We're back in London and have gone through all the piles that accumulate in
our absence, so it's time for me to collect my thoughts and decipher my
notes on our two weeks in Spain. Despite a few problems, we had a great
trip, but as always, it's nice to be home again. A warning--I think this is
probably the longest report I have ever written, given that this is the
longest trip I have chronicled in a single message. [When I transferred it into LJ, they made me cut it in half.] I hope you enjoy it and I look forward to any questions or comments that you have.
Our trip began with a Thameslink train ride to Gatwick Airport. We hadn't
flown from there before, so it was interesting to figure out the best way to
get there and to find our way around. We checked in and went through
security. The guard on the other side of the metal detector asked if I
would mind submitting to a "random" search (it seemed fairly methodical to
me :) which was over quickly. We spent an hour in the duty free area,
waiting for our gate to be posted, during which time I bought too many books
and we admired the fountain in the shape of an asymmetrical cone that led
down to one of the gate wings.
The plane was a fairly small one, with wings over the body, instead of out
from the sides. Our seats were toward the back, where the plane tapers, and
were the most cramped, uncomfortable seats we've encountered. I love
Jason's elbows, but by the time we landed in Bilbao I was ready to whack off
the one that had been planted in my side throughout the flight for lack of
anywhere else to be.
We landed in the midst of one of the most glorious sunsets of our
experience, making for a lovely welcome to this new place. Neither of us
knew what to expect from Bilbao and really enjoyed it. It's a small city of
about 300,000 people, on the northern coast of Spain, where it juts out into
the Bay of Biscay. It's the capital of the Basque (Euskadi) region, so we
got to see many signs in Euskara. It looks very different from any other
language we know and sounds something like Russian in a Spanish accent, with
lots of 'dzh' sounds. The Euskara name for the city is "Bilbo," making us
feel like we were in Hobbiton.
Immigration was a quick process and we were able to pick up our bags almost
immediately. Following the EXIT signs, we were a bit startled to be spit
out directly from the baggage hall onto the sidewalk, but that made for a
short walk to the taxi stand. In the cab our driver explained--with the
help of a line of traffic as a visual aid--that it was rush hour and a
roundabout way would probably be quicker than the straight shot to our
hotel. We agreed to that plan and were pleasantly surprised when the scenic
route lived up to its name, offering us views of lush, rolling hills in the
full bloom of a spring twilight and then a lovely panorama of the city,
nestled into the bowl of the river valley and just lighting up for the
evening.
The Hotel Nervion, on the bank of the river of the same name, was one of the
best hotels we've stayed in during our travels. The decor was elegant, in a
simple modern style, and our room was lovely and comfortable although not
large. Our stay included a sumptuous breakfast buffet, all for only about
$70. We were tempted by their restaurant's set-menu of three courses for
under $15, prepared by their Michelin-starred chef, but decided that we
really should spend our one evening in Bilbao seeing a bit more of the town.
Leaving the hotel, we first walked over to the Guggenheim Museum, our real
destination here. It was about a ten minute walk from the hotel across the
river on a gleaming white suspension bridge for pedestrians. Approaching
the museum we discovered "Maman," a twenty-foot high bronze spider by Louise
Bourgeois. Standing in its menacing shadow, we nearly jumped out of our
skin when huge jets of flame erupted in the reflecting pool next to us.
Catching our breath, we admired how the fire created dancing reflections in
the glistening titanium skin of the museum.
Continuing on around the closed building, we came to the main entrance, with
the museum's mascot--a fifty-foot high puppy made of flowering
plants--gleaming fluorescently in the streetlight. Leaving the museum, we
wandered through the well-lit streets, seeking dinner. Eventually we
decided on the Etxeko Tavern, recommended by the local guidebook we'd picked
up at the hotel. It was a brightly lit bar, with a few tables for diners in
the back room. The bar area was crowded with locals eating tapas and
drinking Murphy's Irish Red beer, but we were the only people in the dining
room until another group sat down about halfway through our meal. We shared
a sampler of Iberian ham and salami and some giant white asparagus with
garlic mayonnaise. The latter was tasty, but got boring about halfway
through. Both of us were excited by the "solomillo" on the menu, so we
ordered two of them: thick fillets of beef marinated, grilled to a perfect
"rare" and served with grilled pimientos and fried potatoes. Entirely
sated, we were glad to have a post-prandial stroll back across the river to
the hotel.
My favorite thing on the breakfast buffet the next morning was the fresh
churros--sugared twists of deep-fried dough--but there was a huge variety of
fruits, yogurt, cold cuts, cheeses, cereals and pastries, as well as a
scrambled egg station. Fortified for a day of art, we headed back to the
Guggenheim. Frank Gehry designed the building, which manages somehow to fit
into and stand out from its surroundings at the same time. His work is the
star of the place, accounting not only for the building but also for a
retrospective exhibit of his architectural designs that occupies the entire
middle floor. On the ground floor there is a room of works by Joseph Beuys,
a piece by Jenny Holzer (cryptic messages on LED displays), and a room of
German post-WWII painting (where I confirmed my sense that I really like
Gerhard Richter, Sigmar Polke's work is erratically pleasing to me, and I'm
completely bored by Georg Baselitz). There's also an enormous gallery of
large-scale works dominated by Richard Serra's "Snake," three curved slabs
of rusted steel, perhaps fifteen feet high and thirty feet long, set far
enough apart for people to walk between them and play with the echoes.
Upstairs there are more pieces by Bourgeois, a conceptual art installation
in travertine and television by Fabrizio Plessi, and a couple of rooms of
smaller-scale paintings on the the theme of "The Modern City" by Delaunay,
Gleizes and Grosz accompanied by videos on the same theme. There was also a
small collection of works by Barcelona native Antoni Tapies and our real
discovery of the museum, Basque sculptor Eduardo Chillida. His piece in
alabaster, "How Profound Is the Air" was Jason's favorite of those
exhibited.
After two hours there, we went on to the Bilbao Museum of Fine Arts and
explored their collection, split into three segments. Their permanent
collection of classic works is unremarkable, but interestingly included a
few modern pieces mixed in almost as commentary on the earlier works. The
contemporary art galleries left us fairly cold, except for a sound
installation of speakers down the hallway connecting the sections, entitled
"Where is House?" Our favorite gallery was the temporary exhibit of
photography on modern urban life that included some wonderful images from a
variety of photographers and cities.
Full of art, we needed food. The restaurant at the Guggenheim was
recommended, so we went back there for lunch. Their set-menu for about $8
per person offered chicken salad or cream of vegetable soup, stewed veal
cheeks in red wine sauce on a bed of artichoke hearts or courgettes stuffed
with hake on a bed of caramelized onions, and an eggy cake-like dessert with
lemon sorbet. We had one of each and were quite pleased.
We strolled back to the hotel, enjoying the almost-too-warm day, picked up
our bags and waited in their very comfortable lobby until it was time to
head back to the airport. The cab ride was much quicker in that direction
and the check-in window for our flight was not yet open when we arrived. We
sat around in the cavernous ticketing hall until we were allowed to check in
and then went down to sit around at the gate. We hadn't been assigned seats
together, but were able to switch with another passenger, and even though
the plane on this leg was smaller than the one from London, our seats were
much more comfortable. Bilbao gave us another glorious sunset as a send-off
and in an hour we were landing in Barcelona.
Another cab whisked us to the Hotel Urquinaona, next to the plaza of the
same name and about four blocks from Las Ramblas, the main drag of touristic
Barcelona. The hotel was more typical of European urban hotels--slightly
bare bones--but we actually got a double bed in this one and had a tiny
balcony overlooking the street with sufficiently glazed glass to keep out
almost all the traffic noise. Best of all, they had a computer in their
lounge with free internet access, so we were able to check our email.
Having dropped off our bags, we headed out to stroll Las Ramblas. It's a
long boulevard with a sidewalk in the middle of the lanes filled with cafe
seating, street musicians, flower stalls and souvenir stands. We
investigated two of the restaurants our guidebook recommended, but one was
gone and the other was full, so we fell back on a quaint-looking little
place that smelled good. We shared some Iberian ham and had garlic soup and
a mixed salad for starters. I chose the roasted lamb and after he found out
that there was no rabbit left, Jason took the waitress' recommendation of
the "cochinillo," or roasted leg of suckling pig. The meats were tender,
without being too greasy, and we were very satisfied with our find. It was
a balmy evening and we enjoyed the short stroll back to the hotel.
In the morning we grabbed a bite from the fairly meagre breakfast buffet and
headed out to see the city by daylight. We started down Las Ramblas again
and joined the line for the Palau Guell (pronouned almost like "way"),
Antoni Gaudi's first major architectural project. We had a guided tour in
English and Catalan (the native language of the area, a separate Romance
language similar to both Spanish and French) of the building built as an
annex to the main Guell palace fronting on Las Ramblas, around the corner,
and used mainly for socializing. There were many interesting rooms and
decorative bits, but the really intriguing section of the house was the
roof, where the family never went and Gaudi felt free to run riot and
develop his broken-tile mosaic or "trencadis" style in decorating the twenty
chimney-tops.
From the Palau Guell we walked through the streets of the old town or "Barri
Gotic" to the cathedral. The most remarkable feature there was the fairly
plain cloister, surrounded by chapels--several of which had been closed up
for use as offices--but with trees and fountains in its center serving as a
refuge for a variety of geese and other birds. It was a cool, peaceful
place. Outside the walls there were street musicians tucked into almost
every corner, including one of the worst pairings we've encountered:
hammered dulcimer and accordion. They did give a fun rendition of "The
Barber of Seville," but other numbers were less inspiring.
We checked out the Museum of the History of the City, but decided that too
little time remained to see it before it closed for lunch. A restaurant on
our path had caught my eye with the promise of raw oysters, so we ducked
back there for a lunch of tapas, including some tasty oysters as well as
some Iberian ham, salmon blinis and pintxos (little bites) of toast with
some more ham and delicious pickled herring.
Back at our hotel, we had time for a brief lie-down before Sonja and John
arrived. They are friends from Maryland who visited us in London last
year. We had so much fun during that trip that we decided we should try
travelling together and they agreed to join us for their spring break from
the university where they both work. They'd had a long trip from DC via
Newark and Paris, but were ready to get started on tourism, so we walked
back to the Museum of the History of the City and started there.
There are a few relics of the pre-Roman Iberian settlement of the area, but
most of the museum focuses on the ruins of the Roman town that have been
excavated beneath the museum--including a winery and a fish-paste processing
plant, and some of the ecclesiastical buildings of the medieval period,
pre-dating the current cathedral. Besides that there was a special exhibit
on the geometrical aspects of Gaudi's architecture.
Leaving there, we made a brief stop at the cathedral and then split up, with
Sonja & John heading back to the hotel to rest while Jason and I hit the
Museu Picasso. Their collection is not large, and mainly focuses on the
artist's very early works, but it also includes most of his obsessive series
of paintings interpreting "Las Menininas" by Velasquez, and makes an
interesting complement to the larger collection of the Musee Picasso in
Paris, which we visited in January.
We met the others back at the hotel and decided to find dinner in that area,
rather than venturing further afield on their first evening. We ended up a
couple of blocks away at the Antic Olympic. We shared plates of Iberian
ham and I had a salad of tomatoes and anchovies, while Jason had their
grilled mushrooms in garlic butter. John's main dish was a mixed grill,
while the rest of us had individual paellas. It was getting pretty hot, but
we decided to stay for dessert, and I had a refreshing dish of sorbets,
while John and Jason had creme brulees and Sonja tried the lemon mousse
cake. By that point the crowd (and the smoke and the heat) had increased,
while the service-level had decreased, so we were happy to escape to the
cooler street and get back to our hotel.
On Sunday morning we figured out the metro system and made our way up to the
Monastery/Museum of Pedralbes. It is a still-functioning convent of Poor
St. Claires, but their cloister and some of the areas of the convent are
open to the public, including the refectory, kitchen, and cistern. The
former infirmary houses an exhibit of information on the founding of the
convent by Queen Elisenda of Montcada in 1326 and the evolution of the place
since that time. There's also an exhibit of what Jason described as "the
most artistic set of dioramas I've ever seen," depicting various key moments
in the life of Christ. In the former dormitory, for a separate entry fee,
there are 90 works from the Thyssen-Bornemisza Collection, the rest of which
is in Madrid. This smaller selection focuses on Italian works of the
13th-17th centuries and a few European baroque works. We left the convent
just as mass was getting out at the attached church and got to see everyone
waving the giant bundles of palm fronds, many elaborately woven into shaped
arrangements, that mark Palm Sunday there.
Hopping back on the tube, we went down toward the harbor and caught the
funicular up to the top of Montjuic, the hill on the south side of Barcelona
that provides the setting for various museums and attractions, as well as
the main Olympic stadium and pools from the 1992 Summer Games. Our first
stop was the Fundacio Miro, which houses many works by native son Joan Miro,
as well as works by other artists inspired by him and temporary
exhibitions. I had hoped that seeing enough of his art would increase my
appreciation of it, but while some of the pieces were interesting and there
are definitely periods of his work I enjoy more than others, I still liked
the few Calder pieces better than the Miro works. They kicked us out when
they closed for the afternoon, by which time we were all starving.
We made our way around and down the hill to the Poble Espaynol. Created for
the World's Fair in 1929, Poble Espaynol is an assemblage of buildings
representing the traditional architectural styles of the various regions of
Spain. It's not terribly exciting, but they do have restaurants and many
interesting shops to browse through. We had a wide variety of tapas for
lunch and then wandered through the whole place. The most interesting
structure was the Catalonian church, which was assembled using a bell tower,
front entry, cloister and nave all from different churches in the area to
create a surprisingly unified whole.
Making our way back up the slope via the extremely welcome escalators set
into the hillside, we walked by the Olympic complex and around to the
teleferic station. As we swooped across the harbor in the little gondola,
we were treated to a sunset view of the city, including the famous statue of
Christopher Columbus, inexplicably pointing at Libya. We walked along the
beach, admiring the waves of the western Mediterranean, for as long as we
could stand the wind. Then we headed around the marina to the aquarium. We
considered an IMAX film, rejected the opportunity to spend $10 each for an
hour in the aquarium, and decided to go back to the hotel instead.
After a short rest, we went down to a restaurant that was recommended by one
of our guidebooks. Housed amid the columns of the former Natural History
Museum, Taxidermista seemed like a great find. We shared a plate of Iberian
ham (are you sensing a trend yet?), Jason started with veggie empanadas,
while I had the fish soup, which Sonja also chose. I can't remember John's
starter, but I think he had roast pork as a main, while Sonja had duck and
Jason and I both went with the poularde, a small chicken breast stuffed with
spinach and served with crispy leeks. Jason and Sonja split what they said
was a fabulous tarte tatin, while John had something chocolately and I tried
the excellent lemon ginger sorbet. As we walked back to the hotel, we all
remarked on what an outstanding meal it had been, especially for such a
reasonable price--about $20 per person, including wine.
That evaluation was somewhat revised when both Jason and I woke up around
5am with our bodies clamoring to get whatever we had mistakenly ingested
OUT. Out, out, out. Out. It was nasty, but after about five hours, we
started to think we might actually have cleared our systems. John and Sonja
were both fine and very patient with us as we figured out what to do. We
were scheduled to check out that day by noon, but I talked to the clerk and
while they needed our room, they had another room they couldn't rent because
the lock was broken, but they were happy to let me spend the day sleeping
there, for no extra charge. So I stayed in and caught up on my sleep while
Jason soldiered on, going with Sonja & John to visit Gaudi's Park Guell and
unfinished masterpiece, the church of La Sagrada Familia, and to stroll
through the Eixample to see various other Modernist buildings designed by
Gaudi and his contemporaries.
Jason came back and took a short nap with me while Sonja went to the post
office and John listened to music on his new Ipod. We reassembled to walk
down to the Palau de la Musica Catala for the six o'clock tour for which we
had bought tickets on Saturday. Designed by Lluis Domenech y Montaner and
completed in 1908, the palau is the home of the Orfeo Catala, a choral
society founded during the choral music craze of the late 19th century and
surviving into the present day. It is a stunning building and the main
hall, with its gorgeous stained glass ceiling, is breathtaking. Definitely
worth getting out of bed to see it!
After the tour, we picked up sandwiches at a Pans & Company shop--well,
Sonja & John had sandwiches, Jason ate about half of his and I just ate the
bread. Then we picked up our bags and took the metro to the train station,
where we spent an hour or so waiting to board our train to Madrid. Our
sleeping cabins were compact and overheated, but we made do. Sonja and
Jason both reported sleeping soundly, while John's description of his night
as "an endless series of catnaps" summed up my experience perfectly. But by
the time we arrived, I felt so much better than I had the previous morning
that I was raring to go.
We hadn't had anything on the train, so after we put our bags in a locker,
we stopped by the cafe in the station. I ordered sandwiches and drinks for
Jason and me and we sat down at a table. After five minutes or so, I looked
around to see what was keeping the others. Apparently, Sonja had become
invisible. She had been standing at the counter the whole time, trying to
catch the attention of the counterman without success. I stepped forward,
caught the guy's eye and he immediately asked what he could get me. Weird.
Our first stop in Madrid had to be the Prado. We got there just before ten,
while the lines weren't too bad. We wandered through rooms and rooms of
Velasquez and Rubens and Goya and discovered Ribera and Muro and Murillo to
go with them. With a short break for lunch in the basement cafeteria, we
covered the whole place in five hours, developing a nodding acquaintance
with the 18th and 19th century Spanish monarchs along the way. Escaping the
galleries at last, we took refuge in the Botanical Gardens next door for a
pleasant hour strolling along the shady walks. Sonja & John were
experiencing artburn and ready for a rest, but I had some stamina left and
Jason was willing to take on the Thyssen-Bornemisza Collection with me.
The Thyssen-Bornemisza is one of the best museums I've visited in the
world. The works span the last eight centuries, well-grouped and displayed
for easy viewing, chronicling all the major movements of Western European
art. We were pushed to see it in two hours, but we made it through with
time to spare for the gift shop before the museum closed.
From there it was a short walk up to the Hostal Playa, near the Plaza del
Sol. The hotel was another step down from the Urquinaona, but at 45 euros
per night, close to the metro, it was just fine. Our room actually had
three beds in it--one full-size and two singles--and felt fairly cavernous.
I'm sure the tile floors are nice in the heat of summer, but cold and
unwelcoming the rest of the time. The biggest flaw was not discovered until
the next morning, when I got what was apparently the last hot shower of the
day. But it was clean and convenient and well worth what we were paying.
Sonja & John had already checked in and Jason went off with his laptop to
download Sonja's pictures from her digital camera and compare notes on their
shots while I took a short nap. Then we headed back out to the train
station to collect our bags. Arriving back at the hotel, I sent Jason
upstairs with my bag while I went around the corner to a little grocery
Sonja & John had found, to stock up on drinks and snacks. On my way back I
noticed a restaurant on the corner that looked nice and when we'd reunited,
the others agreed we should try "The Museum of Wine."
Their wine was okay. I enjoyed their chicken noodle soup and solomillo,
while Jason was less happy with the sopa castellano (tomatoey garlic soup
with bread and egg in it) and grilled lamb chops. John also had the lamb
chops, while Sonja had scrambled eggs with mushrooms to start and a
disappointing salmon steak as her main.
On Wednesday we split up for the morning. Sonja wanted to spend more time
at the Prado, to have a chance to commune with the art without the pressure
of a group's momentum (or, I dare say, my disparaging comments about
Rubens). The rest of us tried to visit the Convent of the Royal Barefoot
Nuns, but it was closed for Holy Week. We wandered through the Plaza Mayor
and then tried another monastery--also closed. The cathedral next to the
Royal Palace was open, so we went in there. It was started in the 19th
century and finished in 1993, so there is an interesting mix of fairly
modern styles. I particularly enjoyed the geometric patterns on the
ceilings and was somewhat astonished by the statue of God in the Chapel of
the Holy Trinity.
We wandered around the back, heading down the hill into the gardens, but
when the first gate was closed, we decided not to risk finding ourselves at
the bottom of the steep hill in front of another closed gate. John decided
to sit for a while in front of the Royal Palace, while Jason and I went on
into the complex to visit the free exhibit of works painted by Luca Giordano
during his ten years in Spain around the turn of the 18th century. He was a
disciple of Ribera, a Caravaggisti painter of shadowed saints, but picked up
enough of the Bernini-style exuberance to make his later works excessively
florid. If you've never heard of him before, now I know why.
Re-emerging from the palace, we found John and Sonja met us a few minutes
later, as we waited on line for tickets to the main parts of the palace.
This is one of the most opulent palaces I've seen, with lots of ornately
decorated rooms, including a small one decorated with porcelain from the
Royal Factory in Granja. The dining room is absolutely cavernous. One of
the most interesting sections was the music rooms, which house several small
pianos and intricately inlaid guitars, as well as a complete string quartet
by Stradivarius, which musicians performing for the Spanish Royal Family may
play. The palace has not been used as royal residence since 1931 and the
current royals live in much more modest accommodations north of the city.
The complex also includes an armory with a relatively interesting collection
of armor and weapons, but I was tired by that point and let the others take
their time inside while I found a shady spot in the courtyard to sit. The
others agreed that sitting seemed like a good idea, so we went out to the
Plaza Oriente, in front of the palace, and had a protracted lunch under the
awnings of the Cafe Oriente. It had been quite warm throughout the morning,
but was cooling off quickly and by the time we had finished our pizzas, we
were ready to be walking again.
We hopped on the metro and went back down to the museum area to visit the
Centro de Arte Reina Sofia. This modern art museum in a former hospital is
vast and cavernous. Its most famous piece is Picasso's "Guernica," which I
appreciated the opportunity to see in person. I'm coming to the conclusion
that painterly technique is one of the most important aspects of painting
for me and while this is certainly an important work, with a strong concept
that makes a deep impression, I find its execution cold and perfunctory in a
way that weakens its effect. The permanent collection is enormous and there
is a wide variety of art to see there. We enjoyed more of Chillida's work,
especially "The Table of Omar Khayyam." One of the best parts for us was
the gallery exhibiting early works of Salvador Dali, mainly before his
Surrealist period.
John & Sonja headed back to the hotel after we'd done the permanent
collection, but Jason persuaded me to stay for a quick pass through the
temporary exhibits, which included a display of Cubist sculpture, works by
a Japanese-born photographer living in Wisconsin, and a series of works done
by Warhol-Basquiat-Clemente that stretch my boundaries of the word
"collaboration." Having seen it all, we headed back to the hotel. Dinner
nearby was proposed, so we set out walking and quickly settled on a place
advertising crepes and paellas. I had a small bowl of fish soup, while
Sonja got ham croquettes and John had brie with berry sauce to start. Then
the four of us split a paella, since they would only do them for whole
tables. Sadly, it was an inferior specimen and none of us ate very much of
it. Dessert was a better story, offering apple crepes with berry sauce that
were quite tasty. Best of all, we were only two blocks from our beds.
We had agreed to be up and out early on Thursday, but Jason and I failed to
wake up on time. He ran through the shower while I threw our stuff together
and we were out the door about twenty minutes after the others knocked. We
went down to the Atocha train station, much closer than the one where our
train arrived, and picked up our rental car, a silver Peugeot sedan. The
cold that had been threatening Sonja the day before had really arrived and
she was fairly low energy, which a grey, blustery day did not help.
We made it down to Toledo just after ten. The old, walled section of town
is perched up on a hill and we were very pleased to be able to park down
below and take escalators up to the streets. Our first stop was the
cathedral, the center of Spanish Catholicism. Particularly notable features
were the intensely baroque froth on the back of the high altar, the
overwhelmingly gold altarpiece, and the exquisite carvings in the choir.
The treasury's biggest claim to fame was an autograph of Pope John Paul II
from his last visit. There was a fairly impressive collection of paintings
in the sacristy, most of which were in need of cleaning and restoration. In
general, the cathedral really failed to feel like a sacred space and Jason
named it the most depressing cathedral he's ever visited.
On leaving there my biggest priority was to find a toilet. Fortunately, the
Damasceno (a local tradition of gold inlaid metalwork) shop we stopped into
had just such a service, making me very happy and willing to spend money
there. Walking on, we found one of the two synagogues left in Spain--closed
for renovation. We paused to overlook the Tagus River valley (the same
river that Lisbon is on) and then wandered over to the other synagogue, now
a church. The mudejar (Moorish-style, by non-Moors) style sections that
were the synagogue are lovely, with serene white columns and beautiful
carved sections that make the baroque altar and side chapels along the
eastern wall seem like tacky intruders by comparison.
We continued on to the Convento de los Reyes, founded by The Catholic
Monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabella. It was closed for lunch. I bought some
tiles in a nearby shop and when I emerged, Sonja had decided that she was
done and would go back to the car to read and rest. John, Jason and I found
a reasonable place for lunch and got--respectively--rabbit stew, beef stew
and sliced veal. The boys wanted flan, so I went ahead and ordered the
marzipan cake. Marzipan is a local specialty and this was a yummy
application of it.
By the time we'd finished lunch, the convent was open and we walked
through. The coffered wooden ceiling in the cloister was beautiful and some
of the many gargoyles were inventive and even whimsical. My favorite was in
the shape of an acrobat, with his feet extended over his head to form the
spout. The chapel was fairly plain, but included the tomb of monks martyred
during the Civil War, and on the outside it was hung with chains supposedly
removed from prisoners freed from the Moors when the Christians took
Toledo.
We stopped back by the car to check on Sonja and use the WC there and John
decided to stay with her while Jason and I went back for one more go. We
had thought to visit the Museum of Santa Cruz, but it was closed. We then
spent a fairly long time trying to find the Cristo de la Luz mosque, the
oldest Moorish relic in Toledo, built in 1000 CE. We finally found it, but
couldn't see much through the white tarp engulfing it during renovation. We
took this as a sign that it was time to go and headed back to the car out
the Puerta de Bisagra and along the city walls.
Despite the grey day, it had been dry in Toledo, but as we descended into
the plains, we found the rain. It was only another hour or so to our hotel,
the Tryp Hidalgo. A roadside motel of fairly shabby exterior appearance, it
had surprisingly comfortable rooms. The dining room looked fairly
promising, but didn't open for another hour and I'd found a recommendation
for a restaurant in a town a few miles away, so we decided to see if we
could find it. La Solana was a fairly small town, out in the middle of
nowhere, but in its main square we found our first Semana Santa (Holy Week)
procession, which was fascinating.
Essentially, the processions consist of a series of floats, carried by
people underneath, and consisting of the central figure, surrounded by
flowers and ornate candelabra. While I gather there can be more floats, all
the parades we saw had four, communicating the Easter story, Spanish style:
Jesus was tied to a column and whipped, then he had to carry the cross, then
he was crucified, so Mary gets to be Queen of Heaven. In between the floats
march bands, churchmen with censors or crosses, "Black Marias" (women all in
black with mantillas and rosaries) and crowds of people called "penitents"
dressed in white robes and pointy hoods in different colors (black, red,
green and purple) carrying lamps or candles. The KKK-similarity made the
penitents kind of creepy to me, although our guidebook says that the
tradition goes back at least as far as victims of the Inquisition. The
whole thing moves very slowly. It was all very interesting to watch and we
were glad to have the opportunity to see the processions.
After the parade was over--having failed to find the restaurant on the first
pass and realizing that with the crowds out, it probably wasn't the best
night to be trying to eat out in La Solana--we headed back to the motel. As
we walked in, the clerk gave me the message that steve had called from
Boston and would try again later. We had a very nice dinner, with excellent
service. They started us off with an amuse bouche in the form of a small
cup of chicken consomme. I enjoyed that so much that I continued with a
bowl of chicken noodle soup with bits of ham in it and then went on to
rabbit fried with garlic. It was a bit of a pain to get off the small
bones, but very tasty. Jason started with roasted red peppers filled with
salmon paste, followed by a tangy duck a l'orange. John had a
simple-but-delicious spaghetti bolognese with roasted pork as his main.
Sonja went with scrambled eggs again, followed by meatballs. Just as we
were finishing, the clerk came to tell me that steve was on the line, so I
went back to the room to return his call. I had planned to use my calling
card, but was thwarted by the rotary dial phone, so we didn't talk for long,
but it was good to touch base and hear about the trial that Tom had juried
over the last few weeks--turned out it was a first-degree murder trial.
When we got off the line, the others still weren't back from dinner, so I
decided to take advantage of the deep tub and have a nice bubble bath.
In the morning, John came by to explain that Sonja's illness had either
taken a turn toward stomach flu or else she'd been struck by bad food, as
well. So the three of us were alone at the breakfast buffet. We made a
leisurely morning of it and then headed straight for the flat we'd reserved
in Granada. We had a small glitch, when the car park we'd been told to use
was full, but I dropped off the others with the bags and then Jason came
with me to find another car park--we had to get about a twenty-minute walk
away before finding an open one. We had a nice stroll back along the Gran
Via, stopped by the flat to get John, and then the three of us headed out
while Sonja slept.
We got grilled ham & cheese sandwiches at a place on the corner of our
street and went over to visit the cathedral. It was quite different from
others we'd seen, not built on the cross pattern and very white and light
inside. The central piers had huge, ornate pipe organs facing each other
with trumpets that must be deafening at full volume. The Royal Chapel was
closed, so we walked along the Darro River, in the groove between the hills
of the Alhambra and the Albaicin, and then up into the Albaicin to the
Mirador (Lookout) San Nicolas, with its stunning views of the Alhambra.
From there we wandered downhill, passing by the route of another Semana
Santa procession, and back to the flat for a nap.
The flat was fine, inexpensive (150 euros for two nights), and very
conveniently located. It included two bedrooms, a living room, a galley
kitchen with a washing machine (there was a line just out the window in the
air shaft), and a bathroom. The inner bedroom, where John & Sonja were, was
apparently reasonably quiet, despite the music pumping up from the bar
downstairs, which we also think provided the smoky smell coming up through
the pipes. The only real problem was with our bedroom, which looked out
over the street and, more specifically, the glass-recycling bin. About
every twenty minutes, someone would come out from the bar with a load of
bottles and dump them into the bin. CRASH! Around 5am on the first night,
a guy came out with a shovel and proceeded to SMASH down the contents of the
bin so as to fit in more glass. That went on for at least an hour--SMASH!
CRASH! SMASH! CRASH!--until the truck came along, already half filled with
bottles, RATTLE! RATTLE!, to pick up the bin with a small crane, GROAN!
RATTLE! CREAK! CRUNCH! GROAN!, and dump it, CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!,
into the truckbed with the rest. The website for the flat had mentioned
that this was a busy neighborhood and we should expect some street noise and
no refunds would be provided for noise complaints. So I don't expect any
compensation, but I'm definitely going to let them know that in no way could
this be described as anything but a very noisy apartment.
After our break, the three of us went out to find some dinner. Our guidebook
recommended a place called the Via Colon, very near our apartment. We
shared some Iberian ham and salami and Jason had the cream of vegetable
soup, while John had the onion soup (I think) and I tried their version of
fish soup. I didn't like it, so after a few bites I had the waiter take it
away. Our main courses were very simple grilled meats--John and I split the
mixed grill for two and Jason had the pork tips, but we pretty much shared
it all and it was very tasty. We skipped dessert in favor of heading out to
see why a crowd was gathering and ended up watching yet another Semana Santa
procession. At this one we were particularly struck by the way the crowd
would applaud as each float came out of the cathedral. After the Queen of
Heaven float passed us, we got ahead of the procession and crossed back to
our side of the Gran Via to get back to our flat on a little side street.
We were out very early on Saturday morning, since our tickets to the
Alhambra were for 8:30am. I left the flat a few minutes ahead of the others
and picked up pastries at the corner for breakfast. Sonja seemed to be
feeling much better, but still not quite ready for food that early in the
day. It was so great to have her back with us and feeling somewhat better
and it made me realize how much I had missed her presence and conversation
over the previous two days.
In the plaza a couple of blocks away we caught a bus up to the Alhambra,
very glad not to be climbing that hill on our own. We joined the short line
for reserved tickets, claimed ours and went on into the palace complex.
Briefly, the Visigoths came down out of northern Europe in the 4th century
BC, during the breakup of the Roman Empire, and made Toledo the capital of
their domain. In 711, the Moors crossed the Strait of Gibraltar, as part of
their expansion from the Middle East across northern Africa. By 732 they
had occupied all of the Iberian peninsula except for Asturias, in the
northwest, and gotten across the Pyrrenees as far as Tours, where they were
defeated by the Franks under Charles Martel, and retreated back to the
peninsula. After a couple of hundred years at least nominally under the
authority of the Caliphate of Baghdad, a separate caliphate was established
with its headquarters in Cordoba. That was taken by the Christians in 1236,
along with most of the rest of Spain and Portugal, until only the kingdom of
Granada remained. It was after the fall of Cordoba that the Alhambra ("The
Red Palace") was built in Granada--although the hill had been fortified
since the time of the Romans--and it held against the Christians until
Boabdil's defeat in January of 1492 by the armies of Ferdinand and Isabel.
The palace complex consists of a number of different buildings, built over
the course of four or five centuries, now in various states of repair. We
approached past the ruins of the Tower of Seven Floors, exploded by the
troops of Napoleon when they abandoned the Alhambra in the 19th century.
The troops did a great deal of damage throughout the complex during their
occupation. We then walked into the colonnaded, round courtyard of the
palace constructed in the middle of the complex under the reign of Charles
V. He was the grandson of Ferdinand & Isabella and Holy Roman Emperor,
where he got his V, since he confusingly predated Charles II-IV of Spain.
We went on to explore the remains of the Alcazaba, the original Moorish
fortress, and to climb the Torre de la Vela (Tower of the Sail) with its
rooftop view of Granada.
We had a few minutes before our timed entry into the Nasrid Palace (named
for the dynasty which ruled Granada), so Jason and I ducked into the small
Museum of Archeology housed in a section of the Palace of Charles V. There
were a few interesting pieces there, including a gorgeous fluted alabaster
fountain, but we were able to move through pretty quickly.
Finally, it was time to enter the Nasrid Palace. I remember being very
impressed with it during my last visit to Spain in 1986 and I think I
appreciate it even more now, having a much greater understanding of the
history and architecture. The graceful arches and columns, the trickling
fountains and serene pools, the intricate moldings of geometrical shapes and
Arabic praises with traces of their original vibrant colors still clinging
to the plaster, the brilliant tiles so cleverly arranged in complex
patterns, the integration of nature and artifice throughout the palace, and
the panoramas of the surrounding mountains and the valley below--all of
these elements combine to make the Alhambra more than live up to its
reputation of beauty. One of the things that strikes me about the various
remnants of the Moorish domination of Spain is the sense of peace and
tranquility that pervades them, even when filled with the bustle and chatter
of tour groups.
Leaving the palace, we wandered for a time in the Generalife gardens. The
Palace of Generalife, higher up on the slope, where the rulers passed their
summers, is currently closed for renovation. Finally, after noon, we left
the complex, passing by the long lines of people hoping to buy tickets for
the afternoon. We swung around the outer walls and down to the Darro.
Jason wanted to visit the Museo de Arqueologia there, but the rest of us
were eager for a break, so we went on. Our eye was caught by a shop along
the way, so we stopped in and got a few souvenirs, including a gorgeous
platter for Sonja & John. By the time we got back to the flat, Jason had
beaten us there, even though he'd also made a quick stop at the Arabian
Baths.
We picked up sandwiches at the corner shop and it was then I realized that I
had lost my glasses on the way down from the Alhambra. I went back to the
shop where we'd stopped, on the off chance that they'd fallen out of my
pocket there, but no luck. Fortuitously, Sonja travels with a spare set of
glasses (my spare pair are my sunglasses) and her prescription matches mine
very closely, so I was able to use her spares for the rest of the trip.
After a rest, we walked over to the Royal Chapel, at the back of the main
cathedral and predating it by about a century. It's not a terribly
impressive place, but includes the tombs of Ferdinand & Isabella; their
daughter, Juana the Mad; her husband, Phillip the Fair, a Hapsburg; and
their eldest son, who died young. Interestingly, their bodies are not
inside the elaborate tombs of Carrara marble topped with their effigies, but
rather in fairly plain caskets visible in the crypt below. Isabella's
personal collection of early Renaissance religious painting is on display in
the sacristy.
Sonja headed back to the flat to rest, while I went with John and Jason to
find the Convent of St. Jerome. On our way, we noticed people going into a
building with an attractive courtyard, so we followed them into a lovely--if
somewhat run-down--patio surrounded by columns, with a fountain in the
center framed by orange trees, and frescoes on the theme of healing
throughout the ages covering the walls. We were in a hospital, with signs
pointing to the various departments. It was very surreal. Jason wondered
if the patients get to eat the oranges.
We did find the convent, which included one of the more interesting churches
we saw in Spain. The back of the nave is very low-ceilinged and then opens
up toward the center, creating a spectacular effect and highlighting the
four-story gold altarpiece. Unlike most of the religious sites we visited,
this one was covered with frescoes of saints, angels, and historical
figures. A stroll around the main cloister and a look into the refectory
completed our tour and we headed back to change for dinner.
The four of us hopped in a cab and zipped out to the lot where we'd parked
the car. We first tried to visit the Carthusian monastery on the north side
of the city, which our guidebooks indicated would be open until 8pm. Sadly,
we were deceived and it had just closed as we arrived at six. The gift shop
was still open and I found a copy of Washington Irving's _Tales from the
Alhambra_ complete with some lovely photographs of the complex. Earlier in
the day we had seen the room in the palace where he stayed during his time
in Granada.
With several hours before our dinner reservation and not wanting to deal
with redepositing the car, we decided to drive up into the Sierra Nevada.
We followed the road south and east from Granada that eventually led us up
to a ski resort. It was strange to go from a warm day up into snow, but the
mountains were lovely and we got a nice view of the sunset from up there.
Descending back into the valley, we got gas and made it to the restaurant
only a few minutes early.
La Ruta de Veleta, in Cenes de la Vega, just barely outside of Granada, had
been recommended by a couple of our guidebooks as just the best restaurant
in the area. We enjoyed our meal, but it wasn't spectacularly better than
other meals we had along the way. John and Sonja both started with onion
soup, while Jason had the baked goat cheese with honey and I tried a
delicious "cazuela," a loose casserole of spinach, mushrooms and golden
thistle, with a fried egg in it. Our main dishes were solomillo for John,
wild boar for Sonja, partridge stuffed with onions for Jason and cochinillo
for me, which I didn't think was as good as the one we'd had in Barcelona.
for dessert I think John had the tiramisu, while Sonja and Jason & I had
crispy apple slices served with ice cream and a mixture of creme anglaise
and berry sauce that was very nice.
Tired from our long day, we headed back into Granada, dropped John & Sonja
off, took the car back out to La Caleta (the two closer lots being full
again), hopped a cab back to the flat, and packed up before bed. The bar was
still emitting music and smoke and there was the occasional CRASH! of glass,
but apparently the truck doesn't pick up on Sundays and rather than smashing
down the glass in the bin, they simply placed supernumerary bags of bottles
alongside. Between the decrease in noise and the increase in exhaustion, I
slept much more solidly than I had the night before.
In the morning, I walked out to La Caleta to fetch the car--it was a lovely
morning and I enjoyed some time alone on the quiet streets--and picked the
others up with luggage. After a quick stop at the post box and ATM
conveniently located at the end of the block, we were on our way to Malaga.
We had aimed to arrive at the airport by 10:30am so Sonja & John could
easily catch their 12:15pm flight to Paris, continuing on to Newark and then
taking the train home to DC. As we walked from the parking area toward the
terminal, Sonja noticed the big clock on the wall saying that it was 11:30
and it was only then that I remembered that Daylight Savings Time was
kicking in and all of Europe had sprung forward that morning. With a
mounting sense of panic we ran into the ticketing hall, but they were able
to check in quickly and head toward the gate with half an hour until their
departure. Not the leisurely farewell we'd hoped for, but it worked out in
the end.
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