Day 14
I had forgotten to get the bread for sandwiches the day before, so I ran out first thing to the bakery in the nearby market. A sign on the door said they were closed for personal reasons. I kind of wandered around frantically for a few more minutes, completely unsure where I would find bread. Then I happened to pass by a little Argentinian shop that sold some baked goods. Luckily they had some freshly baked rolls.
I quickly made sandwiches, finished packing and he headed to the station. We waited at a nearby bus stop for a long time. It was supposed to come every few minutes, but it was nowhere to be seen. Finally, a bus arrived that would take us about halfway to the station, so we hopped on. Of course, right when we did, we saw the correct bus coming down the street behind us. Oh well. We took the bus to the end of its route and hustled onward toward the station. We had just enough time for me to make a last minute stop at the grocery store at the station to get some mandarins. They also had the “Jamon de Trevelez”, a specific type of ham from the nearby Sierra Nevada mountains, that I had been looking for.
The ride was nice and comfortable, though we had to switch trains in Madrid. We got into Barcelona in the early evening. I had hoped to go to one of the two “Xampanyerias” or Cava bars in the center of town. I had been to one on my first time in Barcelona and have been dreaming of going back ever since. Last time Lise and I were in Barcelona, we had tried to go to it, but went to a different, but similar one I hadn’t known about. Both were great old places that serve cheap Cava and good food. Unfortunately, the one that I really wanted to go to was closed on Mondays. I had thought I would settle for the one that is open, but it’s a bit more expensive and the food a little fancier, but in the end, we just didn’t have the time or energy to take the buses and/or subway all the way into town for it. Instead we explored our hostel’s neighborhood, which wasn’t super interesting, but we had fun going shopping in the cheap “everything stores”. Lise was looking for stuff among the halloween decorations. She was looking for a ghost statue, but never found the right one. She did find some weird gel window decorations of bats and a ghost garland.
We stopped off at a typical looking bar for a beer. We were in a neighborhood with a lot of immigrants and this bar was definitely a hang out for that crowd. Most of the people seemed to come from Latin America. The bartender, also an immigrant, though I couldn’t tell from where, maybe South Asia, was super friendly and gave the place a fun atmosphere. As we sipped our beers under the glow of TVs showing soccer highlight reels, the bartender brought us a small basket of fried squid. The free tapa wasn’t dead in Barcelona! It was pretty salty. Salty, but free. After that we continued onward toward the neighborhood’s market. I assumed it would be more lively around there. I mean, it was a Monday night, so I could only expect so much. The market was closed, but we did pop into the grocery store inside of it to get some things for the following days’ sandwiches. The streets were pretty quiet and calm, but there were a couple of places open. One restaurant was a kind of hipster looking place with a more fashionable, younger looking crowd. The other was a rougher bar full of local yokels. The couple of outdoor tables at the former were taken and it was kind of expensive, so we headed over to the trashy bar and sat at one of their plastic tables on the sidewalk.
I went inside to order a couple of beers and ask for a menu. In the back of the bar some guy was running an e-scooter repair shop next to the bathroom. Periodically guys would come in to get their scooters fixed. I ordered a plate of croquettes and something I hadn’t heard of called a “Bomba de Carne” or meat bomb. The table next to us was packed with a diverse group of ruffians from the neighborhood. People seemed to kind of come and go from their group. They were loud and it looked like a lot of them probably spend a bit too much time at this establishment. They were black, white, Arab, maybe Roma, young, old, well-read and illiterate. An extremely large woman with summer teeth showed up with a big bag of cheap chips and opened it up sideways to serve the whole table. The chips were gone in minutes. Our croquettes arrived and I didn’t even mind that they were clearly store bought from the freezer. They were cheap anyway. Later, the bomb arrived. It was a tennis ball-sized fried sphere, filled with mashed potatoes and spicy meat. The top of it was slathered with an insane amount of mayonnaise. This appeared to be homemade and it was surprisingly delicious and shockingly spicy. Yeah, it was kinda gross and sloppy but I really enjoyed it. Meanwhile, a couple of young, blonde Mormon missionaries had walked up to the table next to us and they were chatting. Compared to the folks at this table, these boys looked like they had just been unwrapped and taken out of their package. They were so fresh, clean and innocent. They seemed to be familiar and even friendly with the people at the table, but not exactly comrades. I overheard that at least one of them was Canadian. Their Spanish was pretty good. I mean, their accent needed some work, but they could communicate conversationally better than me. At some point, the woman with the summer teeth turned to look at them and exclaimed “whoa, they’re handsome!” The boys seemed unfazed when people kind of mocked their religion. I don’t really have much sympathy for the Mormon religion or the fact that they do this evangelizing all over the world, but I do have a soft spot for the Mormon people. I liked the way these two boys behaved with these people, getting to know them, being vulnerable, all while knowing there was almost zero possibility of a conversion among them.
The next morning, we did some last minute shopping at everything stores for ghosts and bought some bread and things for making sandwiches. We went back to the hostel, packed up and made sandwiches for the road. Then we walked back to the station and stopped off at a little cafe that we’d been to a couple of times before on a previous trip. We just ordered a couple of hot sandwiches. While we waited, I went across the street to the grocery store to pick up one last piece of cheese and a bottle of Pedro Ximenez Sherry. This syrupy sweet sherry was not a drink that I particularly like, though it can be an interesting component in cocktails. I bought it more for its culinary uses, like putting on ice cream or for using as a glaze on meat. We ate our sandwiches and went to catch our train back home. The portion of the train ride between Barcelona and the border blessed us with really incredible views of the Pyrenees and the surrounding foothills. There were some really unique rock formations that I hadn’t seen before and it really made me want to explore the area more via a slower means of transport. The French side of the train ride didn’t have many interesting sights, except for all the flamingos in the coastal lagoons
around Sete. And that was the trip.
Wednesday, February 5, 2025
Spain 2024 Part 5
Spain 2024 Part 4
Day 11
We arrived at the Granada train station well in advance of our departure to Malaga, so we found a bench in the sun next to the nearby light rail and put our bags down. The walk had been long and I was tired. Then, a couple in their sixties walked up to us and started gesturing. I was confused at first but as they guy mumbled, he said “move” in English. At first I thought they were Spanish people that saw our backpacks and assumed we were foreigners who didn’t know any Spanish, so might as well just wave us away. Then I noticed their pinkish hue and realized they were probably members of the very large British retiree community of southern Spain. I couldn’t believe the behavior of a foreigner just walking up to people and trying to get them to give up their spots by just waving and muttering. It was true that we were taking up the whole bench with our bags (something I don’t like when other people do), but there were more empty benches nearby. Lise and I just got up and left.
When we got to our seats on the train, we found that there was a man in his 50’s or 60’s sitting in Lise’s seat. She showed him her ticket and he got up, but kind of acted like, well who really cares, just sit wherever you want, it’s fine. Then I noticed that he had been sitting in front of his two mates. The three of them, Irish I believe, were kind of loud and obnoxious. One of the guys behind us kept loudly playing music and youtube clips on his phone, without headphones. It was getting obnoxious and when he put on some bag-pipe-laden nonsense, Lise turned to him and asked him to put on headphones (I mean, those are the rules of the train afterall). He said ok, then turned to his friend and loudly said “I guess she doesn’t like Irish music”. That made me so mad. Like he was just going to remove any responsibility and blame the disagreement on Lise’s intolerance of his culture’s music. Luckily they weren’t too obnoxious during the rest of the trip.
We got into Malaga after a pretty quick hour and a half train ride. Then we easily got a bus, with the help of a friendly bus driver, to our neighborhood. I immediately liked this fairly large, coastal city. It had a lot of character and a vibrant atmosphere. Sure the center was a bit glitzy, the cruise ships unloaded loads of losers on the daily and some neighborhoods seemed pretty rundown and sketchy. However, it still had a lot of the rustic Spanish vibes that I’m always looking for. Just between the bus stop and our airbnb, I saw two or three restaurants that I definitely needed to try.
Our neighborhood seemed like it was in the middle of a being hit with a gentrification bomb and we weren’t helping. Half the streets were torn up and getting a face lift. Facades of run down buildings were quickly being painted over with colorful murals. Lots of front doors of buildings had big padlocks indicating that they were infested with units converted to airbnbs. Our place actually looked like it had once been a hostel, but was now exclusively used for airbnb. Our room was nice and the roof had a very cool common space with nice views.
We headed back out and popped into one of the spots that I had seen a few minutes earlier. It was this really old school bar, full of locals enjoying each other’s company over afternoon drinks and tapas. I was shocked to find that when I asked for a menu, they server pointed to the qr code. Ok, well, I previously vowed to never stay at a place that only has a qr code menu and we’d left at least one place in Granada for that reason, but I wanted to stay here too badly. So we ordered something off the specials board. We got albondigas en salsa de almendras (meatballs in almond sauce) and a couple of vermouths. The meatballs were pretty awesome, and we scooped up all the extra sauce with bread. There was a lot of other stuff on other tables that I wanted to try, but without a menu, there was nothing we could do. Plus, we really just came in for a snack. We went back to our building to relax and have a siesta on the rooftop, trying to get as much sun as we could while we were here.
When we headed back out we did some shopping. Not normal people shopping, but we went to a couple of “everything stores”. These are a genre of stores, often Chinese run, which sell all kinds of cheap household products, tools, kitchenware, and lots and lots more. We have them in France, but in our experience they are way more interesting in Spain. Lise mostly wanted to find a specific nail polish that she had once found in Valencia. We also went to a pop up thrift store/fundraiser for a religious organization. They had some weird stuff for sale that was interesting to look at, but nothing really worth buying.
That evening we tried to go to one of the other restaurants that I had wanted to try in our neighborhood. I was attracted to it as their menu looked kind of classic, with some original twists as well as an emphasis on sherry. Southern Spain is the sherry region and I have very little experience with it. I think it’s probably way more common in England than in France. I can never find it. And down here there’s such a huge variety and I wanted to get to know them a bit. Unfortunately, when we showed up, the place was all booked up for the evening. We walked down the street, wondering what our next move would be, when we passed a fairly empty bar with a band playing. Well, why not go check this place out? The band was semi-casually playing jazzy tunes when we walked in. We sat at the bar and ordered a couple of beers. The bartender, a young-seeming, but probably middle-aged hipster explained that there was a band, so the cover was $6 each. We’re usually too cheap to pay for thing, but it wasn’t too expensive and we were already sitting down, so we leaned into the spontaneity. People, who mostly seemed like regulars, slowly filled the space and the band got started. They played fun, bouncing music, most of which seemed like covers of old American jazz tunes. The bartender, efficiently supplied everyone with drinks and food all while contributing to the percussion session with pairs of tongs or spoons or whatever he had in his hand at the moment. I never learned if he was the owner, a manager or just an employee, but he really seemed to be enjoying himself in a way that showed that he had a deep connection to this place. He was almost as enjoyable to watch as the band. It really looked like this neighborhood was about to get super hipster.
Day 12
In the morning we enjoyed our coffee on the rooftop before heading to the center to check out the market. We got there fairly early and it wasn’t too crowded. Within five minutes though, it was like a cruise ship unloaded in front of the market and it was suddenly inundated, mostly with foreigners, so we quickly got out of there. I didn’t feel like I had missed much as it was kind of pricey, though I had wanted to find some dried wormwood in hopes of making homemade vermouth when I got back home. We stopped at a simple cafe next to the market. Lise wanted another coffee and we got some pretty good ham and manchego sandwiches. The server accidentally gave us two coffees, so I got a second coffee too! Bonus. Then we went on a stroll through the center, where we passed several wedding parties. Then it was off to the beach, which was maybe a twenty minute walk from the center.
I’ve been to a lot of beaches in my life and most of them, frankly, are disappointing. Maybe it’s incessantly windy, or there’s no waves, or it’s filthy or the water is full of algae or maybe it’s too crowded. There’s always something. I wasn’t expecting much out of this beach, but it turned out to be shockingly good. It was pretty clean, not too crowded, the water/air temperature was just warm enough to swim in, but barely. There were guys walking up and down the street selling drinks and beach blankets and women selling massages, but they weren’t annoying or pushy. It was a great beach! We stayed for a couple of hours before walking back through the port area. There four cruise ships in port, spewing holiday makers into the mall-like shopping area that faced the sea. Then we passed through the botanical gardens before reaching our neighborhood. We stopped at a grocery store for apero things and went back to our rooftop. For our whole time there we would have the rooftop to ourselves. We were very lucky. We set out our little apero stuff, which consisted of olives, Iberico ham, cherry tomatoes and a can of mussels. Then, right at 8 o’clock, we headed out to that nearby restaurant that we had tried to go to the night before. I had seen online that they had “chicharones de Cadiz” a local dish of pork belly that I had made at home before, but still hadn’t tried it in its natural habitat.
I’m just gonna say it. This highly anticipated meal was disappointing. First, we ordered two different sherries. Lise got the oloroso and I got the fino, the driest of the sherries. It was…really really dry. I had previously tried the Pedro Ximenez sherry and that one is like syrupy and so sweet, but kind of too intensely so. But the opposite of the spectrum fino, wasn’t really my thing either. We ordered a plate of blue sheep cheese from the “Peaks of Europe” in northwestern Spain. That would probably be the highlight of the meal. There weren’t a ton of vegetable options on the menu, but we got some marinated tomatoes. For $7 we were served a pretty sad plate of seven slices of tomato with some garlic and olive oil. It was out of season (maybe my fault, but maybe I thought late October might still be ok in southern Spain) and tasted of water. Actually, sorry, if it’s out of season, you shouldn’t have it on the menu. Maybe it’s a Spain thing. It’s such a tomato-obsessed country, but does that mean eating them all year even if they’re tasteless? Anyway, we also ordered the solomillo en manteca, or pork loin in lard. This was a local specialty that I had heard about. It’s basically what it says it is, pork loin that has been cooked in lard, usually spiced and colored with smoked paprika. When I had seen this been sold in the market, the chunks of pork were bathing in a bright orange liquid. When it arrived at the table, I was surprised to find that it was cold and the lard was in solid chunks. The plating was also mystifying. I couldn’t tell if they were trying to be kind of old school or rustic, or if they just didn’t care at all about presentation. Big chunks of pork were haphazardly lounging among a big pile of lard that just seemed to be smeared onto the plate. I also realized that this was less of a dish to be eaten on its own, and more of a charcuterie product in the same category as rillette. It was also pretty bland, under seasoned and could play about two notes: Heavy and fatty. I don’t really want to criticize if this is how it’s supposed to be and if that’s the case, it’s not my thing. Finally, we got the dish that Lise had ordered, the flamenquin. She had loved the flamenquin bocadillo in our favorite sandwich spot in Granada. That version was simple and petit, something small enough to put on a roll. The restaurant version of the flamenquin was an unwieldy monster of rich, fatty layers all rolled up. As a reminder, it’s a slice ham, wrapped in pork loin, stuffed with cheese (usually), breaded and fried. This one was enormous, nothing close to elegant and pretty delicious. It also, felt unbalanced, though. There was almost no acidic element to cut through the richness that piled onto your palate with every bite. The little dish of tomatoes was no match for a pile of pork in lard and a tube of fried pork
stuffed with cheese. It was nice to have kind of a special dinner, you know, a normal restaurant experience, which we don’t do all that often. It was just too bad that I had gotten my hopes up. I was also disappointed that they didn’t have the couple of the things on the menu that I had seen when I looked online that I had been excited about. Anyway, what can I really complain about? I got to travel to Spain and have a pretty awesome time, but the nice restaurant was less good than I’d hoped? Whatever.
Day 13
I had wanted go to one of the Malaga’s other markets, since the main market had been something of a let down. Unfortunately, they were all closed as it was Sunday. In France, Sunday is one of the most common market days, but I guess Spain is just too Catholic. So instead we decided to head up to the Alcazaba, the Moorish era fortress that sits right there in the middle of the city. We figured it would be good to go early on a Sunday morning to beat the crowds. We were at the ticket kiosk when we two things happened simultaneously. First, we saw that starting at 2PM, entrance would be free. Second, a huge group of people came in right behind us. Well, we weren’t beating the crowds, so we might as well come back later for free. And it was still sunny, so we headed back to the beach. It was another nice few hours at the beach. For lunch we went to one of the seafood restaurants that sat directly on the beach. They had massive barbecue pits set up where they were grilling all sorts of seafood, including long skewers of sardines, an iconic culinary tradition in Malaga. We had to wait in line for a table for a while. When we got to our seat, we saw that the sardines were the only reasonably price thing on the menu, but that was fine as that was what we were there for. The sardines were nice, nothing fancy, just some grilled fish with salt and lemon. Lise especially enjoyed it. The service was quick here as this restaurants mission was volume. They had us in and out of there in probably 35 minutes. We didn’t mind, though, as we had plenty of things to do.
At the strike of 2PM, we entered the Alcazaba for free. It was definitely more crowded than it had been earlier, but it wasn’t that bad. The Alcazaba sat right next to a 2000 year old Roman theater that was re-discovered in the middle of the 20th century. Malaga has a ton of history. It is believed to be founded by the Phoenicians in 770 BC and is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in western Europe. Considering that, the Alcazaba, constructed and re-constructed from the 11th to the 14th century, seems like relatively recent history. The fort was a network of passageways, towers, gates, gardens and stairways. It was really fun to just aimlessly explore. When we’d seen pretty much all of it, we took the very long walled corridor up to the top of Mount Gibralfaro and the Gibralfaro Castle. This hilltop has served as a fortified lookout point for various occupiers of the city, including the Phoenicians and the Moors. It was even partially destroyed by the French during the Peninsular War in the early 17th century. We walked along the top of the wall that surrounded it, taking in the excellent views of the city and the mediterranean. Underneath one of the walkways there was what seemed to be some prison cells, which also had great views. There wasn’t a lot to
see inside the walls, as a lot of what had once been a castle had been destroyed. The central building did contain a museum which was moderately interesting. The walk back down the hill to town was tough on my knee, but eventually the pain went away.
We walked through the center and stopped at a little liquor store called “Supercaro”, which had a goofy green logo and a silly name (Super Expensive). They had an incredible selection of obscure liquors, liqueurs amaros and apertivos from Spain and all over the world. The prices were pretty nice too. I had to choose very carefully what bottles I would bring home. I could have bought have the store as they had so many things I’d only heard of, but never seen or bottles that would normally have been too expensive to buy. I ended up with a local bottle of vermouth, a Basque anise and sloe flavored liqueur called Patxaran and Cynar (Lise’s choice), an Italian artichoke-infused amaro.
Our sardine lunch hadn’t exactly stuck to our ribs, so we headed to a little tavern I had noticed the day before tucked away in an alley. We sat on stools around a big wine barrel table and ordered vermouth, a moscatel and some fried eggplants. We hadn’t tried moscatel, a fortified wine, but it was a bit too sweet for us. The eggplants were a specialty from Andalucia and they come drizzled with some very dark cane syrup. It was really delicious and unique. We also ordered some other specialties from around here that I’d been hoping to try. The bocadillo de Pringa, a sandwich of pulled pork seasoned in warm spices was awesome. The gambas al pil pil, or shrimps cooked in olive oil with garlic and paprika seemed directly related to the Mexican dish of Camarones a la Diabla. Obviously it was good, though I probably prefer the Mexican version. Lise also wanted to get a smoked salmon and roquefort bocadillo. I thought it seemed like an insane sandwich, but she loved it. I mean, it was good, but seafood+cheese combos are already controversial, so taking two of the strongest tasting items from their respective categories seemed culinary radical, if not downright illegal.
We spent the rest of the evening strolling in the center, looking at some old churches and what not. We headed back to our neighborhood, hoping to stop off at one of the local bars for a final drink and/or snack in Malaga, but being Sunday, everything was closed. So instead, we bought a couple beers from a shop and had a final moment enjoying our rooftop views of the Alcazaba and the Gibralfaro Castle. Then we packed up and got ready for our journey back north the next day.
Tuesday, February 4, 2025
Spain 2024 Part 3
Day 7
Well, on Monday morning the party was over. Everyone was understandably kind of lazy. It was my last full day, though, so I at least wanted to go and do something, whatever it was. While we had a brunch of leftovers, I got a text from Lise, asking a question about sandwiches. I thought she was asking something referring to her train trip the following day, but it quickly became clear that she was actually on the train. I started to calculating in my head. I thought that we were meeting up in Barcelona the next day, but apparently I had made a mistake. I didn’t let on though. She asked, “did you forget I was coming today?” “No, no, I was just kidding, can’t wait to see you!”
So suddenly, I had to quickly pack up my stuff and move! I had about two hours before I had to catch the bus in Besalu. It wasn’t soon enough to panic, but it did make for quicker goodbyes than I expected. I said goodbye to Antimo. He was staying back as his pregnant wife was having some medical issues and he was stressfully waiting for phone calls and test results. Meanwhile, Jonathan grabbed a few beers and made us shotgun one together before leaving. It was probably the first time I’d done that since we’d done it once in Nepal. It was actually easier and more enjoyable than I had remembered.
Blai and Jonathan gave me a very nice send off in Besalu and I was headed back to Barcelona by bus. I would have just enough time to check into the hostel, get a shower, stop at a market for some food, and get to the train station to pick up Lise. The hostel was maybe a 40 minute walk from where the bus dropped me off. Halfway there, I stopped into a grocery store, but on my way out, I turned the wrong way and walked almost all the way back to where I’d started. This set me back a lot of time, effectively robbing me of the chance to get a shower. I’d really wanted to show up looking nice for Lise, and not smelling like a week of campfire, but that just wasn’t gonna happen. She texted me, asking if we could have a beer when she got in. I bought a few at a store, unsure if we’d be able to find a place near the hostel to have a drink.
So when she got in, we just went to a park near the station and caught up over a beer for a bit. Then we headed back to the hostel to catch a bit of sleep before our early morning train ride.
Day 8
After a very early rise (5AM?) and a pretty nice train ride from the top to the bottom of Spain, we arrived in Granada in the early afternoon. It was warmer and sunnier than where we had come from, and that is part of what we were traveling south for. It was a pretty long walk through the hilly town to get to our airbnb. The room was basic, but the location was incredible. We were high up on a hill, near the Gitano (Roma (Gypsy)) neighborhood of Sacromonte and we could see the Alhambra as soon we stepped out of our door. The neighborhood was filled with narrow, winding streets that snaked around the hilly vistas.
We dropped our things and just started walking. We didn’t make a plan, just decided to go down whichever street looked interesting. We quickly found ourselves in the aforementioned Gitano neighborhood of Sacromonte. We didn’t really know much about this, but we did remember seeing Anthony Bourdain attend a Gitano flamenco concert in a cave once. Well, we quickly started noticing advertisements for flamenco shows. At some point, as we were taking in the views, a woman with long, black hair, wearing a long, red dress with black polka dots, sauntered past us. We were like, did she just walk out of a different time? Maybe stepped off a movie set? Or she was an apparition based on our collective stereotypes of the exotic southern Spain. She was the archetype of a Spanish Gitana flamenco dancer. In fact she was probably one of the local performers and maybe she just moseys around as a kind of walking advertisement for the flamenco shows. Anyway, the neighborhood was calm, rustic and beautiful. We didn’t know it at the time, but this was one of the most important neighborhoods for the Gitanos. It is believed that the origin of the neighborhood as a troglodyte community (meaning living in caves) is that it became a safe refuge for Jews and Muslims after the Spanish crown retook Granada from the Moors. The Jews and Muslims lived among the itinerant Gitanos outside the walled city. This is also the neighborhood where, they say, Flamenco originated. At least that’s what they tell tourists. I think it’s kind of a foolish thing to try to define the starting point of a style of music that so clearly has influence from basically all over Europe and Asia. Flamenco music and dance is like a snowball that rolled and rolled just gathering up bits and pieces of everything along the way. But what we know as Flamenco today can definitely be pinned down to Andalusia, this southernmost region of Spain.
After our walk, we took a little siesta, then decided to head to town for the evening. We walked to the main road that followed the Darro River towards the center.The cobbletone promenade took us past ancient buildings, views of the Alhambra above us and a series bridges that cross the Darro from our Albaicin neighborhood to the neighborhoods at the base of the Alhambra. As we got closer to the center, it got more and more touristy. We entered a series of narrow streets lined on both sides with shops all selling the same kind of mass-produced handicraft that was supposed to make you feel like you were in a north African souk, if you’d never been to north Africa. They sold the kind of vaguely exotic colorful and baggy clothing that they probably sell to tourists from Marrakesh to Istanbul to Varanasi. There were also plenty of Moroccan restaurants and tea shops where the staff might as well have been wearing Aladdin costumes. I mean, I can’t really hate the hustle. The north African immigrants really did a good job of exploiting the history of their former empire in Spain. I wondered, though, did the other tourists think that like, this neighborhood with its mint tea and incense was a remnant of Moorish rule that just seemed to stick around intact for over five hundred years? We continued toward the center, which was also full of narrow streets and alleys. Yes, Granada was touristy, but it managed to avoid feeling like it wasn’t also a real town at the same time. The old town of Panama City, for example, was developed so much with tourism in mind, and is so cut off from the rest of the city, that it just feels more like a Disneyland version of a Caribbean colony than a normal, modern city.
Eventually we found ourselves sitting at a bar on the edge of Trinidad Plaza. We ordered small beers and they came with our first free tapa: a little tiny thumb-length hot dog with some chips in the shape of shoestring fries. It was super cute. There is a lot of lore around the history of tapas in Spain, but one think for sure is that the concept of a free snack being served with a drink originated in the south. These days, while tapas are served all over Spain, the tradition of free tapas has basically disappeared outside of this region, and only in Granada is it still common. Part of the game is the understanding that the tapas will get bigger or better with each drink you order, encouraging people to stick around instead of bar hopping. After our cute little hot dog, our second tapa was a plate of shrimp, a big step up. I’m such a sucker for a free treat. Getting a little bonus snack was just the most fun thing I could imagine.
We walked about more around the center, looking into shop windows and peering into parks. We stopped for a vermouth at a place called Dancing Coffee Shop. It was a weird name and the place didn’t look great, but it had an open table outside and that had become hard to find at this hour. While we sipped our vermouth we were served a tapa. It was some kind of tiny pizza that probably made a journey from the freezer to the toaster oven before making it to our table. It was bad, and after the shrimp tapa, I was kind of disappointed, but I was still happy for the free treat.
We walked back home that evening on a side street parallel to the main road that we had used to get to the center. This was actually way better as there was almost no foot traffic, and occasional old street lamps gently illuminated the ancient walls and buildings on either side of us, giving that atmosphere that allowed you to imagine that you had traveled hundreds of years back in time. Except for, you know, the lamps were electric and every once in a while a car would trundle down the cobbles, barely squeezing through the tight spaces.
That night I had trouble sleeping. We lived in a quiet neighborhood, without nearby bars or restaurants, but there was so much noise coming from buses picking up and dropping off the tourists going to Flamenco shows in the nearby caves. There were also a surprising number of pedestrians loudly passing by at all hours of the night. It was weird because it was a Tuesday and I didn’t notice this the next two nights. Or I slept through it.
Day 9
Today was Alhambra day. Unfortunately for us, tickets to enter must be obtained well in advance and by the time we had planned our trip, there were none available. That is, unless you go through some expensive tour company, which we weren’t going to do. On the plus side, though, a lot of the area that the Alhambra sits on is open to the general public. So we got up a bit earlier than normal and went to see what we could see. It was a short walk from our door to the Cuesta de los Chinos, which I learned did not mean the ridge of the Chinese, but here, for some reason “chino” means small stones. So we followed this stone path up to the main area of the Alhambra. It didn’t seem too touristy until we got to the top of the path and started to see the hordes, the tour buses, the overpriced bottled water. I hadn’t even realized you could take buses right up to the entrance. Some fortifications. It was a bit confusing trying to figure out which parts we could see and which we couldn’t. On paper, the list of things we could see for free was long, and the sites you had to have tickets to enter was only like three things. It turns out, though, that, obviously, the free stuff really wasn’t the best stuff. We looked for a map at the information desk, but the woman there told us that there were no papers maps and that we would have to use the qr code to download the map. So instead, we just took a picture of the paper map at the info desk. I know it’s probably good to save paper, but I’m gonna die on this hill of rejecting the obligation to have a smartphone + data plan at all times in order to exist in the world. I might actually die on the hill, when the ER doctors ask me to scan a qr code so they can see if I’m insured before they bother to remove the car parts embedded in my abdomen. Anyway, it was good we arrived when we did. It wasn’t too crowded, but an hour later, the place was inundated.
So, we checked out the Palace of Carlos V, an out of character addition commissioned by King Carlos in the 16th century, not long after the Moorish rulers had been kicked out of Andalucia. The palace was left unfinished for hundreds of years, only to be completed in 1927. Today it contained two museums, which were free for EU citizens, so, bonus for me!
"Hey! You guys. Have you seen this lamb?"
We were able to wander the few streets and some outdoor gardens in the Alhambra complex, and even entered a pretty cool bath house. But the main palaces of the sultans of Andalucia remained off limits. In one of the three free museums, I noticed some guy touching one of the objects and was pretty shocked. Minutes later, I saw guard scolding a German woman for touching another object. I was pretty shocked by the boldness of these monument manipulators, these relic rubbers, these curio caressers. Then, on our way back down the Cuesta de los Chinos, we veered off the path to look over a ledge the dropped about 10 feet, where a pathway led to a large gate. All of a sudden I heard someone yelling. I ignored it at first, but I heard it get louder. I turned around and saw a security guard on a motorcycle coming toward me, yelling at me to not cross the barrier. I was confused. He approached me and scolded me for crossing the chain. I turned around and saw that there was a chain on the ground. It was supposed to be keeping people away from the ledge, but instead of being at knee height, it was broken and just sat there on the ground. He asked if I spoke Spanish and I said yeah and that I hadn’t seen it. He warned me that there’s kids around and they could follow me and fall off. Ok, right. Thanks sir. Bye. (maybe get your barrier fixed though).
We went back to the room for a midday siesta before heading back out. We explored another part of our neighborhood which was a bit higher up and had several lookout points. This part of the neighborhood was really beautiful. All winding narrow streets where ancient walled homes concealed lush gardens. The views of the Alhambra and the hills surrounding it were incredible, but of course, at the large lookout point, it was loaded with tourists. We stuck around for a bit, though, just to get some sun. Then we headed back down the hill towards the center. We engaged in a bit of sight-seeing, checking out a Moorish-era granary, then the Cathedral. We had been there the night before, but it had closed minutes earlier. There was also a chapel next door that held the remains of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. Unfortunately, when we got there, we found out that it was like $6 to get in. It was pretty surprising to have to pay to get into a church. I understood for seeing the tombs of royalty, but even just to enter the Cathedral required a ticket (which we would have to purchase on a smartphone). We passed.
After getting some fruit and snacks at a grocery store, we walked through some parks, including a cute little botanical garden that had all sorts of cool plants to look at. For an early dinner, late snack, we stopped in at this little bocadilleria, or sandwich shop, called Aliatar. It was the kind of simple place that I love. Just a few stools at a bar, one employee, decades old decor with cheap and basic food. The list of cold and hot sandwiches was long, so we sipped a beer while we decided. Lise got a mussels sandwich and a “Flamenquin”. A flamenquin is kind of like cousin to the cordon bleu. It is a pork loin wrapped in ham, filled with cheese, rolled up and battered and fried. And this place just puts that on bread with a big glug of their homemade mayo. We lingered as we ordered vermouth, but most people, many regulars, really just popped in, ate a quick bite and left. We probably should have just camped out there for the rest of our time in Granada, but unfortunately we had more exploration to do. We walked over to an old school bodega (tends to mean a wine shop or casual wine bar) that I’d read about. It was supposed to be the kind of aging locals, but as we got close it looked absolutely loaded with hungry tourists. It wasn’t at all what we were looking for so we pressed on. The next place we tried had no more room. Eventually we found a little outdoor table outside of a typical looking bar/restaurant. We ordered beers and got a little tapa. This is where we had our first “leftover” tapa. Basically some tapas are just small portions of dishes that the restaurant needs to get rid of. This time it was a mix of sausage and potatoes. It was ok. A bit heavy. But free. After that, we meandered back toward our neighborhood, stopping at a restaurant in a plaza for a final beer. The place was a little fancier and more touristy than we usually go for, but it was sitting right below the magnificently illuminated Alhambra, so the view was worth it. We also got a slightly fancier tapa, a little toast with lox on it. It was a decent way to end the evening.
Day 10
In the morning, we intended to walk up to the lookout points in the nearby neighborhood of Sacromonte. It was on the edge of town, so while it was populated, it didn’t feel oppressively dense. The dry hills reminiscent of southern California were just a stone’s throw away. We tried to follow the roads to the lookouts using Google Maps, but we kept getting blocked by private gates. I was confused as several of these lookout points appeared accessible on the map, but we couldn’t reach any of them. One of them was actually on the grounds of a museum, so we would have had to pay to get to it. We gave up and went to a nearby museum about Gitana women and the history Flamenco in this neighborhood. It was a small museum inside some caves and it had a kind of homemade feel to it, like it was a community or school project. It was charming, though, and we learnt some things.
After kind of failing on getting good views, we went down to visit a “carmen” next to our home. A carmen is a type of walled house that contains lush gardens. The word carmen comes from the Arabic word for garden. This carmen was owned by the University of Granada and was partially open to the public for visits. The garden were nice. There were some fountains and nice views. Next we headed back up to the lookout that we had been to the day before. Lise really wanted to get some sun, so that seemed like a reliable spot to accomplish it. There was a little square with a good handful of tourists, a few trinket sellers and a couple of guys with guitars doing covers of Gypsy King songs. We laid down on the concrete ledge that borders the square and just let the sun warm us up. With every minute that passed, more and more tourists arrived. It grew louder and more chaotic. Two of the men selling jewelry and souvenirs suddenly packed up and ran away. Two police officers on motorcycles arrived a couple of minutes later. When the crowds of tourists completely inundated the square, we decided to walk down the hill toward the town. In this walk through the tightly woven network of narrow streets we started to notice signs in people’s windows protesting mass tourism. Part of the problem was airbnb, which we were guilty of using. It’s extremely rare to stay in a place that is just someone’s second home or a spare apartment. It’s always a property that someone bought with the intent of renting it out, usually along with several other units in the neighborhood. Or a single large apartment has been converted into several small studios. This creates a lot of pressure on the housing market of local people and drives up prices. I do feel guilty for being a part of this problem, but at the same time, the cities should be doing more to regulate this market. Unfortunately, everyone with the money and influence on local politics are the people profiting off the city’s tourism and they have no interest in anything that will reduce the accessibility to tourists.
When we got towards the bottom of the hill, closer to the center, we made an effort to stay on side streets. It can be very easy to just unintentionally follow the paths that everyone else does and end up walking AGAIN along the street packed with tourists and souvenir shops. I’m not always sure what causes that, but sometimes it’s just the way a neighborhood is designed. This time we managed to stay one some really narrow side streets and walked for a long time without seeing almost anyone. It was one of the nicest walks we had and there were so many little hidden details and surprises along the way.
When we got to town we stopped at a tiny ham and cured meat shop. It was really just a counter you could walk up to on the edge of a square. I had been wanting to try a “Jamon de Trevelez”, made in the nearby Sierra Nevada mountains, but they didn’t have any. Instead I got some Cured Bellota sausage and we ordered a plate of Iberico ham and cheese that came with a couple small beers. We stood at the tiny table next to the shop as we savored our ham.
With the evening snacking underway, we went back to the tavern that we had been to the evening before for a vermouth and another one of their leftovers tapas. This time it was migas (which in Spain is a couscous-like dish of fried breadcrumbs) with some sausage and fried green pepper. At the next table a couple of middle-aged white Spanish people were sitting with a half-black French guy in his early 20’s. They were interesting to watch. The young guy, who spoke Spanish pretty well, was telling them the story of fight that he got in, or assault that he was a victim of, and that was how he’d chipped his front tooth. I could not figure out what their relationship was. They seemed like they were from such different worlds, so I wondered what led them to having drinks together at a small cafe in Granada. At some point the two older folks put something like a raisin over their front tooth and they took a group photo with all of them looking like they had also chipped their front teeth. Our second vermouth came with some leftover salmon tartare on toast.
Next, we returned to a place we had tried to go to the night before and managed to get an outdoor table in a little alleyway. They had a house vermouth and “Granada ham” tapa special, so we got that. I hadn’t heard of “granada ham” and I was curious. In hindsight, I think we got played. We were each served a little roll with a slice of cooked (not cured) ham with a few chips on the side. It looked like we ordered off the kids menu. There’s no such thing as “Granada ham” in the same way there is “prosciutto di Parma” or “Jambon de Bayonne”. What’s more, a group of Spanish guys (with one Italian guy), came and sat at the table next to us. The tapas they were served looked a lot more like what I was expecting. It was cured ham on toast. I listened as they explained to the Italian guy, who spoke Spanish, how tapas work. The window of the restaurant was full of those stickers showing that it was recommended by this and that. A lot of them were from a French guide book and sure enough, most of the customers we saw coming in and out of this place were French. We ordered a few more small dishes, like stuffed mushrooms and croquettes. The food here was pretty good, but I was still miffed about the “Granada ham” thing.
On the way home, we took a wrong turn and it took foreeeever to get back. When we did we prepared our bags for the following morning’s departure.
Monday, February 3, 2025
Spain 2024 Part 2
We had to get up early, around 6 AM, to do some mission to help Blai. Jonathan woke me up with a hot cup of coffee. I appreciated the gesture, but then I took a sip. It was double hot, spiked with rum. I was kind of annoyed, but drinking it was easier than brewing myself another cup.
The mission had something to do with moving some scaffolding on Blai’s property back to his friend’s place near town. Blai moved one of his vehicle’s, the one with the trailer attached, down the hill to where the scaffolding was stored. The trailer was probably the roughest, most cobbled together and repaired a thousand times piece of junk I’d ever seen. The walls were being held together by straps and it seemed to sag in every direction. Somehow we were supposed to load all this scaffolding in here, then take the 10 or so mile drive over winding and pot-holed dirt roads down the mountain. Well, I didn’t have a lot of faith in this working, but Blai and Jonathan have a lot more experience with this kind of work, so I just helped where I could didn’t express my doubts. After loading all the scaffolding, the joint sagged between the trailer and the vehicle. Even they were laughing about how janky this looked and seemed skeptical about the success of our mission.
When we got closer to town, we had to stick to side roads, as this vehicle was definitely unregistered and was probably visibly committing several violations just for being outside of a garage. Luckily Blai knew his way around what almost seemed informal dirt pathways under bridges and overpasses. We arrived at his friend’s place, which was just a big grassy area with a couple of trailers and rough looking vehicles scattered about. It was kind of similar to how Blai was living, minus the old stone farm house and scenic location. We unloaded the scaffolding and headed out. I saw his friend jump on a mountain bike and take an adjacent trail, eventually meeting up with us again nearby. The mountain bike had a haphazard coat of black paint on it, making it look pretty rough, but on closer inspection the components all looked clean and well-maintained. This guy knew how to keep a bike in order, even if its provenance looked dubious.
We parked on a nearby street. I never really knew what we were doing. Blai tends to only explain the minimum of what you need to know. Sometimes it feels like its because he doesn’t trust you, but I think it just has more to do with years of living a lifestyle on the edge of society. Information is important and valuable and if you have more than someone else, well, it gives you the upper hand. Jonathan and I talked about this sometimes and we just kind of laughed about it, not taking it personally. A guy got out of the beater of a car parked in front of us. He came and greeted Blai warmly. It was another one of his Catalan punk friends, but he now lived on the French side of the Pyrenees. He was just around for a visit and to talk some business with Blai. We went to a nearby cafe where the scaffolding friend caught up with us. We were a rough-looking bunch of guys with a couple of huge dogs, but the server, an impish guy in his 50’s seemed to welcome us like family. We sat at a table outside so the Catalan crew could smoke their cigarettes. It was cold, but these guys were all wearing winter clothes that would have looked at home on Brooklyn hipsters, but these were probably like straight up hand-me-downs from the 80’s or 90’s. We ordered beers, coffee, plus pan con tomate with big slabs of pork belly on top. A real macho breakfast.
On the way home, we stopped at a store to pick up some apples and onions we would need for Blai’s birthday meal. I got myself more mushrooms that I hoped not to burn again, and Jonathan and I went half on a bottle of Pujol Rum.
Back at Blai’s we started working on the meal for the next day. He had been defrosting a leg of boar and a big chunk of deer meet for a day or so. I would say that Blai had hunted the boar, but I think he just heard some of them in front of his house one night, so he just walked out on his front step and shot one down with an arrow. The deer, well, I’m not sure where that came from. I quickly sharpened up a knife and started trimming the meat and cutting it into big chunks. Then we browned the two types of meat separately, and stewed them with a bunch of onions, apples and tomato sauce. The meat was smelling pretty gamey. While this was all happening, a lifelong friend of Blai’s and his wife and 3-year-old daughter had arrived. They were the type of people that live a bit more in mainstream society than a lot of the people around Blai, but they also had a camper van and longed to get out of the drudgery of city life. They were sweet and calm. They quietly prepared a really bland looking vegetable soup for themselves while we worked on the game stew.
Day 5
Today was Blai’s first day of his two-day birthday celebration. Saturday was the day for friends, while Sunday would be for his family. People started rolling in between 11 and noon. It was a varied mix of outdoor-style punks and various outlaws of various ages with a few kids in the mix. They were all friendly enough. One person brought a jug of vermouth and I started to see how much of a staple the drink is in Spain. I was already somewhat aware from seeing it often at bars, but this was my first time having it in a social setting. We drank it in the classic Spanish way, with a couple of olives, an orange slice, ice and perhaps a bit of sparkling water. We also started the meal with some basic aperitivo dishes, like tomatoes with olive oil and garlic and some marinated anchovies that the couple that had arrived the night before had prepared. They were really good. Then we had the meat, served with a slightly messy pilaf style rice. The meat was really good. I was surprised that I actually liked the deer more than the boar. While I may have prepared it in a different way if I had been in charge, the stew was mildly flavored enough that you could really tasted and appreciate the unique flavor of the meat.
After lunch, Jonathan and I went on a walk through the forest. There were wild herbs like rosemary, fennel and even a bit of thyme growing everywhere. There was also signs of wild boar all over the place. Blai could probably just live off wild boar meat if he wanted to. It felt good to walk after stuffing myself with so much meat and rice. We reached a chain strung across the trail, indicating the edge of Blai’s property. So we decided to turn around and head back to the party. On our way back, we noticed that Blai had a teepee set up somewhere between the house and the edge of the forest. Jonathan really wanted to spend the night in it. We also figured that with so many people there, (maybe 12 or 15) at least some of them might be staying over and need a place to sleep in the house. We were happy to give up our beds which we didn’t really like that much anyway. We also didn’t know if Blai would be weird about us staying in the teepee so we decided to do it sneakily. We devised a plan. While everyone was distracted (or just you know, hanging out with each other) Jonathan snuck around the basement and the second building (filled with freezers, solar batteries, building supplies and assorted junk) and found stuff for making the teepee a bit more comfortable. He got some chunks of styrofoam for pillows, cushions from lawn chairs to use as mattresses, some tarps and a couple blankets. I discreetly gathered some fire wood and hauled it up to the teepee. As we were were sneaking around, we came across a ping-pong table in the second building, which seems like it was probably for livestock at some point in time. So we played a couple of games. I think we each won one, vowing to settle the score later. A bit later in the day, when people started to either trickle out or figure out sleeping arrangements, we blew our secret. Jonathan offered our beds to a couple that was asking Blai where to sleep. Blai got curious and started asking a lot of questions. Well, the jig was up and we told Blai about the teepee plan. He didn’t seem to understand why we would want to sleep there, but didn’t seem to mind. Anyway, we still pretended that we were on a sneaky mission. A bit later, we snuck some beers up to the teepee and started our fire. It was cold outside, but with the fire and our blankets we were pretty cozy. It was a far better sleeping arrangement than we had inside the house.
Day 6
The next morning I woke up late, like at almost 11. I knew that Blai’s family was supposed to start arriving between 11 and 12, but I didn’t hear too much noise of vehicles or people. I figured they weren’t there yet and I could relax in bed a bit longer. Jonathan was still fast asleep. I laid there for a while, but eventually got up to pee. I stepped out of the teepee and saw that a few vehicles had indeed arrived and things looked like they were starting to move down below. I went down to see what was going on and most of the family (Blai was expecting around 30-40 people) was already there. They all fully awake, buzzing around, busy preparing food and setting up the tables. I walked through the kitchen and greeted some of Blai’s aunts, cousins and sisters. I went to the room to get some clothes and things from my bag to put myself together. I was a real mess and surely smelled like campfire and beer. I went back to the teepee and did my best to clean myself up. I changed clothes, brushed my teeth and put my hair up. When I went back down, I looked for something I could do to help so I went back into the kitchen. Everyone started greeting me and introducing themselves again. I realized that they thought I was a different guy from before and that was fine with me to have a second chance. That first guy was a real loser.
Blai’s family was throwing this feast together like a well-oiled machine. Apparently the family gathers at someone’s place pretty much every Sunday so everyone knows what to do. Blai’s grandpa was hunched over the sink, carefully removing the seeds from some roasted peppers. His sisters were chopping vegetables with some freshly sharpened knives. His dad was setting up the paella pan over a very wide portable gas stove. His uncle was slicing the ham that Blai had hung to cure about a year earlier. His kookie aunt was just walking around with a plate of ham and a bowl of melon, offering it to everyone. I got busy peeling a big basket of onions with Blai’s grandmother. That only lasted so long, so I kept going into the kitchen, looking for more things to chop or other ways to contribute. I thought people would be impressed with my knife skills, but Blai’s sisters were all pretty handy with the steel.
Neus, Blai’s girfriend, was being kind of shy and staying out of the way. She later told me that she was intimidated by the family and that she was ashamed of her poor Catalan. She was raised in Catalonia, so her education was in Catalan, but since her parents were not Catalan, she never spoke it at home. Antimo, an Italian guy who had drove in the night before was also surprisingly shy. He and Blai had met in Australia and then traveled together in Mongolia, where they were in a truck crash while joyriding in the steppe together. We had been speaking Spanish together (his Spanish seemed pretty much perfect to me) until I found out that his partner of twelve years is French and that he lives in southern France. So we switched to French and our conversations got a lot better. He spent a lot of the time helping Blai’s dad with the paella. That was the best job to have gotten. You get to stay outside, work around a giant, hot pan and learn something. Eventually Jonathan joined the party. Of course he made a big splash and everyone seemed incredibly charmed by him. The confidence this guy has, especially with his insane Spanish, is just unreal. At times it’s impressive and at times it’s insufferable because it seems so performative. I mean, he kind of plays the clown, which puts everyone at ease, but at the same time, it seemed to make some of us (Antimo, Neus and I) even more shy and withdrawn. The rest of the family was so charmed and in love with him that they didn’t even seem to notice Blai’s other friends.
When the meal was ready everyone gathered around the long tables outside under a tree. We started with appetizers. There were marinated anchovies, tomatoes with garlic and olive oil, roasted and marinated peppers, Blai’s homemade butifarra, or Catalan sausages, and, kind of oddly, guacamole and pico de gallo. The latter two clearly got a little Spain-ified, with the use of parsley instead of cilantro and olive oil instead of neutral oil. Then the paella came out. Blai’s dad had sprung for a lot of the best seafood to go into it, including locally caught shrimp and some kind of roe that got mixed into everything. Everyone loved the paella, but I’m not so used to such fishy dishes. I ate it happily, but it wasn’t my favorite thing.
As the meal wound down, Blai turned on some music. There was a bit of dancing. Blai also brought out a chess board and played each of his grandparents. They both beat him, but barely. It was very sweet watching him with his family. I didn’t know this at the time, but Blai told me later about how he had not been very close with his family for years. He was basically out of the house in his late teens, and was became an outcast in his family. He was seen as some kind of no good punk troublemaker. I remember visiting him in 2011 and when we stopped by his family’s home for a few minutes, I remember his mom and one of his sisters being extremely cold. At the time, I just thought it was how they were, but after seeing the warmth and love of the family, I realize that it wasn’t normal. Blai was able to get back in good standing with his family after he (with a lot of their help), bought this piece of property and they saw how serious he was about building something for himself there. They were impressed with his initiative and his abilities as well as his willingness to help out members of the family when needed. This change seemed really important to Blai and while he is still not attending most of their weekly Sunday gatherings, he was really enjoying all the love and attention he was receiving.
After the meal, the family turned the work machine back on and had everything cleaned up, table cleared, dishes washed, and leftovers transferred into boxes within minutes. I was so fortunate to be able to attend this family gathering. Not only was it a good time, but it was one of those cultural experiences that you just can’t get unless you know someone. It felt like the end of one of those episodes of an Anthony Bourdain show where the whole extended family or large group of friends gathers for a nice meal together. The kind of thing that almost feels exotic from the perspective of a lot of Americans.
After the family left it was just Jonathan, Blai, Neus and Antimo. We hung out around the fire, while I occasionally went inside to sneak some little pieces off Blai’s ham. After having a lot of my own meat curing failures (but successes too) it was really impressive that Blai had managed to make a really delicious ham, which is arguable the most challenging piece of charcuterie to make, on his first try. I didn’t feel too bad about sneaking ham, as I really felt like I was appreciating it more than most. Eventually Jonathan and I went back to the teepee and had another fire.