huge grape vines climbing up its pillars to form a canopy – sadly bare at this time of year.

Then I was back at the market – one of my weaknesses in any town or city. The Mercado de San Agustin did not disappoint with its superb seafood and ham stalls, lots of bars and lots of noise.

By now it is well past opening time and I set off for the first objective of the day. Spot the writer!

It took a long time and a lot of wrangling to get a centre to celebrate Lorca in his home province – Madrid and New York got there much earlier. This modern building houses the archive of his works that was assembled by family after a) his death, secretly and b) after Franco, more openly. There are thousands of manuscripts of plays, poems, songs and prose; extensive exchanges of correspondence with publishers and producers; recordings of poetry readings; many, many photographs and some video and the big surprise to me lots of his sketches and paintings. I knew he pretty much defined polymath but the paintings and drawings echoing Miro and Dali, Braque and Picasso had escaped my appreciation on previous encounters with his work.

The main display area is on the second or third basement floor – I stopped counting the steps – and has objects, dresses worn by Marianna Xirgu at the premieres of Bernarda Alba and Yerma and letters, press cuttings, brilliant period posters, photographs and the drawings.

I had just started to snap a few when a museum lady came to ask where I was from. She seemed delighted I was from Londres, But also told me photography was forbidden. So all I’ve got are his typewriter and his amazing signature.

I spent a couple of hours soaking up all this Lorciana during which time my appreciation for him grew even more – he was only 38 when they shot him so what might he have gone on to achieve? One of the posters was for a performance by his touring theatre group La Barraca which he founded to take drama to the villages and the people and an incarnation of which still exists. Dee and I saw them perform one of his farces, the very sexy Don Perlimplin in Ubeda a few – probably fifteen – years ago. We didn’t have much Spanish at the time but the action told the story very clearly as explained by the play’s subtitle “An erotic lace-paper valentine in three acts and a prologue”. Happy memories came back as I looked at a Barraca poster.

Fortunately I found a lift to take me from -3 to 0 which saved the legs doing all those stairs upwards. The outside world was perfect with sun, not a cloud to be seen and pharmacy signs indicating 16 degrees. Time for a stroll to the next location the Parque FGL about fifteen minutes away. As so often the walk passed through a couple of the delightful squares that seem to be a characteristic of Granada and indeed many Spanish cities. This one was Plaza Trinidad and there was a long queue for what was obviously a popular bakery kiosk and of course you can’t escape him for long in Granada.

A sense of déjà vu occurred as I crossed the Camino de Ronda where I’d changed buses on Sunday. I was soon at the entrance to the park which is extensive with a number of different areas.

It also contains the Huerta de San Vicente, the Lorca family summer home in Granada. It narrowly survived a demolition order in 1975 – was Granada still run by Francoists? But public outcry saved it and created the park around it. It’s now a museum but is closed on Christmas Eve but I may get back down later in the week.

I was moved to write a poem while in the gardens which I’ve shared with my BBPC colleagues but won’t bore you all with here. I walked back into the centre along Calle Recogidas another posh shopping street halfway along which I spied a rather nice looking courtyard in the sun – ideal for a beer – first of the day at 14:30 – call this holiday! The courtyard I discovered is part of a smart hotel Palacio de Los Patos in the Hospes hotel chain. We had stayed in one of these in Valencia a few years back ad had enjoyed it very much. But posh street, posh hotel. I could have stayed for 1.75 nights for the price I’m paying for seven nights at my Palacio de Las Navas. Maybe when I win the lottery! But they did give me a free tapa of couscous with seafood.

Patio at Palacio de Los Patos a bit earlier in the year (thanks Tenedor)

The street leads back to the Puerta Real which is close to home and I think about getting some lunch remembering that everything shuts in the evening on Christmas Eve in Spain. Lone eating is difficult when you occupy a table that could take two but on this day it was looney.

This was the state of one of the bars further up Calle Navas – utterly rammed – as were all the others and I received a lot of shaken heads and “lo siento“ responses. I eventually found a pizza place that could give me a pavement table and had a rather good ravioli with roquefort. I then repair to the grocery shop to get some cheese, ham and chorizo for an evening picnic as all the restaurants said they were going to close.

In the evening, Netflix told me a film I’d like was expiring on 31 December so I watched Todos lo Saben (Everybody Knows) a convoluted family drama and kidnap story with Penelope Cruz and Javier Bardem. It wasn’t brilliant but showed current village/small town life in a way I’m sure Lorca would have approved. Peasants not the posh centre stage.