The Rock

Recognize the profile of the Rock just behind the wind turbines? The mountains behind it are in Morocco.

Recognize the profile of the Rock just behind the wind turbines? The mountains behind it are in Morocco.

I missed Gibraltar. We originally planned to make it a day trip from Casares, but the weather eliminated a couple of travel days and we were having such a great time exploring the pueblos blancos (white villages) in the mountains that we elected not to drive down to the coast. But I was still hopeful that we could get at least close enough for photos on our way to our next destination, Jeréz. Not so.

We were anxious to get down the mountain from Finca Mosca before the forecasted thunderstorms hit the area. As we drove along the coast, we reached a point where we had to make the decision: Gibraltar to the south or Jeréz to the northwest? The clouds grew increasingly dense and dark as they roiled in from the Atlantic. We have some pretty intense storms in Florida, but nothing like the one brewing to our south. They say this type of weather comes into the Mediterranean from the Canary Islands off the northwest coast of Africa. I can believe it. This is the type of wild weather I’d expect from the open Atlantic. We chose to bypass Gibraltar. I know it was the right decision. The rain hit Jeréz about the time we arrived, and hovered over the city the entire week we were there.

So I didn’t get to touch the Rock, and I didn’t even get to see it up close. This is difficult for someone who loves geographical extremes and historical oddities. The Rock of Gibraltar, that crazy profile we know from the Prudential Insurance Company logo, is one of the mythical Pillars of Hercules. The other is Monte Hacho in Ceuta, across the Strait of Gibraltar in northern Africa. (Ceuta is actually a territory of Spain.) The “pillars” are only nine miles apart but stand on two different continents. Together they form the gateway from the Atlantic Ocean into the Mediterranean Sea, or, from the perspective of ancient Mediterranean civilizations, they define the end of the earth as they knew it.

Gibraltar is only 2.6 square miles in area, but due to its unique location it is prized politically. Whoever owns Gibraltar controls the passage of shipping traffic through the portal. It is a major vantage point, strategically and financially. It’s been conquered by many countries over the centuries; it’s been a British territory since 1713. Some say Britain’s possession of Gibraltar kept Spain from joining the Axis forces at the beginning of World War II. Having just emerged from a devastating civil war, Spain was not about to antagonize the British and jeopardize shipments of much need supplies through the strait.

The Spanish want Gibraltar back, badly. And why not? If they acquire Gibraltar, they’ll have both pillars – a matched set. But we know the desire to reclaim it is more than esthetic. And Britain is somewhat attached to her rock. As recently as 2002, the British residents of Gibraltar voted to reject Spanish sovereignty.

So sorry to miss this intriguing corner of the world, but so fortunate we had these views from the hilltop of Casares. It wasn’t the same as being there, but even from a distance I could sense the power of this majestic rock.

Casares

Casares, a pueblo blanco in Andalucía

Casares, a pueblo blanco in Andalucía

The cottage we’re renting this week is outside the town of Casares, a beautiful pueblo blanco (white town) in the Sierra Bermeja mountains. The magic of these villages is their sudden appearance on the hillside in front of you as you drive ‘round a bend on a mountainside road. Looming before you is a brilliant-white cluster of buildings literally hanging off the dusky green hills. They are so characteristic of sunny Andalucía, and they take my breath away every time one appears before us.

love these winding passages in the town

love these winding passages in the town

There is a prevalent theory that the pueblos blancos inspired Pablo Picasso cubism style. He was born and raised in Andalucía amongst these little villages stacked up like so many sugar cubes on the hillside, so it just might be true.

climbing up to the Moorish castle ruins

climbing up to the Moorish castle ruins

We had lunch in a little bar on the main square of Casares, then climbed the hill for the views. We are in love with this little town!

mosaic in the town center

mosaic in the town center

Castillo de Santa Bárbara

the beach in Alicante

the beach in Alicante

We drove into Alicante to see what was going on in town. We’re staying about ten minutes north in a sleepy village full of condos and hotels. Not much action going on there at this time of year – not even an open restaurant that we could find.

el castillo

el castillo above; Esplanada de España below

It was a warm Sunday; lots of people at the beach. We stopped and had a refreshment on the Esplanada de España, then headed over to the castle of Santa Barbara on the hill overlooking Alicante. So glad they have an elevator to the top because the weather was not conducive to climbing the hill.

archer1Castillo de Santa Bárbara is one of the largest medieval fortresses still in existence in Europe. Its foundation is Moorish, like most fortelezas in southern Spain; construction began shortly after the Moors came across from North Africa at Gibraltar in 711. Great views from the top!archer2

 

 

 

 

flag at fort

view of the rock that's in the backyard of our condo

our rock: our condo is wedged between it and the sea

the Costa Brava

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

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

olive groves

olives turning from green to black

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

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!

us

Quintessential life in Spain

El Vaso de Oro (Cup of Gold)

Cervecería El Vaso de Oro (Cup of Gold)

Tapas and drinks are the typical stuff of daily life in Spain, and we’ve not come across a better example of Spaniards enjoying their two favorite pastimes than El Vaso de Oro (Cup of Gold) cervecería (beer establishment, not that they don’t serve every imaginable type of refreshment as well).

We had spent the day hiking up Montjüic, bypassing the funicular to hike back down, and walking across the waterfront to the other side of the harbor to find this place. All I wanted was a place to sit and rest my tootsies and a cup of something gold and cold. There wasn’t a seat to be found in the place, which was predominantly a long, narrow bar with stools, but everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves so much we couldn’t leave. We ordered beers and tapas and hunched against a shelf hanging on the wall. Ten minutes later two people left, and we grabbed their stools.

and this is a Monday afternoon!

…and this is a Monday afternoon!

The food was delicious; we had these little pork filets on toast drenched in olive oil and some chorizitos (little chorizo sausages) with a basket of bread to soak up the drippings. The beer really quenched. We also enjoyed watching the crew behind the counter interact. There is so little room to navigate back there that they each had their stations, calling out orders to each other and passing food and drinks back and forth – always with a sarcastic comment or shout. Fun!

Park Güell

the terrace overlooking Barcelona

the terrace overlooking Barcelona

Of all the things on my list to see in Barcelona, Park Güell was the most anticipated – even more so than La Sagrada Familia. And it was also the most disappointing.

Marcus and I were taking a day off on a Sunday. After hanging out at the apartment paying bills, writing blogs, and being generally lazy, we needed some activity. Let’s go for a walk in the park!

wild parrots build nests in the palm trees

wild parrots build nests in the palm trees

Park Güell was originally a business venture commissioned of Gaudí by his patron, Count Eusebi Güell. It was designed as a commercial center in the suburbs of Barcelona where the well-to-do could live, socialize, and shop. Unfortunately the enterprise failed, but Gaudí so loved the area he designed that he spent the last twenty years of his life living there. I had seen photos of the serpentine mosaic benches on the terrace overlooking Barcelona, and I couldn’t wait to sit there and take in the view.

We approached the park from a side entrance, so we didn’t see the busloads of tourist entering at the main entrance. As we approached the terrace, we saw a long Disney-esque line snaking back from a ticket booth. Ticket booth? What is there to buy in a public park? Well, it turns out that they control the number of people who are on the terrace at any given time by selling tickets ($9 per person) for appointed time slots. So you stand in line to buy your tickets, and then you stand in line to wait for your time slot. I was incensed and refused to buy a ticket on principle.

Gaudí designed the columns that support the terraces to look like tree roots

Gaudí designed the columns that support the terraces to look like tree roots

There were plenty of other terraces to enjoy on our own time and at no expense. The park had many levels as it wound its way uphill, and we started to hike in search of views of Barcelona. As we achieved each level and admired the view, there was always a higher level with a better view. So up we’d go again. I hadn’t dressed appropriately for the 85° weather. Wunderground told me it was only going to be in the low 70s. The entrance to our apartment building is in an urban canyon that sees no daylight, so it was quite cool when we left the apartment. I wore jeans, a sweatshirt, and boots. Everyone else was in capris or shorts and sandals. How is it that everyone always seems more in tune with the weather than I am? I don’t think I got the weather right a single day in Barcelona. Isn’t this October? Isn’t it supposed to be fall now?

the entrance to Park Güell

the entrance to Park Güell

Long story short, I couldn’t get the Disney effect out of my head. By the time we walked down to the main entrance to the park, I didn’t have the patience to fight my way through the mob to look at Gaudí’s mosaic creatures and ceramic buildings. The photo-snapping swarm and the heat had done their worst, and I couldn’t wait to go. We walked home on souvenir-lined streets that seemed to go on for miles. I mean, really, how many mosaic lizards and frogs can tourists consume? It wasn’t until we reached the square near our apartment that I could finally breathe freely – and put that sweatshirt back on.

Laundry woes

clothes horse in Bilbão

clothes horse in Bilbão

The next time you toss a load of laundry in your clothes dryer, consider this: While all of the apartments we’ve rented in Spain have had washing machines, none has had a dryer. Some have had a clothes horse, as the British call them – those marvelous drying racks that hold a boatload of laundry.

Our most recent apartment in Zaragoza had a little drying rack outside the kitchen window that hung out over what I can only call a clothes drying shaft. If you stick your head out the window and look up and down the shaft, you will see all the clothes drying racks of the apartments above and below you. And if you peer all the way down into the bottom of the murky shaft, you will see a cemetery of lost clothes and clothespins. (I wonder who is responsible for cleaning out the bottom of the drying shaft.)

We scoffed at the outdoor drying rack in Zaragoza and bypassed washing clothes until we got to Barcelona where the hosts of our current apartment would surely have a sophisticated indoor clothes horse.

Never scoff; you’re only asking for something worse. I once scoffed at a sink in England with the hot and cold taps so far apart it was impossible to get warm water. Our next apartment had the same situation with the additional challenge of a basin so small you couldn’t wash your hands without getting the entire bathroom wet. (The bathroom was the size of a broom closet.)

outdoor laundry area in Barcelona

outdoor laundry area in Barcelona – laundry hanging four floors above ground

My payment for scoffing at the outdoors drying rack in Zaragoza is a full outdoor laundry area in Barcelona. The washer and clothesline are out on the balcony. Note the shower curtain draped over it all to keep the rain and bird droppings off!

We used it (we were desperate for clean clothes by this time), and it worked even though it’s rained almost every day we’ve been here. I can tell you that we hung on tightly to every article of clothing until the clothespin was secure. And we brought everything in for a final air-dry in the apartment. (A pair of jeans is going on three days of dampness.)

typical Spanish clothes dryer

typical Spanish clothes dryer

As with the Brits and their two-tap sinks, I have to wonder why the Spanish don’t spoil themselves a bit and buy a dryer. Is it the cost of the appliance, or the cost of electricity? Or just a cultural thing? I’m hoping that in their own apartments they’ve splurged on themselves and bought a dryer. But something tells me, from all the laundry we’ve seen hanging outside windows, that that’s not the case. How is it that their knit tops don’t look as if they’ve been slept in like mine do? I took a closer look when we were people watching at a café: They do!

So next time you pull those fluffy, warm clothes out of the dryer, think of my T-shirts whose necklines will probably never go back to their original shapes – and enjoy something we often take for granted!

Running man

running manWe get a kick out of these walk lights we’ve seen at some of the crosswalks in some of the bigger cities in Spain. Not only is the walker wearing a hat (a very sensible thing to do in sunny Spain), but he’s animated. And he runs faster as the time left for crossing the street diminishes! ¡Andale, andale!

Café radar

café on Illa de Arousa

café on Illa de Arousa

I have pretty good restaurant radar – I can sense from the atmosphere of a place and the menu if it is going to be good, and it’s usually accurate. Marcus has been perfecting his café radar. (We all have to start somewhere!)

cafe2After our fantastic lunch in Cambados, we drove over the causeway to the island of Arousa (in the Ría Arousa). We stopped at a beautiful little beach, and Marcus spotted this café run by a young family. It was the perfect pick-me-up before we headed back to Santiago. The sun felt so good!

Wonderful day in Cambados

Cambados, España

Cambados, España

After two straight days of pouring rain and gusting winds, we couldn’t stand being indoors one more day. Thursday promised to be partially sunny, at least on the coast, so we blew our popsicle stand in Santiago and headed toward the sunshine.

I had chosen the little town of Cambados for our escapade and ran it by our host. Yes, we couldn’t do better for a scenic village on one of the Rías Baixas, the estuaries that interlace the fingers of land reaching into the Atlantic Ocean on the western coast of Galicia, the little part of Spain that juts out over Portugal. We practically ran to the car.

I just have to interject here, for the practical traveler, that there are no public restrooms in Spain. If you feel the urge, you need to go into a cafe, bar, or restaurante. And, according to the guide books, you are obligated either to buy something when you use their facilities or leave a tip on the plate at the bar. Never having seen a tip plate on the bar, we always feel compelled to buy something – and it’s usually liquid, which kind of defeats the original purpose of visiting the establishment.

chocolate con churros (with someone's beer and jamón in the photo)

chocolate con churros (with someone’s beer and jamón in the photo)

Regardless, we had had an hour’s drive to Cambados, post-morning coffee, so we ducked into a little chocolatería/churrería near where we parked. This was my chance to taste (hot) chocolate with churros. Chocolate competes with a good Rioja wine or perhaps a Basque cider for the national drink. It’s so thick, you have to have it with churros (if you haven’t had them in the U.S., think fried dough put through a Play-doh extruder) to wipe out your cup. Delicious!

El Rincón de Tío Paco

El Rincón de Tío Paco

Although the weather had improved as we headed west, there was still a threat of rain out over the ocean. We walked along the Paseo Marítimo (path along the water) when we arrived and were disappointed not to see women digging for clams, despite the low tide. (Gwyneth Paltrow’s favorite experience on her gastronomic road trip through Spain with Mario Batali.) We felt sprinkles and looked for a place to duck into for lunch. Nada. But my restaurant radar was on, and I sensed better opportunities ahead – a red awning. El Rincón de Tío Paco (Uncle Paco’s Hideout). They had a cart out front with the catch of the day, and I was in the mood for mussels and a good albariño, the best white wine in Spain. Coincidentally (or not), Cambados is the heart of albariño country.

mejillones

mejillones

We spoke to José. Yes, they have mejillones (mussels), but he recommended the zambariñas (bay scallops). Great! We’ll have both with a salad and a couple of glasses of albariño.

 

 

 

 

 

zambariñas

zambariñas

 

We sat outside on the terrazza, the sun came out, and we had a view of palm trees with the ocean beyond and the most amazing meal so far in Spain. The mussels were good (the largest I’ve ever eaten and bright orange!), but the scallops were absolutely amazing. And the wine…. Well, let’s just chalk this one up as a good day.