• Cordoba

    Cordoba

    September 26, 2022 / 1 Comment

    We needed to vacate the apartment by ten . . . and we did.  Somewhere yesterday I had misplaced my hat – either on the seat outside the Cathedral (so probably long gone) or in a shop we had visited.  This was on the way to the train station so we took the bus and stopped by . . . sadly no hat.  Glen had a spare which by turning up the brim at the back, fitted well.

    It was a simple connection to the new train station, and with the help of three delightful Senoras who were getting off at the same stop, we found the station without difficulty.  Plenty of time for a bowl of piquante white bean and chorizo soup plus crusty roll as we waited.

    The high speed Renfe train rocketed along – averaging about 270km/hr.  Firstly through bright green pine forests and then what appeared to be farms and uninhabited scrubland . . .  the closely-cropped fields of hay gleaming gold in the sunshine. 

     Nearer Valencia  they were small and neat in closely ordered rows, but bigger, more widely spaced and less pruned the further we traveled.  Once again the train left exactly on time and had comfortable seats with loads of leg room AND foot rests.  Unfortunately,  there were two couples in the seats in front –  tourists traveling with young children.  One small girl had a meltdown tantrum – flinging herself about, wailing loudly with a mouth full of food and thoughtfully coughing bits of it in every direction.  Meanwhile, her baby brother would let out periodic ear-piercing screams at intervals throughout the journey whenever he wanted attention, all while the mother focused on her cellphone and the father sat idly by.  Argh!

    We’d been forewarned about changing trains in Madrid, and despite researching ahead of time, the lack of actual, helpful directions rather than mass advertising splashed everywhere, made it perhaps a little more stressful than it needed to be.  But, we made it . . .  and it was a much quieter and more enjoyable trip.

    Another high-speed train . . .  this one even faster, with an average of 300+ km/hr.  The scenery was much more interesting than before . . .  white-washed villages . . . rolling hills . . . rivers . . .  orange groves . . .  and olive trees as far as the eye could see. 

    Finding the airbnb looked a fair bit more complicated in Cordoba, so we flagged down a taxi which had just deposited its fare (Cordoba sensibly has both train and bus stations in the same place).  Off we zoomed . . . weaving in and out of traffic . . .  narrowly avoiding scooters, buses and pedestrians, but more impressively squeezing down impossibly narrow, cobbled streets with barely an inch to spare on the corners.  He earned his tip . . . I reckon he saved us more by taking the short cut.

    David was waiting for us . . . and what a gracious host.  His English was decidedly mucho mejor than our Spanish.  Gorgeous place . . .  I fell in love with the large, variegated terra-cotta-coloured floor tiles.  He and his partner had decorated the place to perfection – tastefully understated – with everything one could possibly need.  He sent maps to our phone of grocery stores, restaurants (tomorrow being Sunday pretty much all stores would be closed).  The local supermercado – Deza – was a short stroll away . . . along our cobbled lane, past a small section of the ancient city wall . . . through the archway and across the road.  EVERYONE was stocking up before the store closed at ten.  But this is a great grocery store. Not huge, but well stocked and everything fresh.  It was no trouble to stand waiting for the next cashier while people watching.  We settled on skewers of garlic-smothered prawns and another with combination cod and lagostinas covered in herbs . . . fresh tomatoes and wonderfully crusty bread to mop up the juices.  I spied pairs of small glass pots of yoghurt (made by Nestle) but with a layer of luscious-looking fruit at the bottom  – mango in one lot … strawberry the other.  They more than met expectations.

    Next day – a bus to the Alcazar.  It was Sunday and all the church bells were calling people to church.

    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alc%C3%A1zar_de_los_Reyes_Cristianos  

    It was HOT HOT HOT and people were utilizing every patch of shade – moving from one tree to the next while waiting to get inside.  There was a line of horse-drawn coaches (Gharries) patiently waiting for customers but not doing much business – 45 euros for an hour seemed a bit steep.  The gardens were the star of the show though . . .  all different . . . some shaded with fountains and geometric beds of agapanthus plus an unusual magenta flower . . .  others were open and formal.   Long water gardens with arcing spouts of water and edged with flowers led to the garden of kings with topiary shaped like towers and amphora. You

    could hear horses clopping and neighing  in the distance as they went through their training regime – they were well-hidden behind tall fences. Suddenly, klaxon blared ear-piercingly to announce closing time at 3pm, and everyone was unceremoniously herded out.  We still had good part of the afternoon to spare, so indulged in a couple of hop-on-hop-off bus loops . . . just to give our feet a rest and get an idea of where we’d like to explore next.  The smaller mini bus was able to maneuver through laneways barely wider than the bus . . . I swear we could have touched the walls and balconies.  Churches, tavernas, cafes and plazas enticed one to explore further.  What a gorgeous city.  We got off at the Roman bridge and gazed across the river at the Mosque on the further bank . . .  amber and golden in the late afternoon sun.  We would be visiting there tomorrow. The other hop-on/off bus (an open-topped double-decker) deposited us almost at our apartment.

    David’s suggestions for regional food to try led us to a restaurant just 15 minutes away, so we booked a table for 8:30.  Casual, off the beaten track and with only locals as our dining companions, we sipped beer and consulted the menu.  You can’t go wrong in asking the Camarero for recommendations, and we selected a cold tomato soup sprinkled with jamon (similar to Salmorejo) and the Rabo de Toro . . . slowly simmered oxtail.  The soup was good . . . but oh my, the oxtail was estupendo!  A rich sauce of tomato, wine, onion and garlic . . . fall-off-the-bone meat that necessitated mopping up with bread.  To finish – something del cielo (of the sky) reminiscent of a flan but more dense, covered with the same caramel sauce and pillows of whipped cream.  Goodness, I’m full.  Then with the bill, two small squares of frozen, chocolate-covered ice cream – like mini choc-ices.  I’m glad we had a walk back.

    The following day it was the Mosque.  https://www.cordoba24.info/english/html/mezquita.html  This time we walked the 25 minutes or so.  Through a maze of inter-connected, cobbled laneways using one of the cathedral towers as reference (backed up by Miss Google).  Stopping often to snap photos . . .  everything was so photogenic.  The Mosque was  . . . . what can I say . . . amazing.  Those iconic red and white Moorish arches – so simple but impactful, blended with the much later and far more elaborate Christian influence.  A striking

    combination indeed.  There were many different shrines and golden statues dedicated to Christian Saints . . . ancient holy books . . .  uncovered carvings dating back to 12th century Moorish times.  But one photo opportunity took my fancy . . .  a Senora with cleaning cart, mopping the floor of one of the shrines.  Cleanliness must surely be next to Godliness.  See photos below.

    We strolled back through another maze of winding streets . . . stopping for coffee in a hidden garden patio whose walls were covered with greenery and filtered light  . . .  a gentle trickle of water . .  . and a caged song bird (goldfinch) hanging in the corner.(apparently he was grumpy and only sang when he felt like it!)  We booked a table for dinner later . . . who could resist?

    The streets were busy now with children coming out of school and parents/grandparents walking them home . . . listening to the excited chatter of what had happened that day.  Everyone stepping out of the way as cars, scooters and delivery trucks nosed their way along.  We purchased some more water, crusty buns and slices of meat to make  sandwiches for the bus to Antequera tomorrow.  Although the water is safe to drink all over Spain (apparently it is tested daily) the flavour varies considerably . . . and here in Cordoba, it leaves rather a lot to be desired.

    At the restaurant we were greeted like old friends, and started the evening with a rather nice fruity white wine.  Delightfully, one of the items on the menu was Roasted Iberian Lizard!! . . .  I knew it couldn’t possibly be, but had  to ask . . .  Digame, es verdad?? (tell me, is it true?)  turns out to be a particular cut of pork.  Oh the disappointment!  Our choices seemed tame by comparison.  Roasted vegetables – eggplant, tomatoes, green peppers, mushrooms, green beans, leeks and onion topped with dollops of the creamiest goat cheese  – all arranged like a giant flower. Incredible.   After this, a sea bass . . .  butterflied and fried to perfection with thick slices of seasoned potato and peppers.  What amazing food we’ve had in Cordoba. And thank goodness for the 25 minute walk back to aid the digestion.  Shops are still open . . .  kids still up and active . .. scooters (both motorized and stand-on electric) zooming the streets, drivers inching their way back and forth to shoehorn cars into shuttered garages. This is such a clean, welcoming, safe and walkable city.

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  • Valencia

    Valencia

    September 24, 2022 / 2 Comments

    A short walk to the bus station . . . in fact with Barcelona’s system of one-way streets, a bus or taxi would take just as long. Our seats were upstairs which gave a great view in front and to the side.  Stopping at some traffic lights, two police on horseback went across the crosswalk – the white horses  looking distinctly like Lippizzaners in their grace and posture – beautiful. On the slopes overlooking the port, just south of the city was a curious cemetery built right into the cliffs – Cementiri de Montjuic.  Built in 1883 when space was limited, it now houses 150,000 burial plots and niches, with the remains of more than a million in total.  https://www.barcelonayellow.com/bcn-photos/661-montjuic-cemetery-barcelona  

    Valencia was hot and humid. A debate . . .  should we take a taxi, or go for the local bus . . . both were just across the street.  Why not go for the bus. Now perhaps it was because we were lugging suitcases and looked hot, sticky and flustered, the driver issued us tickets ‘gratis’. . . Whatever the case, we were grateful.

    Found the building okay . . . nice residential/local business area.  Pushed button #5 as instructed . . .  no-one there.  Alternate button #17 . . . same thing – no-one home.  Hmm.  Phoned Maria who, although living in the same building, was actually an hour away and not expecting us until later!  “But I said we’d be there mid afternoon!” exclaimed Glen.  There was a convenient shady cafe on the corner, so we propped up our cases and sat sipping tea . . .  Maria was along shortly, and the misunderstanding of time was revealed.  A combination of Google mis-translate and our bad Spanish, but  Media Tarde (mid afternoon to us) apparently means after six pm in Spain!

    The penthouse had been newly renovated and came with its own roof top terrace, plants and multi seating areas – plus view of the city.  Most acceptable,  and after a short rest to recoup, and catch up on blog, we set off to find the local supermarket for provisions.  As a first exposure to Lidl, it was less than favourable . . . but perhaps I’m being un-generous . . . it was, afterall, late in the day.  No bread, tired and wilted veggies, cereal whose main ingredients appeared to be sugar, chocolate and marshmallows . . . but they did have a large alcohol section!  However, the award-winning Manchego cheese, ripe cherry tomatoes and tiny cucumbers along with really nice crackers, and followed by slices of sweet melon – so juicy one had to lean over the sink – made a delightful dinner as we sat on the rooftop in the velvety darkness overlooking the lights of the city.

    The next morning we explored the market  place . . . . and drooled uncontrollably over the fresh frutas y vegetales, the plump golden chickens and the gleaming fish stalls.  We have a full kitchen,  so why not use it!  Two handfuls of tiny new potatoes went into the bag . . . . unusual flattened green and red mottled beans, followed by two types of meaty, pink sausages.   Some figs and oranges completed the purchase.  Picked up some exorbitantly-priced local Craft beer  to try – we’ll see.  Took the lot back to the apartment and headed out again.  

    Bus to the old town which dropped us outside the Estacion del Nord –  a gloriously embellished structure which used to be the main train station.  We wandered happily through the narrow, bustling streets . . . enjoying a creme caramelo-flavoured  ice cream along the way.  It was a race to eat it before everything melted in the 30+ degree temps . . .  leaving a sticky puddle on one’s shoes. The cathedral was a must, and it was a relief to enter the dark, cool recess after the harsh sunshine outside.  Multitudes of shrines surrounded the central cloisters . . . each exquisitely  gilded and carved with a different Saint.  One ominous-looking room had hard, upright wooden seats, and one could be forgiven for expecting Michael Palin to spring forth in a Monty Python and the Spanish Inquisition sketch.  I was fearful of a sudden lightening bolt for even thinking such a thought!

    The beer was OK – I think we’ll stick to the Estrella . . . but the sausages and veggies were excellent.  I shall miss this rooftop.

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  • Barcelona

    Exploring Barcelona

    September 23, 2022 / No Comments

    Coffee, some fruit and a delicious potato from a deli along the way – roasted to perfection in olive oil till crisp on the base and sprinkled with pepper . . . so simple . . . so tasty.  Sagrada Familia was just as awesome on the interior – perhaps even more so.  The stained glass windows were massive and vibrant . .  .  blues, greens and yellows on one side of the building. . .   reds, orange and yellow the other . . .  alive with the sunlight streaming through and bathing the stark whites and pale greys of the pillars in a wash of rainbow colours.  Organ music periodically filled the space with body-vibrating sound as people wandered in hushed silence – attempting to take in the splendour.   

    Our ticket included a visit up one of the completed towers –  elevator up . . .  walk down.  The attendant, with deadpan face, asked (once the lift doors were firmly shut and escape was impossible)  whether any of us suffered from vertigo or claustrophobia, now was the time to back out.  There was just the tiniest of viewing sections at the top (we almost missed it) . . . but incredible views across the city and an up-close look at some of the bizarre coloured ‘baubles’ atop some of the spires.  One section currently being constructed showed – what to us – looked like vastly under-engineered metal bolts with which to connect the next bit of spire.  Not much more than toothpicks!!  The narrow stone staircase spiraled down and down – giving glimpses of the ground far below.  I started counting the steps, but there was young English couple ahead – she was chattering (more to herself I think) in order NOT to think about the cramped, almost mesmerizing spiraling down – he offering up humourous  insights to distract her and wondering, with dry English wit, how difficult would it be to carpet these stairs.  It’s hard to keep counting while laughing. Definitely more than 200.

    New phone card installed – thanks to the Kiosk owner..  Apparently here you are required to enter info from your passport when obtaining sim cards . . .  but no matter how hard he and I tried to locate ‘country of issue’ in his Vodaphone computer system there was nothing for UK, United Kingdom. Great Britain, GB, England, Inglaterra, British Isles . . .  he finally gave up and put in Singapore – it was accepted!

    We hopped on and off buses with our passes . .  . first visiting The Arc de Triomphe . . .  yes, really.  Meandering through tall, narrow lanes festooned with wrought iron balconies, plants and shutters. 

    Crossing one plaza the strains of Recuerdos drifted past our ears, and there was a single guitarist. 

    Then out of nowhere was a community garden where everything looked as though it had been saved/salvaged/ donated/grown.  It was a delightfully shady oasis . . .  winding paths under a massive wisteria . . .  a wall of planters made from old wooden pallets . . .  an ‘insect hotel’ with bamboo stems, pine cones and drilled rounds of wood . . .  several huge cactus and succulent gardens . . . and a children’s playground. (see below)

    Beginning to flag somewhat, the smell of coffee and fresh bread instantly drew our attention, and we happily rested tired feet and tucked into flaky pastries and hot coffee (it would be a long wait until the dinner hour in Spain).  Came across an unusual Gaudi building — The Tile House — quite striking.  And then, walking back to the apartment, I noticed a red brick wall with a series of spaced gates . . . some reading Sol . . . others Sombre.  This was an old  bullring! Now turned into a museum about bullfighting . . . . AND it just so happened to be right across the street from where we were staying. The street was so tree-lined I hadn’t noticed the curved inner walls.

    Dinner at Gigi’s was a five minute stroll.  Highly recommended for its tapas, it was accordingly busy, but the camarero soon had us seated at one of the outdoor tables and we sipped dewy glasses of beer while perusing the menu of assorted tapas.  We opted for Croquettas (ham and cheese balls, breaded and deep fried with an alioli sauce (one HAS to have croquettas!),  Mussels in a creamed curry and white wine sauce, and lamb tabbouleh.  The croquettes were excellent – hot and crispy . . .  the mussels delicious with just a hint of lemon peel in the delicate curry sauce (wish they had brought bread to mop up the remains) . . .  but the lamb was sublime.  A thick chunk of fork-tender lamb cooked to perfection and nestled on a bed of tabbouleh salad and topped with wine-simmered onion marmalade.  OOoohhhh . . . it was one of those dishes you wish would never end.  So we ordered a second . .  . and it was just as good as the first.  The days of cheap tapas have long gone, as they’ve become more popular and upscale . . . but these were worth every penny.  What a way to end our stay in Barcelona.

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  • Barcelona

    Barcelona Arrival

    September 20, 2022 / 3 Comments

    Flavia buzzed us in. The ancient caged elevator with wooden doors steadfastly refused to budge,  no matter how many times the button was pushed or the doors adjusted, so we hitched up the bags and trudged upwards . . . forgetting that in Spain the first floor is NOT counted as “one” . . . the second floor is, and because there was also an entrance level, we actually had SIX floors to get to the floor (piso) Phew . . .a work out indeed.  Comfortable bed, clean bathroom, great view plus, a friendly cat and and dog thrown in.

    The weather forecast on board the flight had shown nothing but rain and thunderstorms for the next few days, so we wanted to make the most of the current sunshine. So off we set for a quick peek at Sagrada Familia cathedral . . .  the inside would be for tomorrow.

    What a sight!  Even partially constructed, it was an amazing creation.   Started in 1882, Gaudi took over the project when the original architect resigned, then devoted the remainder of his life to its construction.  He died in 1926 and is buried in the crypt below the Basilica.  Six of the spires have been completed but a further ten are still to be finished and one can see the cranes towering over the building like strange mechanical praying mantises.  Each side of the building offers totally different styles and designs . . . and with construction going on so long the building materials have changed in colour and form.  Gaunt, angular religious characters, like those in Cervantes, peer down at you. . .  while others are almost futuristic.  It

    boggles the mind that just one man could have conceived of such wildly divergent styles and flights of fancy.  Quite delightful.

    We indulged in a couple of crusty jamon rolls for later and headed back to the apartment. 

    The central courtyard around the elevator shaft – from ground to roof, did a magnificent job of amplifying every sound tenfold, so the overall effect was a symphony of creaking elevator, heavy door slams, gossiping neighbours, children, and one rather talented trumpet player practicing an astonishingly eclectic repertoire which encompassed the themes to Jurrasic Park and Game of Thrones, When the Saints go Marching In, a smattering of Jazz and (oddly) My Favourite Things from the Sound of Music!  Despite being shattered from over 20 hours of travel and a couple of sleepless nights, it was impossible to sleep (even with ear plugs), so donned our shoes and wandered through balmy streets, redolent with the rich smells of flowers, food and the occasional drain before encountering a lively sidewalk bar a mere two streets away from ‘our place’.  There, a glass of Estrella settled the dust nicely and we returned to a quiet building and a much-welcomed sleep.

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  • Barcelona

    On the way to Barcelona

    September 19, 2022 / 1 Comment

    Two months parking at the airport was beyond exorbitant and as it appeared BC Transit had a bus running on Sunday we elected for that route.  WRONG.  Only Monday through Saturday.  Kevin to the rescue . . . he kindly deposited us at the airbnb we had booked in Victoria (there was no way we were  trusting early rush hour traffic over the Malahat).

    It was a was comfortable place and well appointed, but you know how difficult it is to sleep the night before a big trip so it was hardly surprising I was awake around 5am and checking emails.  What’s this . . .  4 emails in 2 minutes from our host in Barcelona . .  . something must have happened.  With great trepidation I opened the first two, breathing a sigh of relief as she explained that she had been called into work and couldn’t meet us at the apartment, but had arranged for her friend Flavia to be there instead. Third email I had to read three times, just to be sure . . . I even read it in Spanish . . .  nope, that’s what it says.  I woke Glen, but was giggling so hard I couldn’t finish.  Apologies Fernanda . .  . but this was just too good to pass up:

    I would like to say that I have a problem with the kidneys, and to avoid problems and acidents, I am leaving it in the living room with the door closed until it gets better. I hope it’s quick.

    Thanks to Google Translate . . . and the omission of one small but vital word “cat”.

    Warren, in the ordered Yellow Cab arrived promptly at five to eight and deposited us and our bags ten minutes later at the airport.  Grabbed a Tim Hortons’s croissant and juice before facing the long lines at security.  We sorted everything into trays exactly as directed . . .  not an item out of place, yet one of our bags, the electronics tray and ME were all tagged and pulled aside!  Mine was sorted with a simple swipe of baton over my hands . . .  the suitcase sat beside other suspicious luggage awaiting careful scrutiny.  No-one appeared to be in any hurry.  Eventually the cases ahead of ours were rummaged through and errant tubes of toothpaste and creams were pounced on and removed.  Nothing in ours except a suspect ‘dark’ object . . . the electronics given a cursory wipe and we were free to go.  The overhead luggage bin over our seat was strewn with a couple of cloth handbags disgorging various items and sweaters – all of which could have been accommodated under the seat instead . . .  so we re-organized it free of charge! 

    Arrived in Edmonton with 30 of our precious 35 minutes to spare and sped the ten gates just as final boarding for Toronto was being announced . . . and slid to a halt at the check in desk. What did she say?  NO MORE CARRY-ON BAGS were being accepted, just things which could go under seats.  NOOoooo.  So much for all my careful culling and packing!  There was a frantic scramble by West Jet to get baggage tags printed (and there were a dozen more passengers waiting behind us) . . . the guy promised faithfully that our the bags would arrive in Barcelona <probably just to get rid of me>.  And seeing the plane was true, the overhead storage was crammed with not a milimeter to spare.  Uneventful flight into TO then a 3+ hour wait. 

    We were on a new and spacious 787-9 and we settled in for the 7 and a half hour flight to Barcelona.  Snacks, refreshments and a ‘breakfast’ were provided (NB don’t order the pancakes!) but as always, food provided a distraction – along with the onboard entertainment – and the journey didn’t seem too tedious.  It was a bit of a nail-biting wait while the bags were disgorged onto the carousel – I think ours must have been almost the last . . . but arrive they did . . .  just missing one name tag.  Now to claim our transit pass for the trip into downtown.  

    The man behind the glass shield said – out the door, gira derecha (turn right) and arriba pointing downwards . . . erm . . . isn’t arriba ‘upstairs’??  Oh well, no matter.  This is where I’m glad we didn’t have the big suitcases with us – there were  a ton of stairs down AND of course back up again, and no escalators.  Then it was onto the train into town and Metro out to where we’re staying . . . although we did so much walking between lines it felt as though we’d walked the whole way.

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