Along the road to Cadiz — two interesting sights.   The first being huge, untidy piles of twigs on the roof the of an

abandoned building.  These of course were stork nests.  There were several of them standing or sitting on them … peering down at us.  Some parts of the world consider it lucky to have a stork nest on the roof, and will install an old wagon wheel or other structure to encourage them to build.

The other, were the salt flats at Salinas de Chiclana … shallow flat ‘pans’ where seawater is let in and evaporated in the sun.  When the crystals form a crust on the surface they’re raked into great white mounds, cleaned and sold.  There were flocks of flamingos striding happily through the saline water when we drove by.

Cadiz has become a GINORMOUS seaport.  Huge cranes towering over the loading terminals, and quite the biggest, highest suspension bridge we’ve ever seen, spanning the bay into the old city. An underground parking lot near the cruise ship terminal had spots available and was fairly central to much of the old town. . . . but boy, were the parking slots tight.  I hopped out, and Glen backed in … it’s like sardines in a tin.  The iconic buildings along the waterfront look the same — pastel shades of pink and faded blue in amongst the sandstone … the domes of the cathedral … a wide boulevard lined with palm trees  … marble steps down to the

sandy beach.  The atmosphere felt quite different from other places we’ve visited … more exotic, somehow.

Lunch in a tree-filled plaza.  Time to try a paella, perhaps? I know it’s not Valencia (original home of the dish) but surely other places do a good job.  The seafood was fresh, but there was a decided lack of it …. I wouldn’t call two large prawns, a couple of rings of octopus and a scattering of unidentified bits in an almost soupy tomato rice base, a seafood paella.  Oh well … visitor beware!  We’ll find a good one yet.

The Royal Andalucian Equestrian School of Art is based here in Jerez.  It not only preserves the ancient line of Andalucian horses but is a world class riding school with performances at dressage competitions … and of course there are the ‘Dancing Horses’.  These are not the Lipizzaner horses (although

Lipizzaners were originally bred from Andalucian mares sent to Austria) — they range in colour from light grey or white to chestnut.  Many of the moves and choreography in the show are derived from their original use of rounding up cattle — cowboys needed one hand free for the long poles used in moving the animals.  These were the original cowboys – the ones in America and on the South American Pampas merely adopted the techniques because they worked so well.

The behind-the-scenes tour was really informative, but this is a working stable and visiting tours have to step out of the way pretty sharply if the horses are being moved in and out.  The show itself was a delight  –

intelligent, graceful horses  … the muffled thud of hooves on raked sand … the rapport between rider and horse … absolute precision and coordination.   The years and years of training shines through.  It’s too bad that the couple next to us  couldn’t appreciate all that.  They spent the entire show using cell phones … videotaping and endless photos which they uploaded in real time to goodness knows who. Neither actually ‘watched’ the performance.  Sad. They could have saved themselves the cost of admission, and just downloaded from the internet! This is a nicely done 6 minute video:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6bLY32mi018  

We’d heard that Spain was just beginning to celebrate Halloween, but hadn’t thought too much about it.  After dinner on the 31st Glen said “you know … there seems to be some activity over towards the square” … so we went to find out.  The whole main street and plaza were filled with people … tiny tots  … teenagers … Mums and Dads … all in costume and face paint.  Old folks on benches or chairs pilfered from sidewalk cafes, watching the crowds of families parade up and down the street.  We asked a couple if we could take their photo . . . as you can see we were immediately embraced into the picture!  This celebration was not going to end anytime soon!  Thinking we could slip down a side street back to the apartment — suddenly motorcycle cops appeared with blue lights flashing …  people started lining the streets … little kids sat cross-legged on the ground in anticipation … there’s going to be a parade! We stepped up into a convenient doorway – a good vantage point, and out of the way.

You could hear and feel the music long before  anything appeared … it pounded up through the soles right into your chest.  Then 15- foot lit skeletons wandered by … flashing heads … hands reaching for squealing kids.  There were people riding dragons  . . .  a truly massive ogre-type monster hauling a cage on wheels . . . dancing kids performing intricate routines they’d obviously been practicing for weeks.  So … do they celebrate Halloween here?  Oh Yes!  They’ve embraced and run with it.  Any time there’s something to celebrate … Spaniards will turn it into a 3-day  Fiesta … and this one was not about candy or sweets, it was a family affair.  We loved it … even if we lost a few hearing cells!  Three days, you ask? … Oct. 31st – El Dia de las Brujas (day of the witches) … Nov. 1 – All Saints Day (National holiday) … and Nov. 2 – El Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead).

Before we knew it, our time in Jerez  had melted away.  With both a Sunday AND a National holiday, we didn’t manage a visit to one of the Bodegas … but you could certainly smell the sherry as you walked past the substantial properties … drifting over the walls of the likes of Harveys, Sandemans, Gonzalez-Byass (Tio Pepe) and Fundador   https://everydayfoodblog.com/spain/sherry-bodegas-jerez/

Just outside Seville are the Roman ruins of Italica.  Worth a visit, we thought.   Signage  was pitifully lacking and when eventually located, everything was behind barricades … seemingly stopped mid restoration.  With a bit of careful aiming between the chain link fence, we managed a few photos.

There was plenty of time before our check-in at Jerez, so with Cadiz  quite close, we took a run down to the coast.  The white, sandy beaches, pale blue ocean and palm trees looked very tropical … there were a few people swimming, but a toe dip determined it to be far too chilly to be enjoyable. For us anyway.

A late lunch overlooking the ocean seemed like a good idea … tall glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice and a flame-charred pizza straight from the oven, covered with peppers, black olives and an exceptionally good salami.

Parking is possibly going to be an issue in Jerez.  Maria met us as we drove up the insanely narrow lane outside the apartment.  There was no stopping of any kind here, but by scrunching the car hard against the opposite wall, we could quickly unload our bags and stuff, and with Maria’s and her friend’s help, lug them up three flights of stairs (there was no elevator) before Glen had to move the car.  He was able to find parking a ten minute walk away, beside the Harvey’s Bristol Cream bodega.  Lovely apartment with views of the town from the balcony … a picturesque church next door … and a pastry shop –Pastelaria Jesus – right downstairs!  Hopefully the church’s blessing removes some of the calories.

The next morning was wash day … we were running out of clothes!  There were washing lines inside the patio, and things soon dried in the sun and breeze.

That evening we booked a flamenco show at Tablao Puro Arte, purported to be the best in Jerez — the place where flamenco is said to have originated (although hotly disputed by Seville and Granada). The show was to begin at ten pm — we could have gone for the ‘tapas and wine’ deal beforehand, but as we had already eaten ours was a ‘drinks only’ ticket.  People were just finishing up their food when we arrived but we were shown in,  and wine was poured.  Our table had a clear view of the stage . .  . and there was an open space directly in front, with four chairs placed in a square, facing each other.

Lit candles for each table … the lights were dimmed … four darkened figures filed in, and sat in the chairs — two of them just inches from our table.  A spotlight on the Cantao (singer) Luis Varga El Mono who threw out a raspy impassioned  invitation with his voice … one of the dancers stood up with a toss of her head and responded with a stamp and rapid staccato of heels .. turning suddenly and staring disdainfully — apparently right through us! The other two dancers (male and female) responded in kind … each performance more emotional and intricate than the last.  All this just feet from us – so close you could feel every stomp and breath.  Incredible!  Here’s a short video with some of the people we saw:  https://hi-in.facebook.com/puroarteflamencojerez/videos/tablao-flamenco-puro-arte-seguimos-disfrutando-de-visitas-muy-ilustres-y-el-fin-/1743403579254969/

Action now moved to the stage.  This time with a remarkable guitarist … the singer … and two dancers, who did the hand clapping and Oles of encouragement.  The side curtains opened, and a Flamenca paused in the spotlight, then slowly and deliberately dragged her chair behind her across to the other side of the stage … staring at the audience all the while.  A dramatic entry indeed!  Her dance had a raw, gypsy edge to it … wild and abandoned one moment … controlled and precise the next.

The next dancer’s face and movements were so expressive you could read them like a book … lithe, flamboyant, cheeky.  An amazing range.  She had complete control of the long ruffled train on her dress.

The male dancer, though, was the true essence of Flamenco.  His outfit made quite the statement … black pants, white jacket, long red scarf and white shoes with red toes and heels … but it was his performance which moved him to the next level.  Every head movement, twist of the hand, click of the heel was a joy to watch.  His feet a blur as he drifted across the stage, the beats ever changing . A true master.  (He’s the younger man on the far left, with Luis Varga beside him)

Some of the nearby pueblos blancos  are recommended as ‘must see’ … however pretty much ALL towns here are white, however some have obtained a reputation for being slightly more attractive.  Of course this means busier with tourists too!  We selected three which could be visited in a sort of loop.  Arcos was first … spread along a high cliff, similar to Ronda, with quite a spectacular church and fortress on the hilltop. As expected it was busy, and the only parking was at the bottom of town — still we’re used to hills by now.  Met two nuns on their way down from the convent — one with a guitar case like a backpack.  The fortress was closed, but there was a good view over the fields and valley.  One enterprising gentleman had a row of owls and raptors on a perch inside a kiosk-like tent.  You could have your photograph taken with the bird of your choice sitting on your hand . . . only 10 euros.  Poor birds looked fed up, and the Peregrine Falcon kept looking up longingly at the free birds wheeling overhead.

Ubrique had long been on my list, and it was not a disappointment.  A high winding mountain  road to get there — then around one corner — the whole town clustered brilliant white way down at the foot of the mountains.  Here in Andalucia, Sundays are for the family … multi-generations gather for late lunch, taking up several tables.

Grandmothers with wheelies had pride of place … dogs lurked expectantly under tables .. kids played ball in the plaza … and everyone talked at once.  Ubrique was no different.  The whole centre street had become a pedestrian plaza with families and friends sitting at tables or on high stools around tall upright barrels used as tables.  We nabbed a couple of chairs at a small Peruvian family restaurant down one side street, the owner rustled up a table.  While we waited for our order (the poor kitchen staff were rushed off their feet) we sipped fresh, ice cold limeade, and people watched.  The Peruvian stirfry was delicious, by the way.  Ubrique is renowned for its leatherwork — apparently places like Gucci  and Luis Vuitton source their leather from there … but being Sunday, the shops we saw were all closed.

It was gone four when we left and drove towards Grazalema on its mountain-face overlooking a deep wide valley . . . the ribbon of road looking tiny from up there.  Not as crowded this late in the day.  This is a big cheese making region – sheep and goat’s milk … so yes . . . . there was a Cheese Shop … or rather a queso tienda!  Customers lined up three deep at the counter and out into the street.

We sat admiring the view and munching some crema-filled donuts (a kind of pattisserie cream) which turned out to be very tasty.

The sun was getting lower as we looped down hairpin bend after hairpin bend, and then up and over the next mountain ridge … in the distance you could see yet more mountain ranges disappearing into the darkening haze.

We’ve got our tickets for the show.

How The Andalusian Horses Dance