Granada – Page 2

Madrid and Granada 2024

On the road (rails, wheels and wings) again

A new adventure starts and I decide it’s going to be a pauper’s trip. So Saturday finds me walking to Lee station as the drizzle turns serious. I board a train to London Bridge, a bus to Liverpool Street and then the Stansted Express to the airport.

None of the luxury of drive up and get an overnight with parking hotel deal. No priority lounge either but a rather good bacon sarnie in Perch. For once there is a shorter Priority queue at Ryanair and we board the plane a mere 30 minutes late. However they make up time with a tail wind and we arrive in Madrid at the scheduled time. On message, it’s take the 5 euro bus into town – no car rental or taxis this trip. Having spent the flight finishing Haruki Murakami’s latest book The City and its Uncertain Walls in which fictional and (f)actual worlds intersect, unicorns die in droves through the cold and people are separated from their shadows, I was relieved to observe people with shadows as I exited the terminal – not least because it meant the sun was shining brightly from a clear blue sky – a real joy after my damp and dismal start to the day.

Sadly the Express bus to Atocha Station called at all the other terminals first and was rammed by the time it got to International Arrivals. So I had some near-intimate encounters with a couple of lady passengers as the bus swerved lanes and managed roundabouts on its way into the city. But we got there and my hotel for one night only was close., I’m glad I’d seen the glories of Atocha before because the elegant structure is now clad in construction work hoardings. I check in to the Hotel Mediodia and quickly set off in quest of a beer and a snack. The cafe Argemosa proves an ideal spot and I’m even given a free tapa – an orange segment topped by some cod and balsamic vinegar and an apple slice with chorizo and migas – both very tasty and a good sign that outside tourist traps, tapas with a drink are still a thing.

This was a very local neighbourhood bar with a massive collection of bottle openers and a reminder that life in Madrid is a bit different.

The blackboard reads:

IN MADRID WE DINE FROM 10 OK.

Refreshed, I wander through trendy Lavapies and make my way slowly up to the centre thinking that Madrid was not as Christmassy as Barcelona had been a couple of years ago. But then I got to Puerto de Sol and saw this enormous tree and a green Santa, a Grinch and a Gruffalo all receiving tips from the passers by – cash not performance notes

Then I walked up to another square and came across – of course – a Christmas market. Then as it grew dark, I started noticing the stars suspended across several streets. I had an evening beer in Plaza Santa Ana – one of our favourite spots on a previous trip – no free tapas here. I had another in a bar earmarked for a longer return visit, La Descubierta, where my Estrella Galicia was served with a slice of bread topped with chorizo and manchego,

I then ventured into a well-stocked bookshop and was amazed to see these titles on display next to each other. Very woke acceptance of past history!

Then it was on to the main event of my overnight in Madrid – a session at the Jazz Cafe Bar Central. I wimped out and booked for the 20:00 gig rather than the 22:00 as my train for Granada leaves at 07:35 in the morning. I had booked the gig and dinner option from their website and as a lone diner was shoved away into a corner – not unreasonable really and the tapas style board was good and went down well with a Rioja I’d had before, Ontanon. The band was the Joshua Edelman Sextet – Edelman on piano with bass, drums and congas and a front line of trombone and flute. They played a lively set of originals and standards with a heavily Cuban feel. Which suited my neighbours well as the couple were born in Havana but had lived in Spain for 40 years. As also was a much younger couple at the next table. So immigrants get everywhere don’t they?

A 15 minute stroll down Calle de Atocha signposted me nicely back to the hotel just as Madrid was getting started for the night. Like my daughter kindly remarked a while back – I’m old. Night, night

One of many stars lighting the streets around the centre.

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Saturday and Sunday in Sicily

I had always planned to use my last full day in Palermo to visit the famous golden cathedral at Monreale. It’s on a steep hill outside Palermo but the guides advised the two-bus strategy for adventure and price. So I headed off for Central Station to catch the 109 to Piazza Indipendenza which Google maps showed as a 30 minute walk along a major thoroughfare. So I bought my ticket from the conveniently marked ‘Ticket Point’ for the princely sum of one euro 40 each way and waited for a 109. It came in about ten minutes and was immediately quite crowded – Sicilians have strong elbows – but I got a seat and observing the route through not the nicest area, I was glad I decided not to walk.

*Palermo Central Station ticket point, my ticket and the first bus.*

Then it was onto the 389 whIch just shuttles between the square and Monreale. It rattles along with occasional pickups so we end up with standing room only. It drops us off at a roundabout, leaving a steepish ascent up a road with great views over Palermo until finally one makes it to the premium attraction.

Palermo from the top of Monreale, the exterior of the apse and the west front.

I play my bus pass and driving licence to get a reduction and to my amazement they waved me through. I later discovered that the cathedral is free but other attractions cost. It is a truly amazing building with so much gold in the mosaics, frescos and service and ceremonial items. Built for William II , the Good, it’s a majestic church attached to a Dominican abbey. I loved the Arabic patterns in the mosaic wall panels, remembering Córdoba and Granada where Muslim and Christian faiths coalesced, the sublime vaulted ceiling and would, I’m sure have loved the huge depiction of Christ behind the main altar. Sadly I got a printed cloth showing what we might have seen were not in the midst of refurbishments.

I’ll update my pics eventually but you’ll prolly get better from here including what I couldn’t see.

The museum was absolutely packed with gold and silver chalices, crosses and wonderfully woven vestments but after a while I began to glaze so I headed for the elegant monastery cloister. No entry without a ticket and despite my entreaties the young attendant would not let me pass. I glimpsed it from a higher level and it did look like a bit of a miss.

Golded out, I wandered about the town centre which is 100% tourist dedicated. What would these businesses do if, as often requested, we all stayed home? Souvenir shops with ceramics, leather and paintings – maybe once upon a time – but these days I steer clear. But I found an unassuming bakery that would survive any tourist fall off given the number of badly parked cars and Vespas coming to collect their daily bread. The baker apologised for keeping me waiting while he took a batch of panini out of an oven. He then made me one with anchovies and tomatoes which was complemented by a Messina beer which I read from its label has salt crystals from Trapani added to give it extra bite. Salty anchovies with salty beer, what could be better. The 389 goes every half hour so I walked back down the hill, so much easier! and soon the bus arrived and took about 40 minutes to get to Indipendenza and then another fifteen back to the station. I decided to spend a little time sorting my self out and packing for my early morning Sunday departure. Well prepared I went for dinner back in La Kalsa and found a rare table on a busy Saturday night at Quattro Mani where I had more aubergine as a starter and then black sesame crusted seared albacore tuna which was superb and washed down nicely with and Etna Cotanera grape. A fine farewell to four days in Palermo.

On the road

On checking out of the hotel, I noticed for the first time that it had a small bar and a pretty garden which I would have been entitled to use as an apartment dweller. Were I ever to go back I’d happily stay there again as it’s in a great location and they were very helpful. So it’s to Central Station once more for my six euro trip to the airport to be picked up by a car rental shuttle. On arrival I made a series of notes to myself 1: If it looks good value (ie cheap) it’s probably for a reason; 2: don’t assume – no not all rental cars have SatNavs fitted; 3: not all cars start up just because you get and push a button, some need keys inserting and turning; 4: try to adjust to manual transmission – there’s a thing called a clutch – and instrument layout to avoid the windscreen wipers going when you want to turn. Having said all that the VW UP! Has got me from Palermo to Agrigento and now at the time of writing to Siracusa, it hasn’t been all bad thanks to Google maps and Bluetooth.

My destination for the day was Agrigento but on the way both guidebook and Gwyn and Yvonne said “Go to Gibellina”. So I did. It’s a very, very sad story. In 1968 the village was destroyed in an earthquake and rather than rebuild the villagers were relocated to Gibellina Nuova 18 km away.

Very sadly they left the cemetery behind so if families await to pay their respects they have to schlepp along a very deformed country road to do so. I appreciate the problems-for planners but this was a travesty. To mark the horror an artist Alberto Burri made one of the most powerful artworks I’ve ever seen.

Alberto’s installation, the Creti di Burri covered the village’s ruins in one metre high concrete blocks within which you can walk the meandering streets, climb the hill and feel a real sense of a lost community. As someone who loves the technical, in the close ups you can see the sinuous outlines of the bags that held the concrete in place. In others there’s a pink glow as if the terracotta tiles from the destroyed houses had leached their tears into the concrete. Beautiful, moving, a true work of art – and huge!

By contrast the new town, conceived by notable architects as a Utopian living place, turned out to be a soulless disaster. Despite claims as the art of living, there are many public works but no cafes, a closed supermarket and a public square that looks less than inviting. And there’s a grotesque abandoned multi-use space that dominates this sad spot. Oh progress, where art thou? Note to Labour – if you do build new towns, don’t make them like this!

Leaving the new Gibellina behind I headed for my BnB in Agrigento. The road was pleasant with frequent glimpses of the coast before the nightmare of finding the place I was to rest my head. The instructions were great if you knew the town but were confusing in that Via Atenea didn’t have a name plaque adjacent to the adjoining street where I’d been told to park. Locals were helpful and I discovered I’d have a lengthy trek with suitcase to get there. While deliberating going round the block to use the closer car park, I was waved down by someone older than me to give him a lift to the cathedral. He was carrying a silver plaque and a lanyard so I guessed he mattered. I didn’t say, but thought “I despise Christians and other religions for all the trouble they’ve caused” and meekly accepted his blessing when I dropped him off.

So I eventually parked, arranged minimal luggage into a backpack and set off. On arriving at the BnB this confronted me and gave me some further notes to self. 1: You are new at this game ask more questions; 2; Get very clear instructions and a map.

As it happened my poor weary body had to climb 97 further steps to get to my very pleasant room once I’d got up this so-called via Ficani. That’s not a road! And there were another fifteen to get breakfast on their lovely terrace. Next morning. Caveat emptor writ large.

However once installed and braving a trip back out to eat I found that via Atenea is the posh part of the old town. I was so pleased to see that proper bar service has resumed – a beer, crisps and peanuts all for three euros. Supper later was a scaloppine al limone with a carafe of unspecified but acceptable house white in a family run restaurant where the owners knew everybody but me. Then back up those 90+ steps. Night, night.

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Sicily day 2 – the fun continues

I’d booked a tour of the Palazzo Conte Federico from the UK as I thought it might be interesting to do a ‘Stately Home” tour abroad – and it was to be conducted by the current count. That was for 11 o’clock so I had a while to wander in search of breakfast and the famed Ballaro market. Previous readers will know how much I love a market. And in Siracusa I’ve arranged to stay in an apartment with cooking facilities so maybe I can buy something in the market there. But back to Ballaro – not the elegant framework of La Boqueria in Barcelona or those in Valencia, Madrid and Palma but a sprawling muddle of streets – one actually via Ballaro – with pub umbrellas (mostly Messina beer), tarpaulins stretched over metal frames and a variety of stalls with staff hawking their produce. It was hot, it was colourful, it was lively and it was fun. It also provided A stall with seats, freshly squeezed orange juice, coffee and a croissant so breakfast was ticked off. And I may well have seen the swordfish being cut up that I had for lunch later. Certainly the guy was making a fine job of carving up tuna.

I strolled through the streets in the neighbourhood, narrow, golden sandstone, church at every corner and found the Palazzo a little ahead of time. The young count, Andrea, was preparing to take tickets and asking people to wait but nobly allowed me in to use the loo. They may be one of the richest families in Palermo but they buy their hand wash in Lidl! I know the Cien brand well. The tour was fascinating and the palazzo deceptively large given it’s street frontage. It contains within it the last of 26 original lookout towers from the medieval city when it stood on the edge of the harbour. We’re now a good mile inland and most of newer Palermo has been reclaimed at various periods of history, including a large area using bomb damage wreckage after the Second World War. The website gives you a good impression of what I saw. The fun bits for me were that the 86-year-old count was and is a highly decorated racing driver and now ventures outside Italy to race since anyone over the age of 80 is prohibited from competition in Italy. His wife is a gifted soprano and we entered her studio to find a prized Pleyel piano apparently played by Richard Wagner on a visit. This is my third Pleyel – Chopin’s in Mallorca and de Falla’s in Granada. And I’m planning to hear some Wagner on Friday evening.

*The Pleyel piano, Richard Wagner and Contessa Alwine Federico soprano and champion swimmer*

It was a fascinating tour, well handled in alternating Italian and English by Andrea and gave one an insight into how the other half lives – or lived perhaps if you need to have paying tourists traipsing though your home between 11:00 and 16:00 every day except Sundays. There were lots of stairs too so the hip got a good workout.

As I exited and walked down a narrow street what should I see but a lady with a clapper board marking a take. A minimal crew was shooting what appeared from the OTT acting on show to be a dramedy, comedy drama or outright farce.

Next stop was for a coffee near the epicentre of the city – Quattri Canti where the posh streets Corso Vittorio Emanuele and Via Maqueda meet. It’s very busy but coffee is still only one euro twenty despite the tourist nature of the area.

Next was a visit to the famous, or infamous because of its nudity, fountain Fontana Pretoria. It has no water flowing but is an impressive structure.

And then on to a pair of churches – one of which had just closed! But the Chiesa de San Cataldo was wonderfully calm and simple – a blessing after the ornate nature of the majority. It also has three red domes and some impressive brickwork and a great stained glass cross.

*China’s San Cataldo’ domes outside and in, the cross with interestingly Arabic patterns behind and the one that just closed Chiesa la Martorana.*

Lunch nearby was pasta al pesce spada e melanzane – there were lots of both swordfish and aubergines in the market and it restored me for the next visit. This was only a short distance away but almost unreachable because of workmen relaying the enormous slabs that make up Palermo’s streets.

The Galleria d’Arte Moderna proved a bit of a misnomer as paintings in the collection stopped at 1935 and was almost entirely figurative. There were several paintings I really liked however so despite expectations not being met, I was glad I’d gone.

*An almost American Gothic, a Sargent-ish portrait and a seascape that reminded me of Sorolla.*

It was time to rest the feet after a day of constant movement. But on the way back passing Giardino Garibaldi I was struck by this massive Ficus macrophylla reputed to be 150 years old. It’s what we know better as the banyan tree.

As I was walking along via Torremusa I noticed white carpet on the church steps and popped in to catch a wedding ceremony in full flow. Another enormous and brilliantly decorated church like so many in the city. This one was the Chiesa Parrocchiale di Santa Maria della Pietà. I was very discreet and didn’t even offer to make a speech.

Back at the apartment for a brief rest, a shower and then out for dinner locally with a whitebait starter and some sausages to follow. They were quite spicy – close to merguez. Well as Paola said when I told her I was going to Sicily “Sicily – it’s Africa!” She’s from Rome.