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Hola familia y amigos!

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We rounded out our time in Spain’s Andalucia region in Jerez de la Frontera, finishing up in Ronda. At our B & B lodging in Jerez,  we were greeted by Alejandro, who provided us an immediate tutelage (including tasting) on sherry, Jerez being known for this famous product, as well as Flamenco and the equestrian ballets of Andalusian horses. He went from A to Z with the sherry, from the basic Fino to the ultimate, Pedro Ximenez (PX), which was lost on this writer’s lack of fine palate sensitivities. When we told him that one of our plans was to attend the famous Cadiz Carnaval, he advised us to take the train today since it was a holiday and the afternoon would be filled with multiple activities and jammed with excitement, as opposed to the other two days of our stay which were normal weekday afternoons. By now it was 1 p.m. and there was a 2:38 train to Cadiz. Being the inveterate and flexible travelers we are, we quickly unpacked, freshened up from the Seville bus ride, walked to the square Alejandro described (of course we were once again in a convoluted, out-of-the-way neighborhood), luckily espying a taxi and sped to the train depot. As the minutes tick down, we were ineptly attempting to secure our tickets from the machine, an attendant finally was forced to come to our rescue. We boarded a train, confirming with fellow passengers that this was the train to Cadiz.  As we settled in a guy glanced at our ticket and pointed to a train one platform over, also going to Cadiz. It was the cheap seats/milk run train, leaving 3 minutes after the one we were on. More adrenaline rushes, as the access to that train was underground, requiring us to run down the stairs to come up on the correct platform. We barely made it, laughing about the folly of it all (which is easy to do when you’re successful) and got to our destination after 10 other stops. Welcome to spur-of-the-moment decisions!

 

It was obvious that, along with us, most of the other riders were on their way to celebrate Carnaval as they were adorned with various costumes. The young man across from us was wearing a bright green top hat, a couple in front of us were prepping each other with black penciling to affect a cat-like nose and whiskers for her and a stylish moustache for him. After the 45 minute ride, we descended to the platform and followed the costumed people, figuring they would lead us to the action. It worked. Entering the first square we spotted a municipal building balcony decoration. People ranged from no costuming (like us, except, later, Maggie painted a two inch diameter red blotch on my cheek as we had noticed others sporting), to groups of 6-12 members wearing matching outfits, e.g., Steam Punkers, Scottish kilts and leggings, space age outfits, etc. Confetti was strewn about the cobblestoned streets from an earlier parade, music everywhere, ad hoc street art performing groups attracting 40-50 onlookers which would block the narrow streets…quite festive! However, it was a bit too much, too soon, so we walked a few blocks to the sea wall for fresh air, being reminded of Cartagena, Colombia, with the peeling paint on buildings facing salt waters. It was there that a couple offered up a black wig so Maggie could take a picture of me looking more like a Carnaval participant, which I dutifully accepted.

 

The highlight of this day was a serendipitous stop at La Marquesa de las Huevas coffee shop for a cappuccino when minutes later an 8 person musical group started performing and singing (songs are topical and satirical), accompanied by guitars and drums, wearing black wigs, sequined necklaces, sunglasses, with 4” extended eyelashes, red circles on their cheeks, and clad in black. Some of the lyrics were known by the 30 or so patrons crammed in with us, so they began singing along with them, with cadenced clapping and whoops along the way. A humorous moment was had in going to the restrooms, one door marked “S”, the other, “C”. I assumed the “S” was for senores (men) and the “C”, chicas (females). Upon entering the “S”, and being surprised, turning away, I was admonished by a patron, pointing to the “C”, for caballeros! “S” was for senoras y senoritas. After three hours of Cadiz, we took the train back to Jerez. Ten minutes before it left, we had the car to ourselves, and then the hordes poured in, SRO, children with loud toys purchased at Carnaval, everyone still reveling…all this for 45 minutes and many whistle stops. Couldn’t get to our B & B fast enough!!!

 

The following day Alejandro set up a 3 p.m. appointment at Bodegas Tradicion, a small boutique sherry winery, where we were met by Sabrina, a young German transplant who has lived here for the last 11 years. She showed us the moldy walled room where the casks were aging the sherry, explaining the process in great detail to answer the questions the six of us on this tour had. We also toured the owner’s temperature-controlled art gallery of 15th & 16th century Spanish paintings, which 40 or so are rotated periodically out of a collection of some 400-500 paintings. Not sure where the money comes from, as this is a young bodega, founded in 1998, producing only 20,000 bottles per year! The tour ended with the quintessential tasting of Finos, Amontillado, Oloroso, Cream Sherry, PX and Brandy, along with suggested food pairings. This finishing touch was much appreciated in contrast to the “lunch” we had before we came, at Bar Bienestar, an eatery in the local square on the way to this bodega, where the offering was so suspect, we hardly touched it. Days later, someone told us it probably was tripe covered in tomato sauce!

 

On the way back to our lodging, we could hear the stomping of dance shoes on the wooden floors by Flamenco students, practicing in a studio, as we had stumbled into Jerez during their annual Flamenco Festival. Some of the patrons at our B & B have been coming here for years, staying a week, to practice and attend performances. These women would be on our terrace in the afternoons, icing their knees and feet each day after their lessons. It can be brutal! Our last of the 3 days here were spent wandering the streets, testing our orienteering skills, using maps and the compass app on our phones, taking our breakfast in the sun at nearby Plaza Plateros and then on to the Royal Andalusian School of Equestrian Art, where they have a noon show on Thursdays, hoping to see something for free. No such luck, only a picture of the entrance. Well, we aren’t rabid horse fans anyway. Our success was in finding where it was located! On our walk we did come across interesting sculptures and a stork nest on a nearby church steeple, like one we had seen in Lerma on our way to Madrid. We have since learned that many people build high structures in their yards, hoping for storks to build a nest there, a sign of bringing good luck. This would not be the last of stork sightings, especially when we hit North Africa.

 

Our final major destination in Spain was Ronda, in the Province of Malaga, east of Jerez de la Frontera, transporting ourselves via a 50-seater TGE bus on a 2.5 hour ride with 7 stops along the way. On a tip from Alejandro, we arose at 6:30 a.m. to take in a 24 hour vigil a couple of blocks up the street at the Iglesia de San Lucas, which was sparsely attended, but with folks coming and going. Apparently there was a miracle here recently but we never really understood the significance.  A couple of the stops on our bus ride were “white village hill towns”, like Los Arcos de la Frontera, majestically rising in the distance. The scenery along the way was fertile and lush, which would be changing by summertime. We felt lucky to be here at this time of the year. We passed many newly planted olive tree groves, with the young encased sprouts at El Olivar de San Mateo, once again reminding us of our Seville guide Raul’s comment about olive oil as Spain’s #1 export. Climbing to 2,200 feet elevation, we began seeing planted pine trees and what appeared to be mountain lakes in their turquoise-green coloration near Villamartin.

 

We were in our room at Hotel San Gabriel in Ronda by early afternoon and soon joined by Phil and Marilyn, Seattle friends and regular international traveling companions. Maggie and I were unprepared for the torrential rains that were falling and found a cheesy shop that sold us two saran wrap thin plastic ponchos with hoods for 3 Euros each (highway robbery, but we were desperate), which, with the wind gusts, were pretty worthless. By the end of the evening, garbage bins throughout the entire town were filled with wind-broken umbrellas, a testimony to these conditions! We found a small church to tour, Iglesia de Santa Maria La Mayor, which kept us dry for a while and presented us with some local religious history. Leaving this small sanctuary, we found a break in the weather, with sun and a fantastic view overlooking the backside of this quaint town of 36,000 souls, with blossoming almond trees and their pink and white blooms. We attempted to get into the Iglesia de Nuestra Senora de la Merced Ronda to view the ‘incorruptible’ hand of Saint Teresa of Avila, but they were closed and we never managed to get there during this 3 night stay. We struggled to stay out of the rain as much as possible, capturing a nighttime photo of the magnificent arched Puente Nuevo (new bridge), 322’ above the Ronda Tajo gorge. We ducked in out of another downpour into Bar Terraza for dinner, dining on pizza while the rain pounded away on the ceiling, before returning to the hotel.

 

The Rio Guadalevin passes underneath Puente Nuevo and the next day the heavy rains were reflected in the muddy, roiling aftereffects. We enjoyed our visit to the Plaza de Toros and its museum, with the sculpture outside hinting its milieu. The only other pictures we could take were of the bull ring where it was muddy and lightly raining and the dressage arena with its chandeliers. The museum (no photos allowed) was rich with fancy matador outfits, sets of dueling pistols complete with the rules of dueling, carriage harnesses and reins, photographs of famous macho bullfight aficionados, e.g., Orson Welles, Earnest Hemingway chumming it up with the real deals, toreadors Pedro Romero and Antonio Ordonez. The rains finally disappeared, so were comfortably strolling around and stumbled across a youth nighttime affair, attendees nicely costumed and non-raucous, convening in a circus-like tent just outside the Plaza de Toros, with DJ supplied musical entertainment.

 

Our last full day was spent in relief from the rains passing, taking a 2.5 hour hike down into the valley, looking back at the front of the town and the clean flowing waters of the Rio Guadalevin now having been reclaimed, as well as the Muralla del Albacar de Ronda. Our path down into the valley began on cobbled stones hooking up with a much larger network of dirt and rocks trails that span 2 dozen sections of the Malaga Province. We eventually climbed steep rock outcroppings, crossing into the city and down the backside, walking on a narrow goat path, past the Arab Baths and the Puente Arabe (or Vieja), the 16th century old bridge at a much lower level than Puente Nuevo. Our last night there was spent at Taberna La Ronda in the old square eating goat cheese salad and a licorice postre (dessert).

 

The four of us departed by train to Algeciras for a 2 hour milk run of 6 stops, past gently flowing rivers, rugged outcroppings, sheep grazing, lush green hillsides dotted with small boulders,  cows at pasture, storks resting atop power towers and church steeples as well as strutting through wetlands. From the Algeciras train station we walked to the docks to catch a 12:30 p.m. ferry on the Baleara Lines aboard the Avemar Dos, which would carry us over the Mediterranean/Atlantic Ocean waters of Gibraltar to the Spanish town of Ceuta which is situated on the African continent curiously enough. We will commence the next dispatch with our crossing the border into Morocco from Ceuta and our first stay in the Blue City of Chefchaouen. Until then,

 

Cheers, Stan & Maggie

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