Dispatches from Spain 11: Northern Spain

by Rich Gilbert

Coming Home – Where Has the Year Gone?‏

[My wandering friends, Rich and Sallie, are traveling again (after all, that’s what they do!), this time up to Northern Spain, somewhat off the beaten track for the usual tourists in Spain.  Rich explained that they were moving so much that he wasn’t in one place long enough to write up their experiences until they stopped briefly in Greece (their subsequent destination).  After the trip described here, Rich and Sallie made their meandering way from northern Europe (Belgium, Holland, Denmark) through central Europe (Germany, Austria) to eastern Europe (Slovakia, Hungary); they’ll be returning to the States in less than two weeks now.  Check back for Dispatches 1-10 (30 November, 10 December, and 20 December 2014, and 14 January, 8 March, 20 April, 23 July, and 6 September 2015) to catch up with the odyssey so far.  As usual, Rich’s account of his and Sallie’s travels is interesting and full of fascinating little details above the usual travelogue (which, in fact, he’s deliberately skipped).  I recommend that you all also check in at Sallie’s blog, Rambling Solo, at http://ramblingsolo.blogspot.com.es.]

Mykonos, Greece – October 2, 2015

Where has this year gone? We are now in Mykonos, in Greece. Not so sunny and pretty windy, but hopefully, it will clear up in the week we are here. A couple of days in another island, Hydra, closer to the mainland, then on the 15th of October we fly back to the United States. We are looking forward to enjoying some parts of life in the States, even if the Nationals will not be playing in the postseason. Still, we will miss Madrid and Spain.

I am finally enclosing the promised report on our trip to Northern Spain [see “Dispatches from Spain 10,” 6 September]. I tried to make it a bit informative, not just a travelogue. I also added a short section on the results of the Catalan elections of September 27. (It will be a real mess, maybe not so different than United States politics right now.)

The Geography of Northern Spain

To understand where we travelled in July, get out (or download) your map. Start in  the northwest corner of Spain, above Portugal. That is the province of Galicia.  Galicia is bounded by Portugal on the south, the Atlantic ocean on the west, the Cantabrian Sea on the north.

Immediately to the east of Galicia, sharing a northern coastline, is Asturias.  The majority of Asturias is mountains, including the Picos de Europa, the highest peaks in Spain. To the east of Asturias is Cantabria.  It also shares the same coastline; that’s why it is called the Cantabrian Sea.  Cantabria also shares the mountain ranges making up the Picos de Europa. In both Asturias and Cantabria there is only a narrow band of moderately flat land in the north between the mountains and the sea.  Cantabria is a bit less mountainous than Asturias, but not by much. 

To the south of Asturias and Cantabria is the province of Castilla y Leon.  It shares some of the Picos de Europa region , but has no coastline as it is bounded on the west by Portugal.  Castilla y Leon is a larger province and once out of the mountainous north is relatively flatter.  (Remember Spain is the second most mountainous region in Europe, after Switzerland.)

To the east of Cantabria is the province of Pais Vasco, or the Basque Country.  Its largest city is Bilbao. San Sebastian, a large but lovely city on the beach, is also in the Pais Vasco. At this point, the coastline turns north towards France. The capital of the Pais Vasco, which we did not get to, is Vitoria. Vitoria lies in a mostly agricultural region in the southern part of the province and is not on the coast. 

To the east of the Pais Vasco is the province of Navarra. Pamplona is its capital. It has no coastline.  To the north, sharing the Pyrenees mountains, is France.  To the east is the province of Aragon, and to the south, the smaller province of La Rioja, where many of Spain’s finest red wines come from.

Our Route

Because the landscape was important to our trip, we rented a car and left Madrid on July 4.  We spent that night in Burgos in Castilla y Leon, arrived in Pamplona for the fiesta on July 5 and stayed through the 15th.  In the middle of the fiesta, we took a break and went to San Sebastian for two nights.  We also took a day trip through the pass of Roncesvalles into France (site of the Song of Roland for those of you up on your French medieval poetry) to St.-Jean-Pied-du-Port.  After Pamplona we spent two nights in Bilbao.  Then we went to the mountains to spend two nights at an old hotel / spa on the banks of the reservoir of the Ebro River on the edge of the mountains, which was in Castilla y Leon, just over the border from Cantabria. After that we moved along the coast to the Asturian beach town of Llanes. We stayed there four nights which included day trips into the mountains as well as some beach time. We then went for one night to Ribadeo, a port town just over the border into Galicia, then one night to Ferrol, a port town on the Atlantic Coast in Galicia.  We then spent a night at a country inn just outside Muxia, a small fishing town in Galicia.  We then went to Santiago de Compostela, the destination for the Camino de Santiago, the pilgrimage route, and stayed three nights. We then went south along the Atlantic Coast to the Isla de la Toja, a small island semi-luxury resort off a larger island.  After two nights, we headed inland to Leon, obviously in Castilla y Leon. After two nights, we spent one night on the outside of Valladolid, also in the province of Castilla y Leon.  We drove back into Madrid on August 3.

Language

The Gallegos, as the people from Galicia are called, are descended from Celtic tribes who settled in the area before the Romans. They speak their own dialect, also called Gallego, It is similar to what we call Spanish, but which is called Castellano in Spain to distinguish it from Gallego and Catalan. Usually important signs will be in both Gallego and Castellano, but we saw historical markers and other signs that were only in Gallego.

The Basque language is like no other language in the world.  I have read somewhere that the closest language to it was ancient Phoenician, and elsewhere I have read that it resembles some dialects spoken in the eastern Caucasus mountains.  The truth appears to be that no one really knows; the Basque legends do not give a clue. To me, the ancient Phoenician makes a little more sense, because they might have gotten through the Mediterranean and up around Spain into the Cantabrian Sea, but there were certainly closer places they could have colonized, and in some cases did. The Basque language, like Catalan and Gallego, was vigorously suppressed during the Franco years, and is making a comeback.  In Bilbao in the northern part of the Pais Vasco, most street signs are in Basque first and Castellano second. The teaching of which language as the primary and/or only language in the schools is a matter of substantial controversy. I understand that there is less Basque spoken in the region around Vitoria than in Bilbao or San Sebastian.

Castellano is the primary language in Asturias, Cantabria, and Castilla y Leon.

Politics

Politics in the North of Spain are complicated.  Like the Catalans, the Basques have sought independence for decades. One difference is that about 40 years ago the independence movement in the Basque country basically got hijacked by the ETA, a left wing, terrorist group, responsible for a number of assassinations in the Basque country, which also includes some Basque-speaking provinces across the border in France. Interestingly some of those assassins are get now getting out of jail after 20 years or so, especially on the French side, and there is a lot of resentment. There are now Basque political parties in the Basque country, some of them advocating independence but they are nowhere near as organized as the Catalans.

Navarra, of which Pamplona is the capital, is even more complicated.  Navarra is also a partially Basque speaking province, but Navarra was also an independent kingdom in medieval times before the unification of Spain. So you have political parties who support Basque independence and want Navarra to be part of that new nation, but there are also parties that think that Navarra will be better served by remaining apart from the Pais Vasco and trying to leverage more autonomy within a decentralizing Spain. Of course, there are parties which are completely comfortable with the status quo. Although a majority of residents of Navarra do not support independence, the leader of the provincial government, through a series of political deals, is an unabashed Basque separatist.  The big fight, as I indicated, is currently about the teaching of the Basque language in the public schools. Not sure how that will work out.

There is no appreciable independence movement in the other provinces in the north, but part of that is because Galicia, which has a strong sense of separate cultural identity, is so far away from Madrid and the other major political power centers. Plus the current President of Spain, Mariano Rajoy is from Galicia. 

A quick word about Cataluña. The independence movement succeeded in pulling together a single slate of candidates from most of the major separatist parties.  One radical left wing party (CUP – Candidatures d’Unitat Popular [Popular Unity Candidacy]) also supported independence, but chose to run separately. The separatists had hoped that their slate would gain an absolute majority in the regional elections held on September 27. Had they done so, they intended to treat it effectively as a referendum on Catalan independence. What they got was a real mess. Due to some Spanish proportional voting laws, which I do not understand exactly, the separatists, with the support of CUP, gained an absolute majority of seats in the regional legislature. They did not however, gain an absolute majority in the popular vote, which is how one normally counts a referendum. Now what?

For its part, CUP has already said that the failure to achieve an absolute majority in the popular vote means that as a referendum, the effort failed.  They have announced they do not believe a unilateral call for independence would be valid and have rejected Artur Mas, the current president in Cataluña, to head the new government. This means that the separatist majority in the legislature may fall apart quickly.

Meanwhile, the national government, led by the conservative Popular Party, is opposed to Catalan independence and does not accept the vote as a referendum in any form. The Popular Party, headed by Mariano Rajoy, the current President of Spain, is currently adamant about making no changes in the system, to include the Spanish constitution, although members of his own party are urging more flexibility.  The other national parties are trying to carve out a more nuanced position, suggesting ways, including changing the constitution, to allow Cataluña more autonomy while remaining part of Spain. All of this is important because of the looming national elections this Fall. The Socialists promise “dialog” with Cataluña.  The leader of Podemos, Pablo Iglesias, promises to let Cataluña have a real, sanctioned referendum if he heads the next government (although he says that he would recommend a “no” vote.) Cuidadanos, the other populist, center party, which also opposed independence, was the second largest vote getter in the Catalan elections. 

These are my predictions.  You can expect the struggle to play out in the press. the national legislature and the courts for some time, but I do not think there is currently any legal basis for Catalan independence, and the rest of Europe is not going to recognize a Catalan state which does not have the approval of the Spanish government. So, I do not think independence will happen. The intransigence of Rajoy, coupled with the huge loss in confidence in the Popular Party due to all the corruption scandals, means that they will lose the general election.  They may get the largest single number of votes, but they are “toxic” and I do not think any other party will join in forming a government with them. Whichever party does form the government will likely be more willing to discuss the relationship between the Spanish government and Cataluña.  This discussion will likely also include the other major regions, such as Andalucia and the Basque Country.

At least you can take comfort in the fact that United States politics is not alone in its dysfunction.

Weather

Northern Spain, especially Galicia, Asturias, and Cantabria, are the rainiest, cloudiest regions of Spain. Unfortunately, this was to play a role in our trip; given the nearly perfect weather in Madrid and during our earlier trips, however, I guess the law of averages had to even out somewhat. Pamplona was at times cold and rainy, then very hot and sunny.

Food

If you want an argument, tell a Gallego that the best food is in Asturias or vice versa.  While I am sure that Spaniards from every province will stick up for their own regional cuisine, my sense is that if asked off the record most Spaniards will give the nod to either Galicia or Asturias. The cold waters of the Atlantic and Cantabrian Sea has given both regions (and the rest of northern Spain) access to wonderful, fresh seafood and shellfish.  I think Sallie would give a slight nod to Asturias, while I might go with Galicia, but we are definitely open to further evaluation! In fact, the food throughout northern Spain was good.  We remember, for example:

            Peppers in Burgos,

            Steaks in Pamplona,

            Pinxos (little skewers of food like tapas) in Pamplona and San Sebastian,

            Fish throughout the North, but especially in a truck stop outside Bilbao

            Tortos (fried corn pancakes with meat and eggs) in Asturias

            Pulpo (octopus) outside Muxia, Galicia

The Camino

If you are in northern Spain in the summer, you will frequently encounter the Camino de Santiago, the route of the pilgrimage of St. James. From medieval ages, pilgrims have made their way to the Cathedral in Santiago de Compostela, the capital of Galicia. Nowadays one can cycle the Camino as well as walk it. (There are also bus tours, but that seems to take away from the point.) The most common route starts in the French town of St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port, goes through Roncevalles into Pamplona, then south of the mountains through Leon into Santiago de Compostela. There are, however, marked routes all over the north of Spain. After all, pilgrims come from all over.  There is a northern route along the Cantabrian Sea, and a route up from Portugal.  We even saw Camino signs, a yellow seashell, coming from Fisterre, in Galicia, the presumed most western portion of Spain.

Where you see the Camino sign, you see pilgrims, usually on trails off the road, but going through the towns and cities. I understands that they can buy a “passport” which they get “stamped” at the major churches along their route.  The passport also gives them access to cheaper accommodations at albergues along the way. (Our hotel in Llanes also had an albergue attached to it, which we were not eligible to stay in; other pilgrims stayed in the rooms next to us.) The tradition is for a pilgrim to carry a stone with them, supposedly to remind them of their sins or whatever has motivated them to undertake the Camino. The pilgrims come from all over the world, and I suppose undertake the Camino for many different reasons. We sometimes encountered groups of English-speaking pilgrims, but, understandably they tended to talk with themselves, usually about their adventures. It was kind of neat when we were in Santiago de Compostela to see the pilgrims who had completed the pilgrimage. Sallie, as is her wont, is intrigued by the Camino and would love to make one of the shorter routes. Frankly, I have no interest in doing so myself, but I can understand both the challenge and charm.

Burgos

We arrived in Burgos on Saturday, July 4.  We had a hotel room that overlooked the cathedral, a magnificent structure. Being a nice Saturday in July, there were several weddings taking place in the cathedral and we got to watch the couples exit. One was a military wedding with service members in different uniforms forming a canopy with their swords. As we walked through the old town, which dated back to medieval times, there were all sorts of sidewalk cafes and restaurants and they were full.  Turns out Burgos was in the middle of its annual fiesta and the whole town seemed involved.  At the end of the evening there were fireworks – so we had our Fourth of July fireworks after all. We regretted having allocated only one day to Burgos. Still Pamplona was calling.

Pamplona

Those of you who know me well have heard probably more than you want about Pamplona, if indeed, you have not been there with me. So I am not going into detail about the fiesta.  (Buy me a beer when we are back in the States and I will be glad to tell you all about it.) The fiesta starts at noon on the 6th of July, and the first run is the  morning of the 7th, which is my birthday, so I always try to run that morning.  The first 36 hours of the fiesta are the worst as far as crowds, especially of drunken young people, go. Of course, there are plenty of older folks who are drunk, but they usually have more experience in holding their liquor.

We had rented a room in the apartment rented by our friend Charlie Leocha, who has been to the fiesta consistently for nearly 40 years. The apartment was centrally located in the heart of the party section of town, which had its advantages in going out, but not so much if you were trying to sleep. This bothered Sallie more than me, but we had agreed that we would take a break in the fiesta and go to San Sebastian.  After the first 36 hours, the fiesta calms down somewhat and you begin to see more families downtown with their children. Thanks to Charlie, we got into some restaurants we would not have otherwise, and so ate pretty well. This included a breakfast at a gourmet cooking club that Charlie became a member of.

I ran with the bulls twice this year, once on my birthday, then on the 13th. Yes, we went to the bullfights twice, including the last day, the 14th. At the close of the bullfights on the last day, all of the penas, which are the social clubs which provide the energy for the fiesta, the way that the “krewes” do for Mardi Gras, pour into the bullring and they mingle and their bands play together (every pena has a band!) A positive spectacle.   (For those of you who abhor bullfights, I fully understand and respect your position.  You may be interested to know that a movement to ban bullfighting is growing in various regions and cities in Spain, but it is still  a long way off from for becoming law nationwide.)

San Sebastian

Sallie and I got away from Pamplona for two days to visit San Sebastian.  I had not been back since being caught in the riots there in 1978. [I presume Rich is referring to the violent protests by the ETA, the Basque separatist movement, which left many dead and sparked riots all over the Basque regions of Spain in the mid- and late 1970s.] I now have much fonder memories.  San Sebastian has a large beach so we got in a day of relaxing on the beach. Our hotel was a bit out of town; the only restaurant around was a famous Michelin-starred restaurant with a $200 testing menu! Probably have to do that some time. Instead, in the evenings we would go into town to eat pinxos or pinchos, which are like tapas.  They are a real tradition in the Basque region.  We went to a number of restaurants sampling their fare. It was great getaway and the scenery between Pamplona and San Sebastian was striking – a hint of what was to come.

Bilbao

We stayed downtown but across the river from the old part of town, where we primarily went to eat and drink. Our most memorable meal, however, was at what was essentially a truck stop on a state road about an hour outside of Bilbao.  Sallie was dubious, but we were hungry and there were a lot of cars and trucks in the parking lot.  The food was very good.  Sallie thought her fish was the best she had on the entire trip through the North. (Sorry, Galicia and Asturias.)

Bilbao is home to one of the Guggenhiem museums, one designed by Frank Gehry.  The building is absolutely fabulous, the art interesting but pales compared to the building itself. Otherwise, we had an interesting time, but would not bump Bilbao up over Madrid, Barcelona or the cities in the South, or even over San Sebastian.

The Picos Region

For a complete change of pace, our next two nights were spent in an old hotel / spa on the edge of the mountains.  The hotel was funky and had clearly seen its better days in the 1930’s, before the Spanish Civil War. The hotel was on the edge of the reservoir formed by damming the Ebro River, which eventually runs southeast through Spain, flowing into the Mediterranean about halfway between Barcelona and Valencia. We took a day trip to the mountains to the west to travel to the Picos de Tres Mares (Peaks of the Three Seas), a lookout where one could see valleys which contained the headwaters of three rivers which ran in three directions, to the Mediterranean (the Hijar which flows into the Ebro), to the Atlantic (the Pisuerga which flows into the Duero which crosses Portugal) and to the Cantabrian Sea/ Bay of Biscay (the Nansa). The roads were good, but small.  Clouds hovered around, but we were able to see the mountains. Little did we know this was as good as it was going to get in the mountains.

Llanes

We left the Ebro Reservoir and headed north to the coast, to the beach town / fishing village of Llanes, on the Cantabrian Sea in Asturias.  We stayed in a simple hotel about 20 minutes walk from the center of town, which shared an albergue for student groups and for pilgrims. Llanes is a picturesque town, but the most original thing about it is the breakwater for the harbor which is composed of concrete cubes about six feet on each side.  They have permitted local artists to paint one or more sides of the cubes. It is quite colorful.

Llanes lies on the seashore of a long, narrow, relatively flat area of land.  To the south, away from the coast is the first of several mountain ranges culminating in the Picos de Europa. Our plan was spend a day at the beach and then two days traveling in the mountains. There are lots of beaches, many of them relatively small, surrounded by large rock formations.  These beaches are not highly developed; there is usually no concession for beach chairs, umbrellas, kayaks, etc. Frequently, there is no restaurant or even a place to use the bathroom. We chose a beach near Llanes that we could walk to and which had a restaurant nearby. The water was relatively clear and cool. Clouds loomed over the mountains, but never came down onto the ocean side.

The next day we took off for the Picos de Europa.  The roads in the area are “challenging,” as was the weather. The roads were narrow, with lots of turns and changes in elevation. We encountered both cyclists and cattle on the roads. (Not sure how the two interacted with each other.) As we got into the area of the Picos we encountered very heavy fog, the kind where you can only see a few feet ahead of you. Since we did not know the roads we were unsure if we could turn around, much less where. When we crested one pass, the clouds lifted somewhat so we went on to Valdeleon, a valley town nestled in the Picos.  There were clouds all around.  It became a bit of a joke with us as we could only catch brief glimpses of the peaks within the clouds. We only got “peeks” of the “peaks” (try explaining that pun in Spanish). We had lunch then headed back a different way. The weather was waiting for us.  We encountered a strong hailstorm, which left some villages looking like they were in snow.  You know those “falling rocks” road signs, but there never any rocks on the road?  We found the rocks. Slow driving all the way.  When we crossed over the last mountain range, the sun was shining in the coastal area.

So we tried again the next day to go to a couple of mountain lakes we were told we should not miss. Different roads, but still narrow and twisting. When we got to Covadonga where we had to park and take buses up to the lakes, we were told not to bother, the lakes were completely fogged in. So we had lunch and looked around.  There is large catholic church and monastery there because Covadonga is where, in the 10th century, the local Christian king handed the Moors their first defeat, thus starting what in Spain is called the “Reconquest,” which took until 1492 when the last Moorish King was expelled from Granada.

The Galician Coast

After a few days in Llanes, we headed west towards Galicia, driving along the coast when we could. We stopped in Ribadeo, a large fishing town just over the border. A small hotel was located in a pedestrian area. Just like you may have heard about Spain in the old days, the townspeople came out and strolled around or sat in the park or cafes (or bars). A makeshift band played.  All quite charming. The next morning we drove to “Cathedral Beach,” so named because of the huge eroded rock formations, many of which had caves or even arches produced by the water.  Very striking.

We kept driving west, visiting the northernmost cape in Spain and ending up in Ferrol, a small city on the coast near where the coast begins to turn south. We decided to stay on the outskirts of Ferrol, so never got down to the old city or port. We just went out to eat and have some drinks at various bars along the main street in that part of town, near the hotel. The most interesting thing was the last bar we ran into, the Café Vanessa.  The bar was surprisingly well stocked with good gins, scotches, even bourbons. We asked the owner-bartender about it and got into a nice conversation about spirits, the liquid kind. You got the feeling that most of the local customers were not really into relatively expensive quality spirits, and he was quite proud of his selection. We were sorry it was the last bar we went in, and hated to leave, but we had a ways to go the next day.

The next day, we continued to drive around the coast, stopping at lighthouses and other sights. Like Asturias, the roads in Galicia, once you left the Autovia, Spain’s excellent version of the Interstate highways, were narrow and twisting, but this is where you could see the small villages and the rugged coastline itself. Spain is continually expanding its Autovia system.  Coming into Ferrol, we got on an Autovia and used the GPS to find our hotel.  The problem was that we had borrowed the GPS from our friend in Madrid, rather than buy or rent one.  Our friend had not updated the maps, however, so as we were driving into Ferrol on the Autovia it instructed us to “turn left on an unpaved road.” No! We finally learned we had to actually get into a town or city before trying to use the GPS for detailed directions.

We spent the night after Ferrol at a country inn outside the village of Muxia. We spent a relaxing afternoon and then had dinner in the restaurant which was quite good for being in the middle of nowhere. The highlight was a dish of octopus served three ways – cold, in kind of a salad; boiled along with potatoes; and grilled.  All three were excellent, but grilled was our favorite.

You may have noticed a lack of evening exploits, which is a bit atypical of us.  That is because traveling by car in the north is tiring. Not as tough as walking the Camino, of course, but spending several hours in a small car and then hiking out to capes, cliffs and lighthouses all day can be draining.  As was the case in the Picos region, the coastal roads in Galicia are narrow and winding, so you have to be on guard all the time.  The coast in Galicia differs somewhat from Asturias and Cantabria.  I am not sure why, but the rivers in Galicia that run west to the Atlantic cut deeper valleys; almost no deltas.  The Spanish call these valleys “Rias,” not rios which means rivers, and the Galician coast is divided into the Upper Rias and the Lower Rias regions.  I have seen Rias translated as fjords, but they’re not quite as steep as the pictures I have seen of Norway. The landscapes are really beautiful and we tried to stop wherever there was a good view (and a place to pull off the narrow road). We would normally try to stop for lunch at some small restaurant with a view of the sea.

After staying in Muxia, we made our way around a couple of peninsulas and then headed to Santiago de Compostela for the night. By now, we were ready for an upgraded hotel, with a real pool, bar and restaurant. We turned around the next day however and headed back to the coast for the day.  Among the places we hoped to see was Fisterra, supposedly the westernmost tip of Spain.  (I think Fisterra is probably a Gallego variant of Finisterre, meaning the end of land.) The fog was so thick however that once we got there, we could not even see the water below. We did however get to visit Cabo Tourian, which also claims to be more westerly than Fisterra (and looks that way on the map.)  There we did have some nice views of the coast and the sea. We went back to Santiago for the night.

We spent a day visiting Santiago. The cathedral is the final destination for the pilgrims of the Camino. They have special masses for them and the pilgrims can line up to hug the statue of Saint James, which is Santiago in Spanish. One unusual thing about the cathedral is there is a really huge incense burner which hangs from the ceiling and can be swung back and forth  across the cathedral.  We are told its purpose was to mask the stench from the pilgrims who had not bathed during their long pilgrimage. (There are more services available to modern pilgrims.) The incense burner was not in operation while we were there, but I have seen clips of it and it seems quite impressive.

While walking around Santiago, we stumbled upon what can best be described as a Galician folklife fashion show.  There was a raised runway built into a plaza and a large crowd watching.  Various people and groups would get up on the runway and walk up and down displaying their traditional native costumes from different regions of Galicia. There was a bit of the striptease about it as they would remove various layers to show the clothing that made up the costume; (not underwear, of course, there was nothing raunchy about it.) It was fun and interesting, but the thing that struck me most was the pride in their heritage; these were not models, just ordinary people, not ashamed to dress up in what we would consider funny dresses and hats and then get up in front of a huge crowd.

After a few days in Santiago we headed down the coast to something different.  We stayed a couple of nights at a resort hotel on Isla de la Toja, a small island attached to another larger island connected by a causeway to the mainland. Isla de la Toja was composed primarily of a couple of resort hotels and upscale housing, either apartments or single family homes, with a golf course, tennis courts, even a skeet range. Tourist buses would come in for the day, but not stay. Sallie was feeling a bit under the weather, so we mostly hung out on the island rather than go exploring.

Two aspects of the island were unusual.  First, at low tide, the shallows would be full of people out in the water digging up what we assumed were clams or something similar. Presumably these were not the wealthy residents, although it was hard to tell in some cases. The other thing which I found unusual was that the government had set up a vehicle inspection station for the residents’ convenience. It was completely mobile; it could be taken down and moved somewhere else. I assume that they went around to the smaller towns in the area, so that the citizens would not have to drive into one of the relatively few large cities.

After Isla de la Toja, we headed inland to Leon for a few days. Although we drove through the mountains, we eventually left them behind and entered into the flatter region of Spain’s interior plateau. We stayed in a modern hotel on the outskirts of the city.  It was about a 30 minute walk into the core of the old city.  The cathedral had the best collection of traditional stained glass, in what was otherwise a kind of stark church. (Sagrada Familia, the Gaudi designed cathedral in Barcelona, has more stained glass, but it’s a completely different setting being modern.) Leon, like Burgos, also had a lively nightlife with full sidewalk cafes and a lovely Plaza Mayor, which was turned into a open air market on Saturday morning. In this respect, Leon reminded us much more of Madrid than the northern coast. There were clearly tourists, including some pilgrims on the Camino, but most of the crowds were Spanish.

When we left Leon, we had one day left.  We drove to Valladolid.  Our hotel was located in a large, new, modern, and somewhat sterile housing development.  It turns out it was some distance from the center of town and it was a Sunday. We walked around the neighborhood, but really did not do too much.  Perhaps anticlimactic,  but it had been a long, but fascinating trip, so we just relaxed. The next day we drove into Madrid, to see our friends and get ready for the long two-and-a-half month trip through Europe.

Realistically, you have to make an effort to get to Northern Spain. It is a ways from Madrid and even further away from the traditional sights of Barcelona, or Andalucia, so it does not fit in well with most people’s planned trips to Spain. Indeed, if I were giving advice on a first trip to Spain, I would recommend Madrid, Barcelona, Sevilla, Granada, Cordoba, and Ronda. There is obviously much more to Spain than those traditional highlights and Northern Spain is part of that.  It was worth the three weeks, apart from Pamplona, that we took to see it.

[It’s exhausting just to read Rich’s account of this marvelous trip.  I’m very envious of Rich and Sallie, by the way.  They got to see the Bilbao Guggenheim!  How great!!  The one here in New York City is one of my favorite buildings (designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, also an innovator in his day) and museums.  As it happens, too, there’s a relatively new theater here for which Frank Gehry designed the interior.  (It’s in a high rise in the design of which Gehry had no hand.  I blogged about the new space, the Pershing Square Signature Center, when it opened.  See my article, “The Signature Center” on 18 February 2012.)  I go there often—for the theater, not the architecture—as readers of ROT will know from my performance reports.

[I also once went to a bullfight in Spain when I was probably 16 or 17.  I figured the bullfight would happen (and the bulls killed) whether I was there or not and I ought to see one for myself once.  (My brother wouldn’t go; he said he’d root for the bull!)  I’ve never been back to one again—not even in Mexico, where I believe the bull is not killed.

[Rich’s remark about trying to explain an English pun in Spanish reminds me of a couple of instances when I faced the dilemma of translating a pun into another language.  When I was in high school in Switzerland and was assigned my first essay in French, I tried to make an English pun work in French.  I don’t remember the assignment, but it had something to do with the French proverb Qui veut, peut (‘He who wishes, can’), which is the equivalent of the English saying “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”  I wracked my brain for some idea and finally decided to try punning on ‘way’ and ‘whey’ (as in “curds and . . .”).  In French, however, ‘whey’ is petit-lait, and there was no way, even by the most tortured route, to make the pun work in French!  (I don’t recall what grade I got on the paper.  Fortunately, it was judged not on its literary value, but its grammatical correctness.) 

[Years later, when I was living in New York and studying acting, my scene partner and I were assigned a scene from the 1935 play Tovarich.  Now, Tovarich is a comedy, and after my partner and I got the scripts, I discovered that it was originally a French play.  I got the French text from the library (New York Public Library is amazing!) and found that the scene my partner and I were assigned was light and amusing (which wasn’t obvious from the English translation), but it was based on a French pun.  The joke was built around the similarity of the phrases fond d’artichaut, or ‘artichoke heart,’ and fond d’argent, ‘money fund.’  There was no way in the world we could make the pun work in English (if there had been, I suspect Robert E. Sherwood, the English adapter-playwright, would have used it)—it was just lost.  All we could do with our knowledge was lighten up our approach to the scene since we now knew that the characters, a husband and wife, were having fun with one another.]

Dispatches from Spain 10: Italy & France Edition

by Rich Gilbert

Italy and a Bit of France

[European wanderers Rich and Sallie are on the move, this time into Italy and “a bit of France.”  You’ll have to pardon the delay in posting this dispatch, which Rich sent by e-mail from Valladolid, Spain, where he and Sallie stopped after the jaunt described here, but ROT scheduling prohibited me from getting it on the blog before now.  They’ll be traveling much farther afield than this next before returning to the States.  Check back for Dispatches 1-9 (30 November, 10 December, and 20 December 2014, and 14 January, 8 March, 20 April, and 23 July 2015) to catch up with the odyssey so far.  As usual, Rich’s account of his and Sallie’s travels is interesting and full of fascinating little details above the usual travelogue (which, in fact, he’s deliberately skipped).  I recommend that you all also check in at Sallie’s blog, Rambling Solo, at http://ramblingsolo.blogspot.com.es.]

Valladolid, Spain – August 2, 2015

The Trip in General

On June 3, Sallie and I left Malaga and flew to Rome. We had a trip planned with Sallie’s son, David, his wife, Heidi, and their daughter, Emily (Sallie’s oldest granddaughter); Heidi’s mother, Jacqueline, and her husband, Bill, were also along on the trip. Heidi had lived in Florence for several years before meeting David, and had brushed up on her Italian, which was to come in very helpful.  She also made contact with several old friends with whom we were to spend some time. For the most part we were all able to stay in single apartments which Heidi had rented on line. They were usually three bedrooms, with Emily sleeping on the living room couch. Heidi had also arranged most of the transportation.

Our first three cities were Rome, Venice and Florence. Since almost anyone who has been to Italy has been to one or more of these cities, I will not try to describe them in much detail, except to give general impressions and specific experiences. Our last two stops were in the Cinqueterra region and the island of Elba. After the others left we stayed a few extra days on Elba then made our way to Madrid via Genoa, Marseilles and Avignon. (Hence the “bit of France.”)

Rome

The rest of the group was already at the apartment when we flew into Rome and took a cab, for which we were overcharged, into the city. The apartment was a reasonably short walk to the Vatican, but a longer walk (30 minutes or more) to the ancient sights like the Forum and Coliseum. It had been over 30 years since I was in Rome and my major impression was that things were much more organized. For example, when I was at the Forum before, you could just wander on your own over the Capitoline Hill, but without any idea what you were seeing. Things are better marked now.  Rome has a subway now. (More about that later.) The Coliseum had been closed when I was in Rome before, so it was fun to see it, but even then there was a regular path to follow, and you needed a special tour to get down into the tunnels and rooms beneath what had been the floor of the arena.

The Vatican, in particular, really has the tourist thing down.  You must take a tour, either prearranged on line, or by signing up after waiting in line. There is much more to see than just the Sistine Chapel and St. Peter’s, although they are the highlights. In fact, I wondered how one ever gets to really see all of the art and artifacts hanging in all of the rooms we just whisked by, including a significant modern art collection.

David and Heidi made extensive use of their smart phones to locate good restaurants.  I am not sure that is the only way to do it.  Sallie and I have found some great restaurants just ambling until we saw something we liked, but after seven months in Spain, Sallie and I were eager for a change in cuisines. By and large we found the Italian cooking to be very good, even the pizzas.

Our only real misadventure occurred one day when we had walked to the Forum then spent several hours touring it.  Everyone was kind of tired so we decided to take the subway at rush hour. I had my wallet picked in a packed subway car.  They also took my Italian English dictionary from my rear pocket. To my good fortune they did not realize I had my passport by itself it my other rear pocket, probably because it was not noticeable. The wallet contained a fair amount of money and a couple of credit cards and a debit card, but no other identification. I got the cards promptly canceled without their being used and had new ones sent to Madrid, so I was basically “lucky.” I did have to rely on Sallie for money for the rest of that trip, however.

Venice

The rest of the group left for Milan after four days to see the Expo and they scored some tickets to see the Opera at La Scala.  Neither Sallie nor I wanted to go, so we headed to Venice, for a few days before the rest of the group joined us. I have always loved Venice, and Sallie had never been. We found an apartment in a part of town that was less touristy.  I watched Barcelona play Juventus, an Italian team from Turin, for the Champions League title at a funky bar downstairs that had set up a sheet and a projector outside.  Big crowd, and to my relief, not everyone was for Juventus. Barcelona won, but it was a decent match and no fights broke out, so a great evening.

There are some places, industrial areas and working class housing projects, which I found during my roaming that actually had almost no tourists, but that is only because there was nothing to see for the average tourist. Otherwise, Venice can be divided into zones where there are tourists intermixed with the locals and zones where the tourists simply inundate the city. In our three days alone, Sallie and I tried to see the first type of places, figuring that we would save the more high-profile tourist sites for when the rest of the group joined us. We had a good time, even though it was challenging to get around.

When the rest of the group joined us, we had to move across the city to meet them at the apartment they had rented for all of us. It was a lovely apartment near St Mark’s Square with two floors and a deck where we could hang out. As a group we went to see the Doges Palace, which included a trip over the “Bridge of Sighs” to the prison.  I had to laugh when the tour description said they rebuilt the prison during the Renaissance to make it lighter and more healthy.  I saw absolutely no evidence of this.

One of the things which surprised me was that the rest of the group had bought no vaporetto tickets. Since no vehicles are allowed in Venice, everything moves over the water by barge, water taxi, the established vaporetto routes (like bus routes), or the expensive gondolas. (To cover distances on land, there is an army of porters.) Right after arriving at the train station, Sallie and I bought passes good for a week on the vaporetti. The rest of the group arrived by water taxi and then did not get on the water until we left.

For me, much of the charm of Venice lies with its canals and waterways. So the last day, I decided to go off on my own and just ride around on the vaporetti.  That’s how I found the industrial area, the naval base and working class housing districts, but lots of other charms as well.  I took a vaporetto out to the Lido, which is a long island that lies at the head of the lagoon. Unlike Venice, vehicles are allowed on the Lido; there are even buses. It is kind of an upscale suburb and beach resort combined. I found a lovely restaurant on the Adriatic and had a terrific tuna dish. Then I headed back to Venice, stopping on some other islands that make up the city.  To tell the truth, I loved that day most of all.

Florence

After three days as a group, we took the train to Florence. Florence is where Heidi had spent most of her time in Italy and near where some of her old friends lived, so this was going to be her part of the trip. We had a large spacious apartment near the center of town. We saw the usual sites, the cathedral, the Accademia (where Michelangelo’s David stands), and the Uffizi gallery (with Boticelli’s Birth of Venus.) We met Heidi’s friends.  This is also where the worst misfortune occurred.  Heidi’s mother broke her foot when she awkwardly stepped off an uneven curb. Heidi had to take her to an emergency room; Heidi’s Italian was invaluable then. Eventually a cast was placed on the foot and she had to get around on crutches and wheelchairs, and even had to miss portions of the trip. It made things worse that her husband was coming down with bronchitis during this time.  I am sure they both have had much better vacations.

It turned out to be a particularly bad night to have to go to the emergency room because the “calcio historico” tournament was going on. “Calcio” is an Italian word used to describe football or if you prefer, soccer, but that is not what “calcio historico” is.  The old part of the city is divided into four districts, that each wear a different color – red, yellow, blue or green.  In the midafternoon, in a plaza just around the corner from our hotel, a parade forms up with numerous bands, and groups of men in historic dress carrying ancient weapons.  Very impressive.  The teams and their supporters join in the parade.  Wisely, the teams are separated from each other by the groups of men marching with their weapons and the bands.  That evening a match is played between two teams in a stadium set up near the cathedral.  (We watched part of game on TV.) “Calcio historico” is described as cross between soccer, rugby and American football – do not believe it.  They left out wrestling, boxing and mixed martial arts, with a bit of that old schoolyard standard, “kill the man with the ball” thrown in. In theory, one team is supposed to get the ball into a goal at the other end, but mostly what I saw was chaos.  Guys were squaring off fighting each other with no apparent tactical purpose. There were referees I think, but I do not recall them doing anything. Well, they were always carrying guys off the field injured or unconscious. The emergency room Heidi, Jacqueline and Bill went to was also apparently the emergency room for the red team’s district. Ambulances were arriving all night. I do not know who won the match, but I imagine the emergency room for the blue team was similar. (The next night was the turn for the yellow and green teams.) It is probably good that no one in the United States really knows about “calcio historico;” otherwise I could see groups of testosterone-crazed young men saying “well, that looks like fun!”

One day in Florence, we took a day trip to Siena which was much smaller than Florence but still had a medieval cathedral of great size and a circular plaza in the middle of the town. The plaza is where the famous horse races in Siena take place, although not while we were there. (The riders, representing their neighborhoods, ride bareback.  They often fall, sometimes with serious injuries, but it is the first horse over the line that wins, with or without its rider.) On the way back we decided to visit an even smaller town, San Gimignano, which I would recommend over Sienna as more compact, but still lovely.  We had a great meal there. Unfortunately, Jacqueline and Bill could not accompany us.

Pisa

We rented a van in Florence on our fourth day there and set off for the coast, but first with a planned stop in Pisa. Like Rome, the visiting experience in Pisa is much more organized than when I was there in 1974. Still, the Tower is open now after apparently being closed for a number of years.  I understand that they think they have stabilized the Tower. Of course, it would have been impossible for Jacqueline to make the climb, but she, David and Heidi ended up spending several hours trying to get a wheelchair they could rent for the rest of the trip. They succeeded, and finally we were off to Cinque Terre.

Cinque Terre

Cinque Terre is a region on the northeastern coast of Italy which consists primarily of five fishing villages surrounding by high hills that for generations left them cut off from each other and the rest of the world except by boat or by arduous footpaths through the hills and along the cliffs. Now there are some narrow roads that connect them and, more importantly, a railroad line with magnificent views, when they are not going through endless tunnels. We parked our van at La Spezia, the first large town outside the five towns, where there was parking, and took the train to Vernazza, the fourth town going from east to west.

Vernazza is a pretty small town, that obviously thrives today on the tourist industry. It has its own charm and some stunning views.  We stayed in two apartments. Because of Jacqueline’s foot, we put them, and Emily, in the lowest apartment, but still a long flight of stairs up.  David, Heidi, Sallie and I shared a two bedroom apartment numerous flights up, but with a deck that had a spectacular view of the coast. I am afraid that Cinque Terre was not the ideal place for Jacqueline and Bill as there was very little they could do there. (Bill’s bronchitis had gotten worse as well.) The rest of us hiked each day to the next village over, one day in one direction and one day in the next. David, Heidi and Emily are very fit, so had no problems. Although Sallie and I were reasonably fit, we still found the hikes arduous because they consisted entirely of stone stairs, of uneven heights.  We made it, but not as quickly as the others. We took the train back to Vernazza one day and the ferry the other.  One episode we all recalled was encountering an English-speaking family with a small girl and young boy. Although they had only gone a relatively short distance, the young boy was sitting and crying, stating “I hate steps!” Although we could all sympathize somewhat, it became an inside joke among our group.

Elba

After a couple of days in Cinque Terre, we took the train back to La Spezia and picked up our van and drove south to the port of Piombino where we took a ferry to the island of Elba. Most people only know of Elba as the first place Napoleon was exiled, and from where he escaped. (St Helena, where he was exiled after Waterloo, is isolated well down in the South Atlantic.) Elba is the third largest island of Italy, although much smaller than Sicily or Sardinia. It is still much larger than we thought. It is a beautiful island with numerous beaches, and high hills. Heidi had arranged for us to stay at a complex of apartments well outside of any town.  We had two apartments.  Sallie and I got our own apartment down the hill somewhat from the others with our own patio. The others were in an apartment adjacent to one occupied by one of Heidi’s old friends, Rafaele, and his family. This how we ended up in Elba in the first place. One of Heidi’s other friends, Paulo, had his own vacation place on the island and was able to spend a few days with us also.

Each day was primarily spent at one of the many beaches on the island. We might drive 20 or thirty minutes to get to the different beaches. They were usually developed with bar / restaurants and rentals for chairs, umbrellas, beach toys, etc. We might grab a light lunch, but dinners were cooked at our apartment complex.  Heidi is an excellent cook, as was her friend, Rafaele and his wife, so we ate fresh seafood or steaks, pasta, and salads every night, with plenty of good wine. No need going out.

One day the group, including Jacqueline and Bill, went to visit the house where Napoleon had stayed in the main port city.  It was interesting, situated between fortifications, but what we had not known was that on Elba, Napoleon is still viewed with affection. Apparently, when exiled, he was allowed to essentially run the island. His fertile mind, besides undoubtedly plotting his escape, also made numerous improvements to the island and its management.

After five days, the rest of the group had to return to Rome for the long flight back to Colorado. There were two more days on the apartment rentals, so with Rafaele’s help Sallie and I rented a car so we could stay two more days. We visited beaches and did some hikes on each end of the island. We did have to eat out, however.  The food was good, but not like what the group cooked.

Leaving the island was easy.  The rental car company was right down at the docks and ferries leave every 30 minutes or so. Getting to Genoa was much more of a hassle, as it turns out that the train station in Piombino was closed for repairs.  There was supposed to be regular buses to the next station, but we never did figure out where that was. We ended up taking a taxi. We got there, had an hour’s wait, then boarded a train to Genoa.

Genoa

Genoa is the main port city on the north coast of Italy, in the direction of France, which among other claims is the birthplace of Columbus. I had booked a hotel on-line.  It turns out it was the only hotel that did not feel the need to have a big sign, so we walked by several times, before discovering it. It was evening when we got in, so we walked down to the port area looking for a place to eat.  We were unimpressed and finally found a café on plaza nearby. We had some time the next morning before our train to Marseilles, so we walked around some more, this time up the hills.  In Genoa, like so many Italian port cities, there is very little flat land by the sea. The city quickly goes up. 

For much of its existence Genoa was a major port and at its height rivaled Venice for influence and wealth. Above the harbor level are numerous Renaissance “palazzos” or mansions of great size and design. One street containing nothing but such palazzos has been named a World Heritage Site.   Even the regular working class housing was clearly a cut above the harbor area.  It was almost like two different cities. After finishing our walk, we took the train to Marseilles.

Marseilles

We had booked a room near the train station on line and it was a disaster. Very small, no elevator to the first floor, no air conditioning, no screen on the window, no view and no internet. It was late when we arrived and while we were unpacking we heard what sounded like gunshots. Since it was late, we decided to take a cab down to the port for dinner.  As we were leaving, we saw a number of police cars down the street from  the hotel. We got to the restaurant I had picked out and had a lovely meal; the majority, if not all, of customers were French, but everyone accepted our broken French. No Parisian snobbery. They called a cab for us, but as we returned to the hotel, we noticed big flood lights down the street from the hotel.  It looked like a crime scene, and indeed that’s what it was.  The clerk told us someone had been murdered by the gunshots we had heard earlier. We got up after a fitful night, got breakfast (not in the hotel) and fled for the next train to Avignon.

Avignon

Avignon, one of the principal cities of Provence, was a short train ride away from Marseilles, but it seemed as if we were a world away. We were staying at a hotel some distance out of town; it was a lovely, bucolic place with a pool in which I could swim laps, more or less. We took a bus into the city, walked around, then, by happenstance found a charming corner restaurant, away from the tourist crowds.  The food was exceptionally good. Unfortunately, we did not understand that the bus back to the village where the hotel was located had stopped for the night.  Finally, a cab driver who was waiting for another fare took pity on us, called a colleague to take that fare, and drove us back.

The next day we went back to the city and wandered about the city walls, then crossed over to a large island in the middle of the river.  There is a free ferry which dropped us near a restaurant where we could sit outside and look back at the city. After a nice afternoon, we went back to the hotel.  Mindful of not staying out too late, we had dinner outside on the terrace at the restaurant attached to the hotel, which was operated by an apparently well-renowned chef and had a another great meal. Despite all of our wonderful meals in Italy and Spain, I continue to have a soft spot for French cooking. Alas, our current plans will not bring us back to France.

The next morning we took the high-speed train back to Madrid.  After a few days to rest up and do laundry at the apartment we had rented from our friend Mary C*****, on July 4, we rented a car and headed north to Pamplona and northern Spain. We are just finishing that trip, so it will be the next email.

Current Plans

As I write this, we are in Valladolid in the Castille y Leon region of Spain.  We will arrive in Madrid tomorrow and return the rental car.  We plan to spend four days there, again staying with our friend, doing laundry, refilling prescriptions, hopefully seeing some other friends and preparing to send everything home, except that which we take for the next two and half months. Having seen the value a smart phone can have, I may look into buying one that I can use in Europe and then take home.

We will head out by train on a long ride to Belgium on August 7, spend a few days there, then a few days in Amsterdam.  We will then travel to Copenhagen, where on the 16th we will see our friends Joan and Stan A**** who will be embarking on a Baltic cruise the next day. We will stay a few more days in Copenhagen, then our plans get vague.

Jumping to the end of the trip, we will probably arrive in Greece the middle of September. During the next, and final, month we will tour the Greek mainland, and try to visit a couple of islands.  We are also going to find a few days to visit our friends Sue R******** and Fred S****** who will be living in Israel then. That was not part of our original plan, but it is a pretty short flight from Athens, so we thought we would take advantage of their hospitality, as we might not get the opportunity again.

I have not booked the flight yet, but would expect to be back in Washington, D.C. on Thursday, October 15, 2015, a year to the date after we left on our adventure. We have made no plans for what we will do on our return yet, but hope to see the D.C. crowd at Tunnicliff’s on Friday, October 16.

[What a wonderful journey Rich describes!  It sounds a little bit like the three-weeker my family took back in the ’60s when we lived in Germany.  We put our car on a train in Frankfurt and unloaded it in Milan and then drove down the boot to Venice (with many stops along the way) and back.  

[I also took a school trip from Geneva to Provence one spring—it must have been 1964, but I’m no longer sure—and one stop was in Avignon.  Since we were all just kids, and half of us were French-speaking, as soon as we came to the famous Pont d’Avignon, we all ran out and danced on it. 

Sur le Pont d’Avignon

L’on y danse, l’on y danse.

Sur le Pont d’Avignon

L’on y danse tous comme ça!

[We’d discovered soon after arriving in Europe back then, by the way, that we could pretty much always get a great meal in Italy and France just by picking a restaurant, café, or roadside inn by the look of the place.  If we stuck to the local dishes, the simple meals on the menu, we had wonderful food.  This was less true in Germany, Switzerland, and, we found out later, England, where we needed to be more choosy.

[We went to the Palio in Siena.  It’s an amazing sight, to say the least, but not one I’d like to repeat.  First, it’s immensely crowded; people are packed into the square’s perimeter.  The usual weather is hot and bright sun, and there’s no shelter or shade, so we stood in a crowded-subway sort of mass (from which it was difficult even to see the “track”), in the blazing heat.  Many people fainted even before the race started and had to be passed out of the crowd over the heads of the rest of the spectators!  (Ambulances and medical assistants were, of course, out on the periphery of the crowd.)  

[Then the race itself has its problems.  I recall that the “track” in the middle of the square was, in fact, square, not circular.  The racing horses had to make sharp turns at high speeds and several were injured (and, I presumed, later destroyed) in the mêlée.  We saw at least one horse with a broken leg limping around the track until the attendants could maneuver him off the field.  The whole event, as I recall it, was very short—a coupe of minutes at most—but that could just be my memory.  (I was a teenager, probably 16 or 17, at the time; my brother would have been 14 or 15.)  The Renaissance pageantry, of course, which precedes the race itself—lots of colorful flag-twirling in Renaissance costumes, drumming and fanfares—was spectacular and, for a couple of kids, delightful.  The race, though, was disturbing in the end.

[Of course, I don’t run with the bulls—so maybe Rich’s perspective would be different.]

Dispatches from Spain 9

by Rich Gilbert

[My friend Rich Gilbert has sent an e-mail from Pamplona, where he and Sallie went after leaving Madrid.  (Yes, he ran with the bulls.)  They’ll be traveling, first in Spain and then farther afield, for six months before returning to the States.  Check back for Dispatches 1-8 (30 November, 10 December, and 20 December 2014, and 14 January, 8 March, and 20 April 2015) to catch up with the story.  They’ll be going to Italy next and, in the meantime, he reports on some interesting and potentially significant developments in Spanish politics and some perhaps less portentous ones in football/soccer, too.  As usual, Rich’s account of his and Sallie’s travels make us feel as if we’re sharing the adventure in Spanish culture and lifestyle.  I recommend that you all also follow Sallie’s blog, Rambling Solo, at http://ramblingsolo.blogspot.com.es.  Rich promises that his next dispatch, from Rome, will arrive soon.]

Leaving Spain‏

Pamplona – July 14, 2015

Dear Friends and Family

Pamplona / San Sebastian

I know I am jumping ahead, but for those of you who have known  me long, yes,  we are in Pamplona.  This is the last day and the closing ceremony, “Pobre de mi” [“Poor me”] is both fun and touching. I ran with the bulls safely on the 7th of July, my birthday, and again on the 13th, but not on the other days. Other than my actual birthday, I often decide each morning, depending on the night before and my gut feeling. Our friend Charlie has been seeing we get fed occasionally in some good restaurants, so Sallie is better with the Fiesta.  Nonetheless, this time, Sallie and [I] got away to San Sebastian for a few days in the middle of the Fiesta, as well as a day trip up through the Roncevailles pass (The Song of Roland) to France for lunch.  San Sebatian is  a really lovely city with some really great tapas, and I am not talking about olives! So much different than when I almost got trapped there during the riots in 1978.  Much better this way. 

One story you may enjoy concerns the location of our hotel in San Sebastian.  It was in the city, but really a bus ride, albeit short, cheap and frequent, away from the places we wanted to see.  There was really only one restaurant within blocks.  We walked up and saw the their tasting menu was 200 Euros [about $220]! No way!  As we walked back, I said “who do they think they are – a Michelin three star restaurant?”  I looked them up on-line and – you guessed it – they really were a Michelin three star restaurant! Turns out the owner is a legend in the Basque Country. Would like to try it someday but on a fixed trip when I know how much the trip will cost and how much we have to splurge.  This is not that trip.

Delays In Writing

I suppose many of you are wondering what has happened to Sallie and me.  It has been well over a month since we left our apartment in Madrid.  I meant to write an email about leaving, but the United States Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia Circuit had other ideas.  Ten days before we were to leave Madrid, I received an order to file a supplemental brief in one of the cases which I argued when I flew home in January. It is a rare request, and often means that the Court is really struggling with an issue.  However, they wanted it filed by the day we were to fly to Italy.  I have a colleague, Kristen Hughes, who is second chair, so I spent a lot of the time before leaving Madrid drafting the brief and she was able to put [it] into final [shape] and get it filed on time.

Since then we have been traveling.  Between traveling to different places, sightseeing, and sometimes problems with internet, it has been hard to find the time to write what is becoming a longer and longer story.

Leaving Madrid

Leaving Madrid was difficult for us on several levels. Logistically, we had to decide what to send home, what to store at the apartment for later trips, and what we were going to take with us. We had other errands to accomplish as well as planning our trip. (Not to mention writing my brief for the Court of Appeals.) But it was also difficult on an emotional level. We had developed some budding friendships and also good relationships with some of the local merchants, bartenders and restaurant owners. Before leaving I tried to take photos of most of them.  All were gracious about it and most said they would miss us, and probably meant it. There were many parts of Madrid and its surroundings that we never got to visit. I think Sallie and I both felt we could have stayed longer. We would be off traveling without a home to come back to, although our landlady / friend agreed to let us store some things with her. So on the morning of Saturday, June 23, we left Madrid, by train for Malaga.

Malaga

We spent about 10 days visiting parts of Andalucia, the southern province in Spain, we [had] not visited before.  We had been to Sevilla, Cordoba and Grenada on several occasions, so we headed for Malaga, a relatively large city on the coast.  We rented a car there, which was good because the “airbnb” apartment we stayed in was pretty far outside of town and difficult to get to without a car.  It was in a lovely house on a hillside in an exclusive neighborhood and we had a lovely view of the Mediterranean. Good place to relax, but driving downtown was sometimes a challenge. We got to see Roman ruins, the Alcazaba, an old Moorish palace not as well maintained as the Alhambra in Grenada, and the home where Picasso was born and lived in his youth. We ate seafood on the beach but did not go swimming.

Gibraltar

After three days we headed to Gibraltar. We had lunch on the beach in Marbella, a picturesque beach town down the coast. We stayed the night in a hotel in Linea de la Concepcion, the small Spanish city on the other side of the border with Gibraltar. Sallie had booked a bird watching tour of the “Rock.” We did not see many birds other than gulls, despite our guide’s efforts, but it was fascinating anyway. About half the trip was spent hiking on top of the rock, with spectacular views, and plenty of military gun emplacements, most abandoned. (Parts of the top were still being used by the British military, so we could not go there anyway.) Of course, we saw the famous monkeys that are allowed to range freely on the Rock, although they are fed regularly to keep them from coming down into the town. The rest of the time was basically spent driving around the peninsula. Gibraltar’s population is that of a small city and most of them are crammed into a relatively small  stretch of land, much of it reclaimed from the sea. It was odd to hear English spoken and to have to pay in pounds.

Make no mistake, Gibraltar is still a significant source of political controversy. Spain still wants it back – badly. Our guide, who was born and raised in Gibraltar, told us that the locals have no desire to return to Spanish rule.  (The Spanish position is undermined somewhat by the fact that Spain has two such enclaves on the coast of Africa in what would be Morocco, which they plan to hang onto.) Caught in the middle are the literally thousands of Spaniards who cross over from Linea de la Concepcion every day to work in Gibraltar. (We had parked our car at the border and walked over, so we knew what a stream it was.) My guess is, and it is only a guess, that those Spaniards would prefer Gibraltar become Spanish – as long as the same level of economic activity and opportunity existed.

Cadiz

Upon leaving Gibraltar, we drove to Cadiz. We stopped outside Tarifa, the southernmost Spanish city on the mainland, at a stunning viewing point where we could see directly to Africa and see the huge boats sailing through the straits of Gibraltar.  I would like to described the cultural and historical highlights of Cadiz, the port city from which Columbus set out on his first voyage to the Americas. The truth is, however, that we had a hotel on the beach and so we decided to goof off for a day and a half.

Ronda

After leaving Cadiz, we set out to travel to Ronda, the most famous of the “white hill towns” in Andalucia.  We drove through several other towns on the way.  These are all towns located on tops and sides of hills in the mountains, probably for protection originally.  Whether by regulation or by custom, the buildings are almost always painted white. They present striking images when viewed from afar or from the other side of the valley.  Driving in them can be hair-raising because, being towns from a different century, the streets are narrow, go up and down at quite a slope and are often one way with no clear directions. We simply gave up in Arcos de Frontera, perhaps the second largest of [the] hill towns, tried to get out of town and stick to the main highway, which is like a two lane highway in the United States. Things were a bit easier in another little town we stopped at for lunch, but getting in and out was still a challenge. We got to Ronda in the evening. Throughout this drive we crossed several mountain ridges, with spectacular views. I may have mentioned this, but Spain is the second most mountainous country in Europe after Switzerland, so the images you may have seen of the dry, flat plains of La Mancha, while accurate, are not representative.

Ronda might qualify as a small city.  It straddles a deep gorge which separates the truly old, and partly Muslim, part of town from the newer town.  Our hotel, along with others, straddles the gorge and the views were striking.  Ronda also has the first formal bullring in Spain and we took a tour, which was more interesting than I thought it might be. They let us walk into the center of the bullring and standing there in the sun looking up at the rows of seats, you got some sense of the excitement / tension a matador might feel waiting for the bull to enter the ring.

We also went for a hike outside of town, which led us down a rural country road for far longer than we thought it would be.  When we got back to the edge of town, we were tired, hungry and thirsty, so we  stopped at the first place we could find.  It was a small restaurant, clearly frequented by locals, as [we] were still on the outer edge of the town, away from the tourist sites.  It was actually quite good food, with a new treat, deep, but lightly, fried olives. They were delicious, and we have not seen them before or since.

Tour Groups

Since, up until Ronda we had avoided the more famous tourist spots in Andalucia, Ronda was our first, but not to be our last, encounter on the trip with throngs of tourists, especially tour groups. Interesting at first, they became somewhat of a nuisance during the remainder of our trip, because they involved large groups all trying to see the same thing at one time or trying to get to one place at the same time.

A large number of these tour groups were Asian, which surprised us, but probably should not have. After all, there is a lot of money in China, Japan and Korea, even if not distributed equally, and the desire to see and experience new things is, I am sure, common across all cultures. I suppose in the overall scheme of things this influx of Asian tourists into Europe is a good thing bringing an exposure to different cultures; however, the Asian tour groups were more of a nuisance because, probably due to more complete unfamiliarity with the language, they tended to stick very close to the tour leader and each other. If they were coming, just get out of the way.

Of course, there were many other Asian tourists in small groups, often families, who behaved just like any other tourists, so I am not attributing this to any cultural distinction, with one possible caveat. While hardly unique, we noticed the Asian tourists almost universally tended to want to take “selfie” photographs of the sights, perhaps just to show that they had been to the Leaning Tower of Pisa or Palace of the Popes in Avignon. Not a problem of course (unless you were in their shot), just amusing.

We thought the tourists in Ronda were bad, but little did we know. First of all there were no cruise ships for hundreds of miles. And Ronda is nowhere near as well known as Rome, Venice or Florence. (See next email covering Italy.)

Cave Paintings

About an hour outside of Ronda, there is a cave with cave paintings which date back, according to our guide, some 30,000 years.  He said they could be dated because the pigments contained animal fat and could be carbon dated. Apparently the cave was used as a site for prehistoric art for thousands of years; interestingly, the most realistic paintings were the oldest ones. It was remarkable, even though caves are not my favorite places, and this cave was not illuminated in order to keep down changes in temperature and humidity which can destroy the paintings. They also make you go in small groups to minimize those -changes.  To avoid the crowds, and waits, we choose to drive out on Monday morning, on our way out of Ronda. There were just three couples, one from Germany and one from England and us.  Fortunately the guide could speak passable English.

After a beautiful drive out of the mountains, we drove back to Malaga.  We spent a night in a hotel near the airport.  On Tuesday, June 2, we flew to Rome.  I do not want to make this too long, so I will break up our travels.  Italy will be the next email, I promise.

Spanish Politics

I have not been always able to buy El Pais every day, so I have to pick up the latest in Spanish politics piecemeal.  The short answer is that it is a bit of mess right now.  They had elections at the end of May  in many cities and some provinces.  Nowhere did any party win an absolute majority, so governments were built by cooperation, which was a messy process. The national general elections will be this Fall, so the parties are still leery of being too closely identified with other parties.  (I think there is no chance that one party will [win] an absolute majority in those elections either; then things will get really interesting!)

The big losers were the Popular Party, the ruling conservative party.  They lost control over a lot of provinces and major cities including Madrid and Barcelona. By and large, the left gained ground by agreeing to cooperate more with each other.  Both Madrid and Barcelona have new mayors from the populist parties (to be distinguished from the Popular Party, which is conservative) and both cities will be introducing new left-leaning measures.  In Madrid it will be to stop evictions, and in Barcelona to freeze the number of tourist accommodations in the city for several years.  Still, there is much unrest in the parties. The PP has shaken up its leadership, although not at the top where Mariano Rajoy, the current president, will lead their ticket. Pablo Iglesias, the leader of Podemos, the strongest of the populist parties, and perhaps the most left-wing, is quarreling with about everybody else on the center and the left, so it may be hard for him to form a government either.

The separatist movement in Cataluña is somewhat disorganized.  They want to run a single ticket of independence supporters in the provincial elections scheduled for September, but they claim that they do not want “politicians,” so we will see how that ends up. Recent polls show that if there were a clear choice as to independence, it would narrowly fail.  As I understand it (and predicted earlier), the other members of the European Union have indicated that they would not automatically grant an independent Cataluña membership or allow them to continue to use the Euro.  This would make independence a costly affair (see Greece!), and I think it will narrowly fail.

Given the heating up of our presidential race in the United States, it is easy to think that Spanish politics is merely an amusing sideshow.  It is, I suppose, but it does have  consequences for the United States.  Of all of the political parties in Spain, I think that the Popular Party, which is the most conservative, has been, and would be the more reliable partner with the United States in international matters of mutual interest.  I cannot bring myself to cheer for them however, because there is just so much corruption in the party.  They are not the only ones, but have been much more tarnished by it.  I simply think that they have squandered the right to govern. Whether a Socialist government would still work with the United States is certainly possible, but I think a Pablo Iglesias-led government will be very prickly to deal with on international matters.

Spanish Football

Well, my favorite team, Barcelona, pulled off a rare triple crown by winning the Spanish premier league, (which is decided by league standings; there are no playoffs as such,) the Kings Cup, which is a tournament open to all Spanish clubs, and finally the European Champions League Tournament. There is no active football in Europe for the summer, so more time on my hands.

Of course, being soccer, the other news was off the field.  The most important was the indictment by the United States government of many top officials in FIFA, the world governing body for soccer, for taking bribes to award tournaments, such as the World Cup, and marketing contracts. Probably will be plenty of plea agreements, further indictments, and embarrassment all around. No one thinks this will be the end of it.  It caused the resignation of Sepp Blatter, the Swiss who has be head of FIFA for decades, which many believe was long overdue. (In all fairness, Blatter was not named in the indictment, but there is no telling if he might have been later.)

Meanwhile, consistent with my “rich get richer” complaint, both Real Madrid and Barcelona are busy trying to buy the best players from other clubs in the league.  Do not expect their dominance to fade any time soon.