Tag Archives: beer
Another boring day in paradise
Awesome grilled red snapper sandwich at Kiki’s Sandbar. The view isn’t too shabby either.
Après-snorkel
A late lunch at Burdine’s after “parking” the boat at the “curb.”
Our familiar
After 75 days of packing up and moving on to unfamiliar territory, familiar feels good! Don’t get me wrong: We have loved exploring new places, and that is why we weren’t at all prepared for how good it would feel to come back to something we know.
Over two months ago we began this journey in Madrid, a city I expected we’d find too large and uninteresting. Compared to most of the cities we have stayed in, there really aren’t that many sights to see here in the capital. I thought we’d spend the first week in Madrid recuperating from jet lag and adjusting to the language difference. And after driving 4200 miles through the rest of Spain, we’d spend the last week in Madrid winding down and preparing for our flight home.
Madrid may be the largest city in Spain, but the distinct personalities of its neighborhoods, or barrios, give it such character. It is the kind of city you want to wander in. Within minutes you can stroll from the historic barrios of Palacio and Sol to the art museum promenade of Retiro, the international bohemia of Las Letras, the tapas bars of La Latina, or the chic boutiques of Chueca and Malasaña.
After ditching our luggage in the same apartment we stayed in in September—quickest check-in yet, all our host had to do was hand over the keys!—we turned in our third and final rental car and wandered back “home.” We delighted in seeing places we knew and knowing where we wanted to go. We stopped at an outdoor café on the Gran Vía (it’s still warm enough to have tables out in November!), ordered a couple of beers without having to worry if we got all the verb tenses right, munched on our daily dose of olives, and sat and watched the world go by. No car, no map, no worries. It’s good to be back!
Mercado de los Tres Culturos
el Casco Viejo (Old City) in Cáceres
We’re winding down—only four days to go on this Grand Tour of Spain—and it’s getting harder to get excited about venturing out. While I love my Roman ruins, Moorish fortresses, and medieval walled cities, how many can you continue to experience with enthusiasm after three months? We had exhausted Mérida’s offerings the day before and didn’t like the thought of staying in the apartment all day, so we went ahead with my plan to visit the ancient city of Cáceres.
These walled cities, perched high on a hill overlooking what was once their domain, are always exciting on the approach. As the car enters the Casco Viejo (Old City), the roads become increasingly steeper and narrower, the massive stone buildings grow a bit closer together, and the parking spaces are fewer and farther between. There have been many old city streets that we have declared too narrow to be navigable only to see someone’s car parked outside their home farther up the hill. How do they get them up there? Nerves of steel.
jabalí (wild boar) on toast with melted local cheese
We tried driving to the top—car in first gear, mirrors tucked in tightly, breath sucked in, and ears tuned for that dreaded scrape of metal on stone that miraculously never comes. There comes a point where we wonder if we could actually wedge the car into a space so snugly that we wouldn’t be able to get out. That’s when we lose our nerve and look for a road—any road—heading back down the hill.
Safely at the bottom, we found a parking garage in the more modern and open part of the city and set off on foot to climb the hill. We arrived out of breath in the heart of the Old City and made our way toward the Plaza Mayor. As we walked, booths popped up here and there on either side of the narrow alleyways. By the time we reached the plaza, we were in the middle of a full-blown souk, or zoco as they call them in Spain—a Middle-Eastern market. Vendors, dressed in historic garb, were selling all manner of artisanal crafts. Unbeknownst to us, this was the first day of the Mercado de los Tres Culturos, the Market of the Three Cultures—Muslim, Jewish, and Christian. Spain is very proud of their four centuries of prosperity under Muslim rule when all three cultures coexisted peacefully, and well they should be. We could use a little more of that in today’s world.
grilled meat vendor
wood carver using a manual lathe
We had so much fun shopping: saffron and smoked paprika, olive oil soaps, meats and cheeses—all handmade in Extremadura. The food booths were extraordinary—whole roasting pigs and paella pans full of rice and vegetables, local wines and even craft beer. What an absolutely lovely day we had—the kind that makes you glad you ventured out!
Daily dose of olives
Love these things!
Olive country
olive country in Andalucía
We love olives! Drove through the heart of olive country on our way from Granada to our new home (for the next five days, anyway) in Córdoba. Stopped in two quaint little villages: Baeza and Úbeda. I don’t think they see many English-speaking tourists here! It’s pretty remote – not on the usual path from Granada to Córdoba.
interesting olives!
Look at the olives we were served as our free snack with our beverage order. I’ve never seen an olive so oblong before. Even the pits are long. The meat was very dense, and they were a little less brined than most. Different, but yummy!
Wandering in Valencia
Mercado Central from the outside
Valencia, the third largest city in Spain after Madrid and Barcelona, does not have many sights per se, which makes it a great city to wander in. No agenda, just mosey down any street that strikes you as interesting. And when you feel you are hopelessly lost, pull out Google Maps. Here’s a bit of what we discovered.
Mercado Central on the inside
evidence of the Moorish influence on architecture
typical Spanish street life
our favorite hangout – real craft brews, very rare in Spain
beautiful palm-lined streets
the glass-domed ceiling in the post office
Plaza de Toros
Where paella was born
paella valenciana for two
Had to have a true paella valenciana as Valencia is where paella was born. This is rice country. The Albufera estuary, just west of Valencia, is full of rice paddies. Most people associate paella with shellfish, but the true Valenciana paella includes chicken, rabbit, and snails. Okay, we had to forego the snails (thank goodness!) because Marcus is allergic, but other than that, this was the real thing.
Most restaurants in Valencia serve paella. There are some restaurants dedicated to it, called arrocerías (arróz is rice). I had never had “the real thing” and we were at a craft brewery, but it was on the menu and the timing was right. It was fantastic! Cooked perfectly from scratch after we ordered. It took about 45 minutes, but that gave us some time to enjoy a few genuine IPAs. Perfect meal in Valencia!
the Costa Brava
the Costa Brava
We are on the Mediterranean coast now, and each section of it has its own name. The northernmost Spanish coast, between the French border and Barcelona, is called the Costa Brava (Strong or Wild Coast). Just the name draws me. We thought we’d check it out.
Cadaqués, home of Salvador Dalí
Our first stop was Cadaqués, home of Salvador Dalí. We stopped at a little place called the Bar Marítim, which was listed in Fodors, and checked out the menu placed out front for passersby to review. Looked good, so we selected a table right on the beach. We ordered beverages and asked for the tapas menu. No menu; chips or olives. He must have misunderstood me; we saw the menu. Marcus went inside, retrieved one, and brought it back. We made our final selections, waved the server down, and ordered. No, only chips and olives. ¿Por qué? Because the kitchen is closed. ¿Por qué? Because the kitchen is closed. He walked away. At lunchtime? On a Tuesday? We finished our drinks and decided to head inland from the beach to find an open kitchen.
olive groves
olives turning from green to black
We found a cute little place with tables in a cover courtyard called Don Quijote. What’s not to like? At least the owner has a love of literature. We were the only people in the place. It was a bit early by Spanish standards, 12:30. The Spanish lunch “hour” is from 1:30-4:00. [They used to call it siesta, but I was corrected when I called it that. I think Spaniards are trying to up their image and not appear too sedentary or noncompetitive.] We had a delicious lunch of fried eggs, French fries, and pork filet (me) and chorizo (Marcus). Some of the most flavorful food we’ve had in Spain! [They always warn us when food is picante, or spicy, and it always so mild we can barely taste the spice.]
The owner of the restaurant was sitting at a table reading his newspaper. After we finished, Marcus went up to him and thanked him for the great meal and service. He leaped up from his table, shook Marcus’s hand, slapped him on the back, thanked him, turned to me, thanked me, shook my hand. OMG! I think we made his day!
Cap de Creus
We drove on to the northeastern-most point of Spain, Cap de Creus, only a few kilometers from the French border. If I had known how gorgeous this place is, we would have spent the whole day here hiking! (Okay, maybe not. Our feet were killing us from the four straight days of personal-best walks in Spain: 18,000+ steps.) So many amazing trails with so many gorgeous views!
