Andalucia, Extremadura, Portugal

                  Xmas 2002-3: Andalucía, Extremadura, Portugal

     During the two weeks before we left, we were considering the possibility of going to Galicia to volunteer to help clean up the oil spill left by the Prestige. We called a volunteer hot line several times and were told that they wouldn’t accept any more volunteers. On our return we received an extremely disturbing e-mail from a Professor in Galicia who claimed that things were really much worse than was being reported and that the government was in fact preventing volunteers from working in order to cover up its own incompetence. This event will go down as one of the worst ecological disasters in modern European history.

     Friday, 12/27. We left Polop about 11:00. Passed through Murcia, Granada, & Antequera. Campillos (Málaga). This is a pueblo where Blanca lived for 8 years (9-17 years old). Her father (who died of stomach cancer at the age of 53) ran the local ¨tabacalera¨(may they rot in hell!). Blanca went to a small “colegio,” run by nuns. After visiting the site of Blanca´s former house and talking with an old woman who used to run the store where Blanca´s family shopped, we checked into the small but delightful “Hostal San Francisco”(31 euros). Blanca went looking for her Fosamax, which she takes for osteoporosis, but couldn’t find it. She went ballistic. How could she have spent so much time packing and have not put in her important medicine? I took decisive action. I got dressed, went down to the car, and located the envelope full of prescriptions that Blanca always carries around. I went to the pharmacy and filled the prescription. The pharmacist was extremely congenial. Back to the hotel; Blanca consoled. Within an hour, the phone rings and it is one of Blanca´s school friends from 40 years ago. It turns out that the pharmacist had recognized Blanca´s name on the prescription; she had to be the daughter of the tobacconist of yesteryear. He called Blanca´s old friend Magdalena, who in turn called two others (Josefina and Tere). The news of Blanca’s return after 40 years spread like wildfire through the village.

     Saturday, 12/28. Campillos. We had breakfast with the three old friends, who, it appears, had never left the pueblo.. On the way to the restaurant, a woman, seventyish, was walking on the other side of the street. Josefina hails her. Pointing to Blanca, ¨Do you recognize who this is? Without missing a beat: “Díos mío, es Blanquita Rodríguez!!!” After 40 years!

     After visiting the church, which featured more than 15 versions of the “Virgin,” we headed for Jerez de La Frontera. It´s a very pleasant place. Lunch at ¨La Cepa de Oro¨(31 euros). We visited the medieval Alcázar, which has a superb Moorish Bath. The town is filled with sherry bodegas, e.g. Gonzalez Byass, Domecq.

We headed for Cadiz, the old port town from which Columbus left for his little trip. After failing to find a hotel in the old city, we headed for the highway and found a very nice little truck stop hotel.

     Sunday, Dec.29. We headed for El Rocio (Huelva). We stayed at the Hotel Toruño (65 euros). This is one of the weirdest places I’ve ever been to. Physically, it’s like the set of a John Wayne movie: wide ¨streets¨ that are really nothing more than glorified mud puddles, large wooden structures, etc. The vast majority of the buildings are large clubhouses, owned by the various religious fraternities (¨hermandades¨) who come for the annual pilgrimage to visit Spain´s most famous virgin: the Virgin del Rocio (aka ¨La Blanca Paloma. (Note for ethnic psychologists: ¨Paloma¨means ¨dove¨; it also means ¨cunt.¨).

    The atmosphere combines features of a medieval High Mass, a summer Church camp, and spring weekend in Fort Lauderdale. Many of the visitors have come of pay their respects to the Virgin, but the vast majority are drunken teenagers who arrive on motorcycles or $40,000 SUV´s. Once settled into one of the clubhouses, they spend the rest of their time sitting on chairs in the middle of the street or riding through the mud puddles on their dirt bikes. Some ride around on horses, with gin and tonics in their hands.

     The Church houses the image of the Virgin, a small wooden affair, surrounded by a golden frame that covers the whole back of the nave. (The thing gives ¨garish whole new meaning.) Throngs of Spaniards, many in spanking new Barbour jackets, genuflect, while talking on their cell phones. It is clear that many Spanish males are ambivalent about whether they want to be monks or cowboys.

Blanca and I decide that this is not the place to be on New Year´s Eve. A night in the hotel confirms the soundness of our decision.

     Monday, 12/30. We get up early, have breakfast in the smoke-infested restaurant near the hotel, and head for the Parque Nacional De Doñana, which is one of the most important wildlife preserves in Europe. (It was almost destroyed during the 90´s, when a reservoir containing toxic chemicals burst.) We walked through the park for about 4 hours.

     Tuesday, 21/31. We checked out of the hotel and drove north to Trujillo, which is one of the most attractive pueblos in Spain. It is dominated by a medieval-Moorish upper city, enclosed by stone walls. The Plaza Mayor features an equestrian statue of the local boy-made-good: Pizarro, the ¨conquistador ¨of Peru.

We ran into a vibrant old lady named Margarita, who happened to own a hostal. She rented us a room with a spectacular view of the Plaza for 30 euros a night (no paperwork). Before we could move in, we had to scare up her husband, Don Pepe, who was to clean the room. That night we were completely alone in the hostal, no other guests having appeared and Don Pepe and Margarita having gone off. We ate migas in a small hotel across the Plaza, bought several bottles of excellent Extremadura wine, and were fast asleep by 11:00, glad to have escaped the holy mayhem of El Rocio.

     Wednesday, 1/1. We explored the upper town, which is extremely well preserved. There are several churches and a castle. We ate at ¨Meson La Troya,¨which is famous for its Pantagruelian portions and for its owner, Doña Concha, who, at 80 some odd years, still sits at the entrance of the dining room collecting money.

     Thursday, 1/2. We explored some more of Trujillo. We visited the Palacio de los Duques de San Carlos,¨which is now a convent housing 9 nuns. The nun who showed us around sold us a bag of ¨perrunillas,¨a sweet cookie that is manufactured there. We drove to Caceres, where we explored one of the best preserved medieval complexes in Spain. The most interesting thing was a medieval Arab cistern. We ate at Ël Puchero¨(32 euros). Less agreeable was the fact that after lunch we discovered that our car had been towed away. We had to take a cab across town to the police station, where we retrieved the car in exchange for paying a fine of 60 euros. We returned to Trujillo in a bad mood. I bought several bottles of ¨pitarra,¨the local plonk, which provided some consolation.

     Friday, 1/3. We headed north, passing through the beautiful Parque Nacional de Monfragüe, one of the best parks in Spain. We stopped at the parador in the park in order to say hello to Gorka, a friend of Blanca´s colleague Pedro. Gorka is the head chef at the parador and has the same name and age as Blanca´s son.

We lunched on the Plaza Mayor in Plasencia, thoroughly enjoying the bright sunshine. We entered the Valle de Vera and passed through a series of small villages. On the way we stopped at the Monasterio de San Yuste, where Carlos V retired to die. (He died of malaria, not, as commonly thought, of gout.) In any case, the surroundings and décor reflect the fact that he wasn´t much of a happy camper. His bedroom opens into the Chapel, so that he could hear Mass several times a day. His son Felipe II preferred the more chipper atmosphere of the Escorial.

We arrived the small village of Guijo De Santa Barbara, where there is a ¨casa rural¨ (¨Camino Real¨) that had been recommended to us. The place was a completely restored mansion, with beautiful beam ceilings and stone walls. It was filled with all sorts of chochkas and was a bit too cutesy for my taste.

Saturday, 1/4. We crossed the valleys of La Vera, Valle de Jerte, and Valle Delambroz. We arrived at Hervás after passing through the Puerto de Honduras. Hervás has a beautifully preserved ¨Barrio Judio,¨ in which many Jews lived before they were expelled from Spain by Fernando and Isabel in 1492. We drove through Las Hurdes, a region whose poverty was the subject of Buñuel´s film ¨Terre Sans Pain.¨ From the looks of things, it hasn’t changed much.

We arrived at Ciudad Rodrigo just as the sun was setting. So we got to see a bit of the old town. But we didn’t come across any interesting looking hotel. Blanca suggested that we cross the border into Portugal, which we did. We drove north to Almeida, where we spent the night (31 euros).

     Sunday 1/5. We spent most of the day driving around the Alentejo (Guarda, Covilho, Castelobranco). In Portalegre we ran into a badly marked detour and ended up in the mountains, where we found a delightful restaurant. There was no one there, but we were able to feast on wonderful Alentejo soup and stew, and wine.

     We crossed back into Spain near Badajoz and spent the night at a roadside hotel (30 euros).in Extremadura, where the food and wine were excellent.

     1/6. Home via Córdoba, Granada, Murcia. It was a fine trip--3,300 kms. (Gas costs double what it does in the U.S.) The food, wine, and accommodations were excellent and completely reasonable. The main problem for me remains the ubiquitous tobacco smoke, which leaves me nauseated and stinking every time I’m near Spaniards. It’s a real social problem when you meet an otherwise delightful person who proceeds to blow poisonous filth in your face.

     1/7. Polop. Short run in mountains. I picked two bags of succulent Valencia oranges in our friend Anabel´s orchard. Then I peeled some of our neighbour Lila´s rosemary and thyme for Blanca´s chicken-in-beer. Bright sunshine: no shirt on the terrace most of the day. I’m reading Hemingway’s book on bullfighting. Weight: 74 kgs.