Plaza Santa Ana

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.

So my last day in Cuenca was meant to be about nothing – a quiet one and then I got a small two hour job to do – my fault I did say I’d pick up emails if urgent. So the morning passed and it wasn’t quite hot enough to go to the pool so given the verbiage was flowing I knocked out a short story for a collection I’ve planned alongside “the novel”. I’d written off the new town of Cuenca down the hill after driving through a few times but thought while I’m here I’d better walk down through the old town and see how it all pans out. It took about half an hour – all down – from the parador to the main shopping/drinking street. I had dinner planned so didn’t want much lunch so a beer and the freeby olives, nuts and crisps sufficed at a couple of bars and it was after four by now. The lower town does not have much to recommend it I’m afraid except for an enthusiastic balcony display commemorating Cuenca’s sunflowers and a little later the lovely strains from the practice rooms of the music academy with its lively (again) Corten steel sculpture.

The northern river Jucar had a bit more water than the Huecar on the parador side and there was a pleasant park and another incredibly modern church the cross of which probably doubles as a cellphone mast, impressive university buildings and a likely looking theatre.

Do I walk back up or get a cab? Seems daft to not walk but it does prove quite steep and there’s more to come later. However the legs make it up beside the Huecar with its little weirs gurgling encouragement to the ancient limbs and I do get a different angle on the hanging houses and the bridge which on my way down I’d heard someone refusing to cross – I guess if you have a height phobia it would be very scary.

Back at the parador I shower and prepare for dinner at Cuenca’s one Michelin starred restaurant Raff San Pedro. Of course it’s up in the old town so the bones creak a bit but the menu makes pain soon forgotten. I explain that with old age I really only need a small amount so the patron suggests the Menu Gastro which has three small starters, a main fish or meat and ice cream. I go for that – and forgive me some have accused earlier blogs of being too full of food but this has to be told. First comes a small golf ball of ajo arriero cod and garlic mixed with potato and with a truffled exterior. Delicate notes of truffle and garlic very well balanced. Next is a wine glass of foamed yogurt with migas the local croutons and jellied extract of artichoke. The third is a wonderfully smooth salmorejo gazpacho’s thicker sister with cucumber and quail’s egg. The main was an old favourite carilleras pig’s cheeks where the meat is so tender because of lying against that great expanse of bone. Accompanied by a local Tempranillo my last day in Cuenca was a huge success and Spain beat Croatia 6-0 so there was happiness in the plaza as I wended my way back down to the parador.

Breakfast, pack and on to Madrid with an easy drive until the last section where the SatNav could not put me outside my hotel despite telling me I’d reached my destination. I had to go into a giant parking garage under Plaza de Independencia and find the hotel on foot with Google maps and then go and retrieve the car and park it in the hotel’s garage. It’s a modern boutique number quite unlike the rest of my trip but very pleasant and in Salamanca an area of the city I didn’t know much before. I do now. It’s very posh (of course) with lots of international and local specialist clothes, shoe and jewellery shops. What I did find was a Galician taberna for lunch which had steamed clams fresh in from A Coruna this morning – and they and the crisp Rias Baixas wine reminded me of our trip two years ago along the north and west coast starting in San Sebastian and ending up in Baiona. Fortified I wandered, keeping to the shady side of the street as it reached 36 degrees today – pleasing the locals as it had been over 40. I walked through areas unfamiliar and familiar, finding another local market on the way and ending up on the far west of the city by the Royal Palace. I sat in front of the Opera thinking one day it would be good to come here during the season and catch a performance. Likewise the Liceu in Barcelona.

I had of course to go through Sol the very heart of Madrid and our favourite plaza Santa Ana before heading through the Retiro Gardens and back to the hotel on Alcala. My feet said enough and there’s a Mexican-Spanish fusion group playing live on the roof terrace tonight so it would be rude not to attend. Besides as I entered my room after an urgent beer in the bar I found this. Salud!

I’ve never been into to the FitBit step thing but today I did think it would be nice to know just how many steps – all as they say andando a pie.

Tag: Plaza Santa Ana

On the road (rails, wheels and wings) again

Much ado – mucho andando