Day 351, The Last Post

El viaje se acaba. The journey ends. Day 351 of our grown up gap year, as Su calls it, dawned and we awoke to see sun-drenched French countryside through the window of our overnight train to Paris from Barcelona.

We chose to travel overland in the train-hotel so that the journey becomes an event rather than merely a means of getting from A to B.  You get dinner, breakfast and a cabin with two beds, a shower and WC. Somehow the planned leisurely 12 hour ride took 14 and a half. The crew had no idea when we would arrive. At 1015 when I asked the larger than life waiter in the restaurant car he told me "we are arriving" but we were still going at 1130.  Perhaps he was making a philosophical point - we had been arriving ever since leaving Barcelona. Perhaps he too has learned that life is about journeys not destinations.

Since we left work and the UK on 14 September last year there have been many obvious highlights such as spending time with  family in Cameroon, making two trips of a lifetime around South America and exploring Spain.  But the real luxury has been having time and space to recover from life in London where often the apparently urgent gets prioritised over that which is really important. Removing 50 hours of work per week and related stress revitalises the body and mind. I feel physically more active but less tired and mentally more stimulated in a mind less cluttered. It's also amazing what a year of good sleep can do.

It has been a great opportunity to think - to make sense of the past and work out what is important in the future, whilst always remembering to live in the present.

As the train finally reaches the end of the line, pulling in to St Pancras on the last day of this special year, we don't know what the next year will bring but whatever it is we are ready and looking forward to it.

First glimpse of London:
the Olympic Rings at St Pancras Eurostar Terminal

Barcelona: going back to the start

Our first taste of the Spanish Mediterranean culture that we are now so used to came back in 1992 when we first visited Barcelona.  It is fitting therefore that our final stop before leaving Spain is the same city.  Having left our car in Valencia we travelled here by train and at 9pm tonight we catch the overnight train to Paris in order to connect with the Eurostar.

Columbus points out across the Med

1992 was a seminal year for Barcelona.  It was the 500th anniversary of the discovery of the Americas by Christopher Columbus and it was to Barcelona that he returned to report on his trip to King Ferdinand & Queen Isabela.  His statue stands at the end of the Ramblas, pointing out to sea with his back to the rest of Spain - very much the Catalan view of the world.  1992 was also the year that Barcelona held the Olympic Games and put itself back on the map, and when FC Barcelona won the European Cup for the first time, at Wembley. Since then the explosion of tourism here has brought wealth and the city which has emerged from the shackles of Francoism to reclaim its proud identity, including its formerly banned language.  For me, the twin badges of this identity are the football club (now European Champion for a fourth time having, coincidentally, won at Wembley again in May) and Gaudí's incomplete church, Sagrada Familia.  Work on this incredible building began in 1892 but stopped on Gaudí's death in 1926.  Intermittent work recommenced in the 1950s but, when we visited for the first time 100 years after work had begun, it was really still barely a shell with a few dreamy towers.  Since then we have seen it grow on our many visits and it was finally consecrated last year by the Pope.  Much work remains however but completion is on schedule for the 100th anniversary of Gaudí's death in 2026!

Sagrada Familia

We have visited this city more than any other so there was no need for much sight-seeing on our one-night stay.  Instead we retraced our steps to some favourite old places: Sagrada Familia, Los Caracoles, the cavernous institution of a restaurant we learned about in Floyd on Spain, and El Rey de la Gamba, the Barceloneta seafood restaurant with its improbably huge shellfish dishes.

About to do battle with the "Plato Real"

The formerly deserted beach is, like the rest of the city, crowded with tourists and illustrates how the city has grown up since 1992 - I guess we've grown up too.  An awful lot of water has flowed past the Columbus statue since then and a lot of (mostly good) things have happened to us.  This is the city that first drew us to Spain, even if Valencia is now our first love.  It remains a beautiful, lively and fascinating place, neatly encapsulated by the song recorded for the Olympics by Freddie Mercury & Montserrat Caballé, which still rings in our heads as we walk around.  It speaks to us of the things we most prize: love, happiness and optimism for the future:

"I had this perfect dream
This dream was me and you
I want all the world to see
A miracle sensation
My guide and inspiration
Now my dream is slowly coming true
Such a beautiful horizon
Like a jewel in the sun
Viva Barcelona"

Highlights of Spain

Now the travelling is over for the year we have put together a set of photos to summarise our time living here in Spain.  Between the four trips to Africa and South America we've been privileged to spend time in the area around our Monte Pego home as well as travelling around the country.


Some of the images illustrate the history of the country through its buildings while others are more about its culture.  The set therefore covers the remnants of long gone peoples from the cave paintings of the first íbero farmers from 8,000 years ago to buildings from the roman, Moorish and reconquest eras.  There are images of some of the pillars of modern Spanish society: religion, politics, sport, bull-fighting, fiestas, music, food & wine, nature, beach tourism and the architectural masterpieces of the modern museums. The slideshow will work in this blog but you can click on it too if you want the pictures in full screen and with captions.







We have had some unforgetable times in this beautiful, diverse and friendly country that we've come to love more and in which we feel very much at home.  When we return to London we shall miss the endless fiestas with their bulls and fireworks, the perfect light that falls over the Valencian hills before sunset and the full moon rising above our mountain in a clear night sky.  We shall miss the food markets, the local wine, the rice dishes at El Tresmall restaurant and the lapping of the Mediterranean on the soft, fine golden sand of Oliva beach which gets between your toes - and in fact just about everywhere.  We shall miss our home, our friends, walking in the mountains, running on the rice fields of the Marjal below Monte Pego and cooling off in the pool.  We've never had a quality of life this good and we've learned to enjoy it and relax.  We've never been happier.  

Hasta Luego, Monte Pego

In the year since we left our flat in Highgate, Monte Pego has been our home. Despite the journeys around Spain, South America and Cameroon we've spent a lot of time here and seen it in all four seasons. Last August the thermometer hit 43 degrees Celsius and in January we woke up to go on a walk at just above zero. But whatever the temperature the sun shines most of the time and that, more than anything, is what makes it a lovely place to be. Its tranquility and proximity to sandy beaches, mountains and the Marjal wetlands also helps.

Our many visitors from the UK - 26 different people have stayed here over the last year - have helped make it feel more like home.  Moreover we have got to know many people here, in particular during regular trips to La Cova bar. We shall miss them all, especially Alan and Keira, our nearest neighbours. But we will be back soon.

Alan & Keira outside La Cova

On Holiday

Strange though it may sound after several months spent in (what used to be) our holiday home, we've been on holiday here, hence the lack of blog entries.  The main novelty for us though has been spending the week with two small friends of ours, Amber (aged four) and Jasmine (six), which for confirmed non-parents like us has been very different, very enjoyable and of course at times quite tiring.  Fortunately our role has only been assistant parents as Richard and Tasha have been here too!

Its been nice to know that despite their young age, in a year's absence from Highgate they haven't forgotten us.  Indeed they were very excited and seemed to have a great time. We've had lots of fun doing the things that people usually do on a Spanish holiday like eating paella, barbecuing locally caught fish, splashing around in the pool and lying on the golden sand at the beach (we watched a fair bit of cricket and football on TV too - well done to the England cricket team).

Richard, Amber, Jasmine and me aboard the Boat Monster!

There has been lots of screaming to break the tranquility of Monte Pego - particularly when Richard flipped over our blow up dinghy which became the "Boat Monster" - ruthlessly swallowing up any children or adults in its path.  Su said the high-pitched screaming was pretty loud heard from the terrace, but for the four of us with our heads confined in the small amount of airspace between the over-turned dinghy and the surface of the water, it was deafening.  Great fun though.

Now our visitors have gone we are left with just a few days before it is time to pack up and return to London.  The rail tickets are booked to take us back from Valencia to St Pancras via Barcelona and Paris.  Bags are being readied to be packed and, like the end of any holiday, thoughts are turning back to the office.  It will soon be time to return and try on our old life for size - hope it still fits!

Wake up and smell the...rice

Running has been a major feature of this summer for us. We returned from our trip to South America after seven weeks on the road feeling a little flabby as a result of an awful lot of buffet hotel breakfasts, three course meals and local beverages. To give myself a target to aim for whilst getting into shape I've entered the Valencia Half Marathon, which is to take place on 23rd October.

But it's hot here, very hot, which makes running during the day hard work. Our plan has been to get up early and hope for some cloud. We occasionally get lucky but most of the time our 8am runs are in bright sunshine. Monte Pego is very hilly and our house is around 200m above sea level so in order to make the run more pleasant we drive down to the entrance of the urbanisation and start from there on the flat.

While Su heads up and down the cycle path that leads towards Pego, my routes venture into La Marjal, the beautiful local wetlands. At this time of year the short-grain bomba rice that is the staple of this region's most famous culinary creation, paella, is almost ready to harvest and the smell is amazing. It's like being in a kitchen when rice is being boiled (and as hot because of the humidity down there). The Moors started growing rice here hundreds of years ago, creating a system of channels to use the water provided naturally in the area to irrigate the rice fields in the centre of La Marjal. The farmers use pumps and sluice gates to drain and flood the fields at different times of year and the water level is also affected by the spring and autumn rains and the rivers that come from the mountains.

The area is naturally marshy having originally been a horseshoe shaped bay surrounded on three sides by mountains until a sandbar formed, creating a lagoon and later the marsh. These days the area nearest to Pego is cultivated for fruit and vegetables, especially oranges, while the wilder area nearer the sea is in a more natural state. The rice fields are between the two and various paths criss-cross the whole area. In winter my runs are lonely affairs but at this time of year, while still very quiet, I do come across other beings. There are two herds of animals that graze on La Marjal in summer, one of which is the motley crew of sheep and goats that pass our house on the other side of the valley during the rest of the year. The second flock is a less friendly bunch of brown woolly sheep. Both groups create significant obstacles if I run into them on the road - a problem I've not had in London. However, I can generally avoid them as I know where they live and roughly what time they go out for breakfast.  Experience has taught me that, if I do come across them, they pretty much scatter if you run at them.

The flock having a good munch on the Marjal

From time to time I also have for company the rice farmers, occasional fishermen, herons, egrets and other birds that like the wetlands. All in all running can be quite eventful and I've so far survived being attacked by an Alsatian and being sprayed with insecticide by a low flying helicopter. Fitness is improving and we will soon be running in the cooler climate of north London, probably without sheep and goats. And if there are helicopters it will just be the police chasing rioters.

Up the Junction

After nearly three months in Spain nostalgia for London was growing ahead of our three night visit there this weekend. Old songs such as Up the Junction by Squeeze and London Calling by the Clash have been featuring in the days before the trip.

Up the Junction was particularly appropriate as we spent Friday evening with Lee, Robin and Rosie in the Falcon, Clapham Junction then met Janet & Neville for Sunday lunch at the ever-brilliant Junction Tavern in Kentish Town where the welcome is always warm and the food first-class. The Falcon too is a decent pub but Clapham wasn't really our cup of tea. We really are north Londoners at heart.

The Falcon, Clapham Junction 

On Saturday came the main event of the weekend - Jay's 50th birthday party in Islington - when the arrival of Yvette's crowd from Chile meant a temporary return to speaking Spanish and a lively evening was had by all. The social whirl continued at full speed on Sunday when we dodged heavy showers to call in on Richard & Tasha and their beautiful daughters Jasmine & Amber and caught up with Conrad & Kathryn.

But having complained about south London on friday night it was soon north London's turn to show it's uglier side as we awoke to news of rioting, looting and buildings and vehicles on fire just three miles up the road in Tottenham. You could hear the sirens and the helicopters and the disturbances have now spread to other parts of the capital. Another Clash song comes to mind: London's Burning. They wrote that 35 years ago and the social problems they sang about that led to the riots of the early 1980s in Brixton, Tottenham and elsewhere are still there today. So when Boris Johnson says there is no excuse for rioting, I know what he means but he probably hasn't tried living there.

In less than four weeks it will be back to all this on a full time basis when the sabbatical year ends. If it wasn't for our friends it would be very difficult to come back. The heating is on in August, it is raining, the tubes are full, the traffic is dreadful and there is rioting in the streets. No wonder Cesc Fàbregas wants to leave!

 

Valencia

By way of celebrating our 16th wedding anniversary we drove 90km up the motorway to our favourite city, Valencia, which we first visited back in 2004 on the trip where we chose the plot of land on which our house now stands.  Three nights there gave us ample opportunity to explore the old town in more detail, take in some museums and galleries and enjoy some local food and wine.

Wedding anniversaries tend to bring on nostalgia for first dates and we often recall an evening in the City Arms in Earlsdon, Coventry a few days after we first met at the University May Ball. What did we talk about?    Our only recollection of the conversation that evening is that we discussed Arsenal's defeat in the 1980 European Cup Winners Cup Final when Graham Rix missed in the penalty shoot-out to give victory to Valencia (who said I'm not a romantic?). It's a coincidence that the city that now means so much to us should have featured on that early date.

We know rather more about the city now, a Mediterranean trading centre that became successively a Roman, Visigoth then Muslim city. It was briefly conquered by El Cid (played by Charlton Heston in the film) before finally falling to King Jaume's Christian army in 1238. Valencia's red and gold flag and bat emblem hark back to that era, recalling the colours of  Jaume's standard on which the bat allegedly perched the night before his final victory.

The Valencian flag flies over the XVth century silk exchange...

...and over the Torres de Serranos, part of the old city walls. 

Since then there have been highs and lows. Grand buildings still exist from the XV century golden age of the city when it was the most populous in Spain and one of the largest in Europe with huge influence through the Borgia Popes. However, except for a period of success in the nineteenth century when the city grew from 50,000 to 200,000 and was extended, it has been mostly downhill. It seems that each time there has been a conflict in Spain (and every 100 years there has been a big one) the area has picked the losing side and suffered as a result, exacerbating the effect of Spain's general decline as a world power.

In the last of these conflicts, the Civil War of 1936-9 Valencia became capital of the Spanish Republic after Madrid had fallen to Franco's Nationalists. But a return to former glory didn't happen as the Republic was overthrown and the city withdrew to being a provincial outpost with its language and separate identity suppressed.

Today Valencia, as Spain's third largest city with the best part of a million people, is increasingly vibrant. The beautiful architecture of the City of Arts and Sciences, the passion of the  supporters at Mestalla stadium, the world-renowned dish of paella and a deserved reputation as a party town based around the fiesta of Las Fallas, give the town a personality. Add to all that the beach and America's Cup port, the annual Formula One grand prix, 300 sunny days a year and the heady mixture of architecture from the last 700 years and there are plenty of reasons to enjoy being here.

But this weekend is the end of July and we will do what seemingly everyone else does at this time of year and head towards the beach for the whole of August. So we will get in the car, head south from Valencia and join the queue of traffic back towards Denia.

Cuenca

We've had Cuenca on our list of places to visit since reading Winter in Madrid, a book set during the Spanish Civil War, which reaches its dramatic conclusion there amidst the legendary scenery. The geography of the place is unique with the old city perched on a cliff at the confluence of the Júcar and Huécar rivers. It is surrounded on three sides by river gorges with a steep hill on the fourth side leading down to the newer parts of town.

Cuenca from the Castle above the town

Among the buildings clinging to the cliff face are the Hanging Houses, two fifteenth century, three storey buildings that currently house a restaurant and the national museum of abstract art. We had a look round the gallery and came back to sample the suckling pig and sucking lamb later. Having imagined a whole terrace of Hanging Houses, Su was disappointed that there were only two remaining. When inside it is best not to ponder what happened to the others as you peer into the chasm below.

The 15th Century Hanging Houses...

...look more modern inside in the Abstract Art Museum

Around the corner some smartly dressed locals were attending a Friday evening wedding. On the flank wall of the cathedral there is a ten foot high cross with an inscription remembering Jose Antonio Primo de Rivera, the founder of the fascist Falange party that ruled Spain for 40 years under General Franco.  The son of a previous dictator and a local MP, he was executed by the Republicans a few months after the outbreak of the Civil War in November 1936.  Such memorials can still be found across Spain but since Franco's death many have been removed - often under the cover of darkness because of continuing sympathy for the old regime.  The church was generally aligned with Franco during the War and the Bishop of Cuenca was one of many clerics murdered by the Republicans as they tried to stay in power. Understandably passions still run high about these things and, while this memorial remains, it is stained by blood that has been thrown at it.  While there is no doubt that the Republicans wanted Primo de Rivera dead, controversy still rages over how hard Franco tried to him.  Had he done so, Franco would have had a rival for power who, with his educated, aristocratic background and a strong ideology, might have been an alternative leader for the Nationalists following their military victory.

Blood on the walls at the Cathedral

Like many places in Spain therefore, some dark pieces of history lurk below the surface. Given we were inspired to come here by a novel set in the Civil War, it seems appropriate to finally mention it in this blog having largely avoided it so far (as seems customary here). Now though Cuenca seems a peaceful town of just over 40,000 people surrounded by spectacular countryside in what is Spain's most sparsely populated province, despite its location between Madrid and Valencia.  It is best to enjoy the dramatic countryside with its peculiar rock formations, breathe in the fresh air and remember, don't mention the war!

Hispania

In Cáceres and Trujillo the most striking influence is that of the conquistadors who ventured to the New World from this backwater and changed the course of history in Latin America, sweeping aside the great Inca and Aztec empires.

But in Mérida, the third city in Extremadura that we stayed in, there are traces of a much earlier all conquering empire - that of the Romans. It stands on the site of Emerita Augusta which was founded in 15 BC by the Emperor Augustus in order to strengthen the defence of Lusitania, the south- west region of the Roman territory of Hispania and provide a place for his legionaries to retire. Imagine the relief of a soldier at being pensioned off here after a hardship posting to Hadrian's Wall where you have to fend off revolting Scotsmen coming at you in skirts in the freezing rain.

Mérida's visible relics of its predecessor city include an amphitheatre, a theatre, a chariot racing circus, city walls and fortress, an arch, a couple of bridges and aqueducts, various mansion houses, a temple to Diana and the forum. There is also a museum of Roman Art which hosts the many treasures found across the city and gives a good idea of how these people lived.

The Aqueduct of Miracles, Merida

The infrastructure, jewelry, the size and grandeur of the houses and public buildings and the extent of leisure facilities shows a standard of living and wealth that a small part of the modern world has been able to exceed only in the last couple of hundred years. 30,000 people (the entire population) could watch chariot racing at the Circus while 15,000 could watch gladiators fight wild animals, the forerunner of bullfighting, at the amphitheatre.

Rehearsals at the Roman Theatre - still being used in its original purpose

Modern Mérida holds an annual drama festival in July and August which makes use of various ancient sites including the theatre where we saw rehearsals for a music and dance production. Then as night fell over the Temple of Diana, we watched a production of "The Trojan Women", a Greek tragedy written by Euripides nearly 2500 years ago and performed by a local group.

The Trojan Women, Temple of Diana

But within 400 years the Romans had lost control of Hispania and in turn Visigoths, Moors and Spanish Christians built their own fortifications, palaces and places of worship on top of the Roman ones, recycling the materials in the process.  So the city the Romans built lives on in Mérida, not only in the ruins they left but also in the subsequent buildings.  Of course all subsequent cultures here have owed something to their legacy, not least the various languages descended from Latin.  Politically and economically the Romans had such power that they achieved a degree of integration across Europe that no one has achieved since.  Ironically the current efforts to achieve European integration are turning into a modern Greek tragedy.

Extremadura: Devotion to God and Gold

Leaving Toledo we ventured west off the main road through hot dry but picturesque countryside in the general direction of Portugal. We crossed into the region of Extremadura and headed for Guadalupe, a small town in the middle of nowhere which is home to one of the great Spanish religious icons. Its black virgin was allegedly carved by Saint Luke and discovered by a shepherd during the fourteenth century.

The Cloisters at the Monastery

We joined a group tour of the monastery's buildings, gardens and treasures, such as paintings, robes and illustrated song books, but in the best traditions of theatre they saved the best for last. After an hour the guide handed us over to one of the monks who solemnly unlocked the door to the virgin's room to reveal a highly decorated panel. He then slowly turned the panel on it's axis to reveal the virgin in all her glory as silence turned to gasps. Even for the non-religious it was a poignant moment that was beautiful in every sense. The virgin herself can be appreciated on a number of levels I'm sure, but at the most basic she is truly beautiful in her regalia.

The devotion that has brought pilgrims here for more than half a millennium also fired the desire of the Christians to gain their independence from the Moors and convert the peoples they found in the Americas. There is even a black virgin of Guadalupe in Mexico, which we visited in 2005 and whose fame now outstrips the original.  

Greed for gold was a major motivation for the conquistadors in the New World but the conquest of South America would not have endured if missionaries had not been prepared to die in the interests of converting the natives. The sword is most effective when backed by the church and the reverse is also true. See how threatening the religious statues are here!

Uncannily like the Ku Klux Klan, Caceres

Famous conquistadors like Cortes, who overthrew the Aztecs in Mexico, and Pizarro, who did the same to the Incas in Peru, came from these parts. So did most of the band of adventurers that went with them.  It is easy to see why men from a harsh environment like this would be tempted to risk it all for the gold of El Dorado. The wealth that came back from the Americas used to build, among other places, the monastery at Guadalupe and mansions of Cáceres and Trujillo - both astonishingly well preserved walled cities full of palaces and churches.

Pizarro, Plaza Mayor, Trujillo

This trip has closed the circle for us because we heard so much about the ruthless conquistador Pizarro when in Peru. We finally came face to face with his statue in his home town of Trujillo. The colonial wealth is long gone and these days Extremadura is back to being an agricultural economy. 50% of the region's land is "dehesa" - grazing land dotted with oak trees under which the unique black Iberian pigs seek shade and eat the acorns which give Spanish cured ham that distinctive sweet taste. If born here now Pizarro might have lived a quiet life as a pig farmer. He may even have been comfortably off producing the best ham in the world, but would never have earned enough to build a palace like those that still stand in Trujillo and Caceres in memory of Spain's brief and bloody golden age.

Toledo

Toledo is one of the great historic cities of Spain being past capital city of both Spain and the previous Moorish regime. Having said that, since nearby Madrid took over as capital more than 400 years ago the level of action has fallen away. Now it is a tranquil day trip from the modern capital and best known for the production of steel blades, its signature dish of partridge (sometimes cooked in chocolate) and for El Greco's moonlit paintings of the old town from the hill opposite.

Burial of the Count of Orgaz, El Greco

We viewed El Greco's paintings when we were here last in 2005 and limited ourselves this time to a viewing of his masterpiece, The Burial of the Count of Orgaz, which is, literally, quite a work of art. According to the guidebook the fourteenth century count did so much good work that not one but two saints came down to carry his soul to heaven.  Suffice to say that El Greco captures the scene of the soul rising up in a way that no modern camera could! Allegedly the bones of the Count were finally found in 2001, in the church under the painting. You would have thought they would have found them earlier. Not exactly an unfathomable hiding place.

Typical blend of Muslim and Christian architecture

On an evening wander the steep narrow streets afford protection from the hot sun and reveal to the visitor the many preserved medieval buildings. Our favourite was Santa Maria La Blanca which was built as a synagogue and later converted to a church having been designed in an Islamic style with beautiful arches. The building is in many ways emblematic of Toledo's cultural mixing before the expulsion of the Jews and Muslims.

Santa Maria La Blanca's Moorish arches,
built by Jews, now with Christian Cross 

A Spain where religious tolerance continued to allow learning from other cultures and the assimilation of new ideas could have been a very different place in the centuries that followed the Reconquest. But with the Inquisition and its expulsions, killings and forced conversions, sixteenth century Spain, now with Madrid as it's capital, chose a different route which ultimately led to its gradual decline. Toledo, along with those liberal ideas, was left behind and for me symbolises a huge missed opportunity for a country which has only really embraced the modern world in the last three decades.

The Borgias, Part II: Xátiva

Xátiva is an old Valencian town an hour and a bit away from us. It lies inland, away from the direct route to Valencia and as a consequence we haven't been back since we passed through on a visit to see the construction of our house more than five years ago. That Saturday we didn't get to visit its castle as the gridlock created by the combination of a wedding and road works prevented us from getting up the hill.

On a previous day trip to one of our neighbouring towns, Gandía, back in May we discovered that the infamous Borgia family where dukes there and their statues stand in the town even now despite the rather dodgy reputation of the two Popes they produced and the Machiavellian activities of Lucrezia.

Both Popes, Callixtus III and Alexander VI, were born in Xátiva and gradually the valenciano name Borja became italianised into the way it is recognized today. But it is quite a claim for a town this size to have produced one Pope, let alone two. Their statues stand here too in the main cathedral square.

The castle makes for a fascinating wander and has a lot of history too. There are sturdy fortifications from roman and moorish times and great views over the old town it protected. My favourite part was the windowless prison near the top where one can imagine the fate of the unfortunates that were kept there. It's a bit like the Tower of London in that it was a place of incarceration for royals and aristocracy.

An exhibition at the castle also covers Xátiva's other claim to fame, being the first place in Europe to produce paper. The Moors brought the technology to make paper in the twelfth century via Arabia and North Africa. Given the influence of that product on the development of european civilisation, it struck us as something to be rather more proud of than having produced a couple of corrupt Popes!

A Load of Bull

Following our first real bullfight last week, we’ve had more opportunities to see Spain’s favourite animal in action. This week was the annual 8-day fiesta of San Fermin, where they run the bulls down the street to the bull ring. Although each run (encierro) takes only two and a half minutes, the TV coverage lasts two hours and displaces the morning news on the equivalent of BBC1. When finally the news starts, the first headline is today’s San Fermin run, which is then repeated in full. Only then do they move on to lesser subjects, such as the potential disintegration of the Euro and the collapse of the Spanish economy.

But it is not just in Pamplona where everything stops for the bulls. We went to Pedreguer with our friend Pau to see a local encierro in his home town. I was required to wear running shoes for the occasion, while Suzanne was just expected to watch while fanning herself to keep cool. As is standard for these events, viewing galleries had been erected above the pavements, their supports spaced wide enough for a human to escape from the street but narrow enough to stop the bulls following. We prepared for the 1130 run by going to the bar two hours before to have a bite to eat and a couple of beers. Then with Su safely on the gallery, four of us downed large gin and tonics (for energy apparently) before joining the throng for the run. The fireworks went off and the bulls charged towards us. I was some distance away and was never in any danger, but took off at full speed anyway. In the photo below, I’m just behind Antonio (wearing the shades) and you can just about see the bulls further down the street. I wasn’t taking any chances as they say it’s always the tourists who get in trouble at these events.

...and they're off

with the bulls in hot pursuit

During the fiesta Pedreguer, a town of 7,000 people, is completely closed for a whole week (bars and restaurants excepted of course) so the whole population can go on a monumental bender, which does wonders for community spirit. So we hung around eating and drinking for several hours (well I was drinking while Su was driving – bull-runner’s privilege) to discuss our bravery, which of course got exaggerated during the day. 

Pau, Antonio and I looking pleased after the run

The four of us after a suitably long lunch (about 6pm)

Down the road, being larger and more sophisticated than Pedreguer, Denia shuts completely just for one day, but the bull stuff goes on all week, twice a day down at the port where a temporary bull-ring is rigged up. The novelty here is that the fourth side of the ring is missing and instead there is just the water of the harbour. The objective here is to get the bull to charge so that it ends up falling in the water but the result of fifteen minutes of winding up the bull is usually a lot of the locals ending up in the water. 

winding up the animals at Denia port

To the untrained eye, this whole activity looks completely pointless and rather dangerous and of course wouldn’t please animal rights activists. It’s madness, but quite entertaining and seemed mostly harmless. Having said that, just after writing this post, I heard that at the evening bull run in Pedreguer which happened an hour or so after we left, a 53 year-old man was so badly gored by a bull that days later his life hangs in the balance. Someone else was hurt trying to save him and subsequently a 19-year old girl has been gored at the ring in Denia. Unlike the professional bullfight we saw in Sevilla, here it is the unpaid humans that are in danger.

Fly like a Bird

I've loved trains ever since as a 3 year old my great uncle took me up to South Croydon railway station and the guard used to let me wave the trains off. I even had my own whistle and red and green flags. So it has been a special treat to do some travelling around Spain in the latest thing in train fashion - the AVE (which is short for Alta Velocidad Española but also means "bird" in Spanish).  And it really flies. We clocked over 300 kmh on the way from Valencia to Madrid, a journey which now takes just over an hour and a half.

Spain has more high speed rail track than any other country and more is on the way (subject of course to the country not running out of cash). The plan is that 90% of the population will be within fifty miles of an AVE station and in the last few months new sections have opened to both Valencia and Alicante.

We've been dying to find a reason to use it and hence the visit to Seville, which we didn't get to in March on our last visit to Andalucia. We weren't disappointed. There is plenty of space and the ride is very comfortable, which resulted in a fair amount of snoring on the way to Madrid, to which we may even have contributed.

The speed is such that on Saturday we had a leisurely breakfast in Sevilla, picnic lunch in Retiro Park in the centre of Madrid and were in Valencia before 4pm to pick the car up to drive home!

Death in the Evening

Before passing judgement on the controversial subject of bullfighting, we thought we should see it first hand and Seville turned out to be our chance.  We arrived on a Thursday, the one day of the week that they have fights over summer.  I thought I would write a blog entitled Death in the Afternoon, after Hemmingway's famous book but, given the daytime temperature, they sensibly hold the event at 10pm, which is also the favoured kick off time for football here in Spain.

The particpants emerge to approach the president's area

Each week three young, up and coming matadors get the chance to fight two bulls each in one of the most famous rings in Spain, the Real Maestranza de Caballería de Sevilla, watched by a mixture of tourists and knowledgeable locals. The Corrida (literally "running") is not for the squeamish at the best of times but throwing in some inexperienced toreros doesn't help as they are more vulnerable themselves and, worse, less efficient at killing the bull at the end. The consequence was that death was sometimes slightly more lingering than would have been intended - something that the crowd is not impressed by. Nevertheless there was excitement, especially for the mad Dutch woman behind us who whooped and shrieked all evening.

What does impress the home crowd is a bullfighter who can swish the cape so close to his body that the bull seems to almost pass through him when it charges from close range. The third of the three youngsters, a Mexican named Brandon Campos, wowed the crowd with a series of passes on both sides of his body. He was quite a showman too in his suit of lights and wiggled his body at the bull in a manner that would have provoked most people let alone a huge animal with a number of hooked stakes sticking out of its back. He loved himself and that seems half the battle. If he had been a chocolate drop he'd have eaten himself. The other two would-be matadors just didn't have it.

Brandon moves in for the kill

After a number of delicate swooping manoevures which had the crowd in raptures, it came to the nasty bit. Would he kill the bull clinically or would he turn out to be more like Arsenal (looks great but can't finish for toffee)?  Well, he had the bull virtually hypnotised and was able to kill it stone dead with one thrust of his pointy sword. Cue lots of white handkerchiefs as the crowd petitioned El Presidente to award a prize. El Presidente said yes and our boy was duly presented with both ears of the bull by a gentleman with large feathers protruding from his hat.

A lap of honour followed at the end of which he flung the ears into the crowd. Now, it's one thing catching Rafa Nadal's sweaty shirt at the end of a tennis grand slam win but what do you do with an ear? Probably a wet ear at that. Maybe the kid who was having his photo taken with it got his mum to crisp it in the oven, iron it and have it framed. Who knows?

The Real Maestranza at night, with a lone Torero

The ring is a beautiful setting lit up at night.  There is pageantry, drama, and danger, with bull and human life at stake. At times it's ugly but I imagine if it was sanitised you would lose the beauty too. A bit like most things in life.

Should it be banned? Difficult, but personally I would say no (the views in this blog are not necessarily those of the Executive Editor, Suzanne). I can see why people don't like it and it certainly goes against the British sense of fair play. But it comes from a very different culture which makes it hard for us outsiders to judge (which of course doesn't stop us). It isn't the result that counts (the outcome being highly probable if not quite inevitable) but the way it is done. Someone illustrated the UK-Spain cultural difference recently by writing that if the British had invented bullfighting it would go as follows - a plainly dressed bloke would just shoot the bull between the eyes, Indiana Jones style, in the first minute and be done with it, without the delay caused by all the pointless stuff with the cape. And it would now (rightly) be banned of course.

Sevilla

The AVE train deposited us in Seville, the city of Carmen, Flamenco, Gypsies, Bullfighting and the biggest church in the world according to the Guinness Book of Records which (using a measure of cubic metres rather than floor area) puts the cathedral ahead of St Paul's in London and St Peter's in Rome.

Cathedral and Giralda from our hotel roof terrace

It is Spain as the picture postcards have it: houses with shady tiled patios covered in flowers and plants and huddled together across narrow alleyways.  Moorish, gothic and renaissance architecture compete with each other under clear blue skies to grab the photographer's attention while flamenco dresses, bullfighting memorabilia, cold beer and tapas are on sale everywhere. It is lively, colourful and above all hot.

Inside the Cathedral

...the Gothic choir

We drove here for the day from the Costa del Sol back in 1993 in forty degree heat in a rented red Ford Fiesta with no air-con. Then, here for just a few hours we saw some of the main sites but missed the essence of the place. This time from our centrally located hotel we were able to discover the city at a slower place, see the cathedral, climb the Giralda tower and roam the buildings and gardens of the Alcázar, the palace that was started by the Moors and expanded by the Christian kings in moorish and later gothic styles.

Moorish style inside the Alcazar

These huge monuments and the incredible craftsmanship that went into the detail on them stands testament to the vast wealth of Spain's golden age, which was boosted by the riches of South America that flowed from Columbus's accidental discovery of the new world. Like many of the major explorers of the time, his voyage was financed by the Spanish crown and planned in Seville, from where he set off.  Much of the loot from the Americas was stored here because of the secure position of it's inland port and the relatively easy access to the Atlantic. 

Lord Byron wrote after visiting here that Seville is famous for the quality of its oranges and its women. We know for a fact that the oranges are sweeter and juicier in Valencia, but he could be right about the women.  They certainly must have made an impact on him if he thought the history, architecture and flamenco weren't worth a mention.

Summer in Madrid

We spent a night in Madrid for the first time since 2005, which was before our house was finished. The people seem to speak more slowly now, which is nice.

We stayed in the same hotel as last time as it is near Atocha station and handy for the centre so we could revisit the two famous squares, Plaza Mayor and Puerta del Sol, in the course of a couple of hours wandering on a hot sunny afternoon.

Plaza Mayor

Plaza Mayor is just as grand as always but Puerta del Sol, the epicentre of Spain from which all internal distances are measured, still retains signs of the recent protest camp. It has now shrunk back to a couple of tents which maintain the presence and give out information. A Greek flag hangs in sympathy for the fellow sufferers across the Med but all was peaceful, except that Su was fired at by a protester from his tent with a water pistol. Not a major problem in the blazing heat of summer - we must have interrupted his siesta.

Solidarity with Greece at Puerta del Sol camp

Visiting the capital did make me think from a different perspective about the current economic woes about which many are understandably protesting. Having read two books recently about the poverty, violence and general misery that was Civil War Madrid we found a stark contrast. One of those books, Winter in Madrid paints a picture of those difficult times when 25% of the GDP of an already impoverished and mainly rural economy went up in flames. As the title implies the book is set in the cold of winter with snow everywhere. By contrast here we were in bright sunshine in a sophisticated capital city that stands comparison with any other in Europe including London. The GDP of this now much richer country has hardly fallen at all during the crisis and the price of beer does not suggest a place that is economically on its knees.

I don't wish to belittle the current position at all with all its difficulties and inequities, but what a long way this country has come in the thirty years since Franco, let alone from the Ashes of a Civil War. Perhaps things aren't so bad - it's figuratively speaking as well as literally, Summer in Madrid.

Some Old Paintings

You never know quite what this area will throw up next as we learn more about the history and culture of the region.  At this time of year as the Moors & Christians fiestas begin, the focus is of course mostly on the Christian Reconquest of Spain through the middle ages but people have been living here long before even the Moors arrived.  A few traces remain of the lives of the pre-Roman era people - for example there are some walls of a 2,500 year old village on the top of the Segaria mountain ridge opposite our house - but most has been lost in the mists of time.

We were surprised and pleased to find when reading one of our local guide books that, a mile or so up a track off an inland road that we know, there are some 8,000 year old cave paintings, which were discovered only in 1980.  The pictures at Pla de Petracos, recognised by UNESCO as a world heritage site, are some of the oldest and most important in Spain and give some clues to the lives of these Neolithic (later Stone Age) people for whom fertility and abundance, being the key to survival, were central to their values.  

These farming communities were the first to sow seeds, develop pottery and domesticate animals in this region and the cave paintings high up in the rock wall in sheltered places, rather like modern shrines, mean that this was almost certainly a religious place.  There are eight caves in a row, five of which still show images in red on the walls. The image in the cave shown below is of a bull's head and a woman which together are thought to represent fertility.  The other four images represent humans seemingly praying, arms outstretched, the family, hunting of a deer and the agricultural cycle. We went along to have a look and to marvel at being part of such a long chain of human development. Wonderful.

The paintings are clearly visible from the viewing platform

...but the zoom lens makes them clearer

Moors & Christians

By 711 AD, less than a century after Mohammed founded Islam, the Moors (a mixture of north African Berbers, black Africans and Arabs) had crossed the straits of Gilbraltar and overrun almost all of Spain and Portugal.  Their dominance was such that at its high point around 85% of the population of the Iberian peninsula was muslim, evidence of which can be seen here today in the food, customs and architecture of modern Spain.

The Moorish advance was turned back when they were defeated in 722 at Covadonga, in the north, a battle which opened the path for the Christian reconquest which spread slowly south, until it was finally completed 770 years later.  More than half a millennium into this gradual process, the catalan King Jaume took control of the Kingdom of Valencia in 1279 after the battle of Alcoy when St George allegedly appeared to frighten away the Moors and bring victory to the Christians.  The battle is commemorated by the Moors and Christians fiesta, which takes place in many of our neighbouring towns at various times of the year.  This week has been the turn of Pego, our nearest town. 

A captain on horseback rallies the troops

These lot were at the scarier end...

A lot of preparation goes into the event with the rival groups (filas) of Moors and Christians competing to put on the best display and most of the town comes out to watch.  We went along to watch the entry of the Moors, when eight filas paraded towards a mini-castle erected in the town centre.  Each fila has a captain who leads his team down the street brandishing his cutlass, grinning maniacally and generally looking a bit unhinged.  He (or she) is then followed by some ranks of colleagues in costume, arm in arm, dressed in the sort of frightening manner that you would associate with marauding armies of invaders.  The men mostly smoke cigars too, a detail which may or may not be historically accurate.  Each fila hires a brass band from a local village to accompany them along the road with suitable music.

The girls get in on the act

...and dance too

As the procession wore on we were treated to belly dancers, horses, donkeys, camels and a tractor pulling a cart full of “Moorish” children who threw things to (at?) the crowd.  The gentleman in front of us was hit on the temple by some kind of missile but took it very well.  The Moors marched off to certain defeat for yet another year but seemed to determined to have a very good time in the process.  We take the result for granted of course now, but what if the Moors had never lost control of Spain? On a local level we would eat a lot less ham for sure, and wouldn't the world be a different place if the conquistadors had taken Islam, instead of Christianity, to the Americas?

Red Flags and Floyd

Our love of Spain can be traced back to various influences early in our relationship but probably the most significant was the 1992 food programme, Floyd on Spain, in which the late Keith Floyd, the legendary chef, toured the country, sampling the local food, doing a bit of cooking and of course drinking a vast quantity of the local wine.  We emulated a few of his recipes at the time, some of which have remained in our repertoire ever since and we were inspired to make our first visit to Spain later that year to Barcelona where we ate in the restaurant Los Caracoles (“the snails”) that was featured in his programme. 

Floyd on Spain is repeated regularly on the various specialist TV food channels and we have a recording of the one where he visits the Valencia region, learns how to cook paella and visits a strange village restaurant run by communists.  Nearly twenty years on, and after a little research, we found a restaurant that we thought might be the one and set off inland into the spectacular mountain scenery that we know well through our various trips with the Costa Blanca Mountain Walkers.  An hour or so inland lies the village of Tarbena where, a year after the forced deportation of the Moors that ultimately ruined the economy of this region, the village was repopulated in 1610 with seventeen families from Mallorca.  They brought with them the tradition of making sobresada sausage (still made in Tarbena four hundred years later), beginning the culinary tradition which brought Floyd here.

Sure enough we found the restaurant, Casa Pinet, almost unchanged from 1992.  The woman who prepared fideua (paella made with noodles) with Floyd all those years ago was on hand to show us a photo of him on the wall among pictures of famous left-wingers such as Karl Marx, Che Guevara and Hugo Chavez.  I avoided the temptation to try to explain in Spanish that our flat in London is near where Karl Marx is buried – I tried that speech in the cemetery in Buenos Aires where Eva Peron is buried and while I think I got the Spanish mostly right, Suzanne thought the curator of the cemetery who I was talking to was bored out of his mind.

The people at Casa Pinet are more than ever convinced of their political leanings in the current economic circumstances.  Posters exert you to support political prisoners in Cuba, give to food parcels for Gaza and contribute to the struggle to free Western Sahara.  We had a quick drink and left them to contemplate their sausages, the class struggle and the decline of international capitalism.

The Summit at Last

Every day that we have spent here (and there have been a lot in more than five years), we have had the pleasure of enjoying the view of Serra Segaria, the mountain ridge opposite the house.

Serra Segaria

Without ever getting close to making it to the steep sided summit, we have visited various other parts of the ridge and it has become a popular excursion for many of our visitors.  It has great views both south to Denia and the mountains behind Benidorm and north back to Monte Pego, the rice fields beyond and the coast sweeping round as far as Valencia itself.  It has been home to humans for a long time and on the south side the ruins of a Moorish settlement sits on top of an ancient Iberian village some of whose 2,500 year walls are still clearly visible.

We were introduced to the walking routes around Segaria by our friends David and Carol and have subsequently found a few more by trial and error, where error usually means longer than planned walks and lots of scratches.  Happily, life has now been made easier by the various new marked tracks and signposts provided by through the efforts of a local walking group, the Club Excursionista d'Ondara, to whom we are indebted.  Small yellow and white markers painted on rocks now guide walkers all the way from the car park at around 80m above sea level to the summit itself at 509m and today we made it at last in around ninety minutes before taking a longer, less steep route back to the car.

At the top

From below the rock face seems too vertical to be climbed without ropes but a path winds its way up gradually and you only have to use your hands a little on the more difficult bits.  Having marked miles and miles of trails on difficult terrain, provided a car park, spanking new spotless toilets and a guest house with space for 32 people to stay overnight, the Parc Natural de Segaria has everything.  Well everything except a sign off the main road telling you which alley way you have to drive down to find it.  It is actually harder to find the park in the car than it is to find the summit once you are there, but then this country does not win international awards for road signs.  Fortunately there was a friendly local on hand to guide us.

Looking down on our house from the summit

This being late June, and really too hot for walking, we made an early start and had the mountain largely to ourselves apart from four young local firemen on a training walk (I thought Su was going to feign injury and have to be rescued), a fox and the usual collection of birds, butterflies and lizards.  Segaria is only an eighth the height of Mount Cameroon but being able to sit by the pool and contemplate the summit having now finally been up there is extremely rewarding.  I'm almost tempted to open a beer...