France: Road Tripping Through Normandy – Fecamp, Yport & Étretat

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Overnight showers had cleansed the air, the morning was brilliant with sunshine, and the deep blue sky was checkered with fair weather clouds. We were road tripping west through flat farmlands and pasturelands, which were lined with rows of beech trees to protect the land from the ferocious winds of winter storms. The landscape was dotted with Normande, a breed of dairy cow descended from the cattle that the Vikings brought with them when they settled in the area during the 9th century. A white cow, speckled with brown patches, this breed is favored for its milk’s high fat content, which lends itself perfectly for making CHEESE! More specifically the PDO (Protected Designation of Origin) Camemberts, Livarots, Pont-l’Evêques and Neufchâtels that the Normandy region is famous for. Small signs for fromage and cider pointed down many dirt lanes that spurred off our route.

We were heading to the white cliffs of Fecamp and Yport, in the Seine-Maritime department of Normandy, on the English Channel. While planning this trip we read about high season – over-tourism running rampant across France. Crowds don’t appeal to us, so we’ve been planning our travels to coincide with a destination’s shoulder season for a while now. The articles also suggested visiting places off the usual tourist radar, which is how we came across Fecamp and Yport, our stops before reaching Étretat. In hindsight we should have planned a full afternoon or overnight stay in Fecamp, as the quick glimpses of the Palais Ducal, now ruins, and the Holy Trinity Abbey, as we drove through the historic center, revealed a pretty town and looked intriguing, worthy of further exploration.

Our “walk a little then café,” becomes “drive a little then café,” when we have wheels, and by the time we entered Fecamp it was time to satisfy that late morning craving. Parking in unfamiliar towns is always a challenge, and on a busy Saturday even more so, but we lucked out and found both a parking space and great café near the harbor. The sunny outside tables at Le Coffee de Clo were empty so we were surprised when we entered to see a lively shop nearly full of people busily enjoying the decadent sweet creations we had stumbled across. More muffin than pastry, the baked goods and excellent coffee here are the only excuse you need to detour to Fecamp.

Walking back to the car, we spotted the Chapelle Notre-Dame du Salut, across the harbor, high atop Cap Fagnet. It’s believed that Robert the Magnificent, an 11th century Duke of Normandy, constructed the church in thanks to God for surviving a shipwreck in the waters below the white cliffs of Cap Fagnet. It’s been a pilgrimage site for fishermen, sailors, and their families ever since.

The views from the terrace in front of the church of Fecamp’s harbor, and the southern half of La Côte d’Albâtre, the Alabaster Coast, take in an 80-mile stretch of white cliffs between Etretat and Dieppe on the Normandy coast, that mirrors the distant White Cliffs of Dover across the channel. Locally the cliffs around Fecamp are known as le Pays des Hautes Falaises, high cliff country.

In 1066, William of Normandy set sail from Fecamps’ harbor with a fleet of more than 700 ships, partly financed by the Abbott of Fecamp, to claim the Crown of England, which he had inherited, but this was being contested by Harold, a pretender to the throne.  The issue was settled at the Battle of Hastings when the former became King William the Conqueror. It was also reassuring to learn that the Fecamp monks transitioned away from being international arms merchants, and segued into a more appropriate occupation –  running a distillery in the 16th century, that produced a 27-herb flavored liqueur that would become popular in the mid-1800s and sold as Le Grand Bénédictine.

Eight hundred seventy-eight years after William set sail, on June 6, 1944, during WWII German fortifications along the Côte d’Albâtre failed against an allied amphibious invasion fleet of over 7000 ships and landing craft. It was the beginning of the end of WWII. Scrambling to the top of an abandoned bunker provided us with the perfect vantage point for photos of the coast.

By the time we arrived in Yport the clouds had thickened and were threatening to rain. To our dismay, it poured just as we were parking by the beach promenade. Fortunately, it was an intense but brief shower that cleared into a cloudless sky and revealed a quaint picturesque hamlet and shining white cliffs towering above the sea.

The cliffs along the seafront have been eroding for eons, creating in certain spots deep, long ravines that funneled torrents of water, laden with sand and stone through the cliff face to the ocean, which created beaches in certain places over the ages. These narrow valleys are called valleuses, and the small coastal fishing village of Yport started in one during the Neolithic era.

Without a harbor, fishermen pushed their small boats across a pebbled beach and rowed out through the waves to pursue their livelihood. They repaired their boats and mended their nets on the beach at the foot of the town. This way of life supported the villagers for centuries. Only the invention of the small outboard motor in the early 1900s eased their physical effort, until the 1960s when tourism and a small casino replaced fishing as the town’s driving economic force.

In 1838, the tightly knit community decided to build a church. Men, women, and children gathered tons of smooth stones from the beach, carted them 500m inland, and proudly worked together to mix cement and build the center piece of their town. Horizontally striped with alternating layers of colored beach stones, the façade of the church is beautiful, and unique in Normandy. It is a true testament to the power of community spirit.

By the mid-1800s Parisians seeking a more relaxing retreat than Etretat were frequenting the quiet fishing village. The French painters Monet, Renoir, Schuffenecker, and Vernier visited and painted there, while the 19th century French writer Guy de Maupassant set his novel, ‘Une Vie,’ in Yport. Paths from the center of the town and from behind the casino lead to the cliff tops and join the popular GR21 trail that can be followed north to Fecamp or south to Etretat.

Regardless of how beautiful photos of the Falaise d’Aval are, they don’t rival the physical reality of the calling gulls, wind-swept hair, the whistling wind and the relentless sound of the surf crashing against the stoney beach.

Arriving late on a Saturday afternoon in mid-October, we were surprised Étretat was jammed with tourists. Parking is extremely limited here and finding a space is almost a competitive sport that ultimately just required us to sit in a row and wait for someone to return to their car. It sorted itself quickly enough and luckily, we were only a short walk from one of Étretat’s first lodgings, the Hotel Le Rayon Vert, which to our delight was directly across from the beach and Étretat’s promenade. After checking in, we headed to the top of the towering 300ft high cliffs for sunset, the first of many walks along this beautiful stretch of coast and the perfect way to work up an appetite.

If you have been following this blog, you’ll know my superpower is the ability to find a great pâtisserie, pastelería or pastry shop. It’s a great talent when the hotel wants 16€ per person for breakfast. In Etretat, the boulangerie patisserie “Le Petit Accent” exceeded all expectations!

Set high above the town, it was a steep uphill walk to the Jardins d’Etretat. This whimsical topiary garden, with playful faces as “Drops of Rain,” by the Spanish artist Samuel Salcedo, more so than the Falaise d’Aval, was the catalyst for visiting this seaside resort.

This magical spot has its roots over 100 hundred years ago when a villa and garden were built here by Madame Thébault, a Parisian actress, and friend of the impressionist painter, Claude Monet. Madame Thébault cultivated a circle of creative folks as friends, and Monet along with other painters and writers were her frequent guests. It was from a patio in this garden that Monet found repeated inspiration to capture the essence Les Falaises à Étretat.  His love of the area is evident in the nearly 90 canvases he painted depicting various scenes along the Normandy coast. But the Jardins d’Etretat today are a relatively new botanical masterpiece reopening in 2017 after an expansive reinterpretation led by the landscape architect, Alexander Grivko.

Across from the entrance to the garden, a tall soaring monument pointing skyward, elegant in its simplicity, commands a view out over the cliffs and the ocean beyond. This tribute commemorates the last sighting from French soil of the pilots Charles Nungesser and François Coli on May 8th, 1927. They were flying their biplane L’Oiseau Blanc, The White Bird, from Paris to New York in an attempt to be the first non-stop flight across the Atlantic Ocean and win the Orteig Prize of $25,000. But they disappeared somewhere along their route. It’s believed they made it across the Atlantic, but crashed into the dense wilderness forest of Nova Scotia or Maine. Wreckage of L’Oiseau Blanc has never been found and their disappearance remains an unsolved aviation mystery, that rivals Amelia Earhart’s story.  If Nungesser and Coli had succeeded, they would have beaten Charles Lindbergh in the Spirit of St. Louis by twelve days.

The Notre Dame de la Garde stands alone on the slope below the Monument “L’Oiseau Blanc,” isolated on the cliffs like a small boat surrounded by a vast ocean, its spire like a lighthouse’s guiding beacon, visible far out at sea. It offers a welcome sign for the fishermen and sailors returning home. Unfortunately, it was undergoing renovation when we visited in mid-October.

Walking back through the village we found the Normandy architecture in Etretat intriguing. It encompasses many different styles and runs the gamut from ancient half-timbered buildings embellished with ornate wood carvings, to 18th and19th century designs utilizing the local hard flintstone and incorporating steep pitched slate roofs and turrets into their designs. All fascinating.    

Etretat has been a popular destination since rail service began between the port city of Le Havre and Paris in 1847. Swimming or a day at the beach later became common place with the latest fashion, the full body bathing suits. While society folks were sunbathing on the stoney beach, there was a cottage industry of locals, called pebblers. They collected the beach stones for their high silicone content, which were then pulverized and used for various industrial purposes. It’s now illegal to remove any pebbles from the beach as they are vital natural protection against storm surges and marine submersion of the promenade built across the top of the beach, which is much easier walk on than trekking across the pebbly beach, where each footstep sinks into the loose stones and is exhausting to cross.

The classic 19th seaside resort continues to draw visitors, with the success of the French Netflix series Lupin, based on the writer Maurice Leblanc’s character, Arsène Lupin, the gentleman burglar. Leblanc’s former summer home, where he wrote some of his books, is now the Le Clos Arsène Lupin Museum. Some scenes were filmed locally, motivating a whole new generation to discover the white cliffs. The other French writers and composers who enjoyed their time in the quaint village include Victor Hugo, Guy de Maupassant, and Jacques Offenbach, all of whom are remembered with streets named in their honor.

We also enjoyed our time along the Côte d’Albâtre, but just seemed to scratch the surface of this beautiful part of Normandy.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

The Rouen Lean: It’s not a Dance

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We had narrowly escaped Paris’s evening rush hour as we sped away from Orly through the French countryside. Our destination is Rouen, an ancient port town on the river Seine with a pivotal role in France’s history since the Romans first settled along the graceful bend of the river there. It would be a restart to a trip cut short by covid in 2020.

The last light of the darkening sky reflected off the Seine, like a brush stroke of silver paint across a dark canvas, as we turned away from the river and entered Rouen. We are not fans of night driving, especially in a new locale, and our maps app had difficulty with the narrow one-way streets in the historic center of the city. Frustrated, we decided to park at the first opportunity. Miraculously the planets were aligned in our favor as we entered the Q-Park Palais de Justice Musée des Beaux-Arts, a massive unground parking garage that encompasses several subterranean blocks beneath a park in Rouen’s historic district. Not sure exactly where to park, something urged us to continue through the cavernous space until we found a garage attendant moments before he locked his booth for the night. Friendly and extremely helpful, he explained how their multiday ticket would be the best value for us. Yes, we were so lucky he spoke English. Our good fortune continued at street level when we realized we were only two blocks from our hotel. But we had arrived later than planned and the gate to Le Vieux Carré was locked. Fortunately, another guest was returning to the hotel at that time and let us in. “I saw several keys on the reception desk when I went out, and figured you were one of the late arrivals.” Indeed, a room key with our name on it was there waiting for us.

Early the next morning the unusual, but pleasant aroma of caramelized onions drifted in through our open window. With our tastebuds awakened and appetites whetted we headed out. “Walk a little, then café,” is how we like to describe our wanderings. Our first stop – coffee and pastries. It is France, after all! But where to stop? There’s an abundance of eateries in Rouen, thanks to the city hosting two universities and thousands of students. There were so many places that looked inviting, but the criteria for us first thing of a morning was a café with a table in the sun, a must in mid-October to help alleviate the day’s early chill. Once sufficiently caffeinated, we set out.

Flat as a crepe, Rouen was a walker’s delight and savory with explorations that pulled us in every direction. During the 9th century, Vikings pillaged and then stayed to become the first Normans, and the prosperous town of became the capital of Normandy in the 10th century. During the Middle Ages, conflicts in the region were nearly continuous, but the city somehow evolved into one of France’s gems, with its distinctive medieval half-timbered buildings and three towering, majestic churches which still grace the city’s skyline. 

A who’s who of historical figures have crisscrossed Rouen’s cobbled lanes for centuries. The Anglo-French kings, William the Conqueror, a succession of King Henrys, Eleanor of Aquitaine and Richard the Lionheart viewed the city as their home away from home. In 1431, after inspiring her countrymen to rally against English expansionism, Joan of Arc was captured, tried, and burnt at the stake in Rouen’s Old Market Square. It wasn’t until the Siege of Rouen in 1449 when forces commanded by King Charles of France finally defeated the English. Later the French impressionist painter Claude Monet found inspiration in the city, featuring the Rouen Cathedral over thirty times as he put paint to canvas to catch its essence perfectly. With conflicts never seeming to end in Europe, somehow, this beautiful renaissance city, though deeply wounded, miraculously survived World War II. Most importantly perhaps, in March 1948, Julia Child had her first taste of French cuisine at Restaurant La Couronne, on Rouen’s central square, the Place du Vieux-Marché.  

Open since 1345, La Couronne is France’s oldest inn. Savoring her Sole Meuniere, a lightly breaded fish dish flavored with fresh butter, lemon, parsley and capers, it was an experience she described “as the most exciting meal of my life.” Local oysters and a bottle of Pouilly-Fumé were also enjoyed. She was hooked and a Francophile was born!

The Rouen Lean is not a dance, nor the result of drinking too much wine, but the very obvious tilt exhibited by many of the city’s ancient half-timbered buildings constructed during the Middle Ages. Our hotel was a prime example of this with scarcely a wall or floor that was square, plumb, and level. But that was the charming character and ambiance we were looking for. The half-timbered building’s superstructures were constructed with huge square oak timbers held together only with mortises, tenons, and wooden pegs, while the nonstructural area between the supporting timbers was filled with bricks or stones and covered with plaster. Over the centuries it has proven to be an aesthetically pleasing and durable construction method used to build five to six story houses. Many of the buildings still retain a centuries old, carved wooden sculpture on the front of the building that represented a service or craft that was once conducted there.

Approximately two thousand half-timbered structures from the Middle Ages still stand in Rouen. The abundance of wooden buildings surprised us as most of our travels have been through the countries of Southern Europe, Portugal, Spain, and Italy, where stone was historically used to construct everything. In Rouen, scarce stone was saved for the churches and castles.

Even stone erodes over time and occasionally old churches need a facelift every few centuries, as was evident by all the scaffolding surrounding the15th century, Gothic style, Saint-Ouen Abbey Church, though with a selective camera angle I was able to eliminate most of the temporary platforms from our photo. But the difference between the areas covered by grime and the newly cleaned sections was phenomenal. The multiyear project is scheduled to be completed later in 2024. Though the interior of the church was closed the day we visited, we were able to watch a stone carver as she worked to create a new gargoyle to replace one beyond repair.

Rouen’s three main churches, Saint-Ouen Abbey Church, Église Catholique Saint-Maclou, and the Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Rouen are all located a short distance from each other on the eastern edge of the historic district, but the journey through the narrow lanes connecting them and exploring many other splendid points of interest along the way made for a wonderful day.

After the abbey we window-shopped down Rue Damiette, admiring the handcrafted violins created by master luthier Sarhan Jean-Marc. Farther on, interesting antique stores lined the narrow lane. Behind us the abbey’s belltower rose over the street. A view that hasn’t changed significantly in centuries. One of the best examples of the “Rouen Lean” is at the end of the street across from Saint-Maclou and caused us to stop for a double take. How, we wondered, can these buildings still be standing?

There was a shortage of cemetery space in Rouen during the Middle Ages when the plague revisited the city repeatedly and 75% of its citizens died. At the time it was the custom to bury the dead only until their bodies decomposed.

Then the bones were exhumed and reinterned above ground in the ossuary Aitre Saint Maclou and the grave reused for the newly departed. Hidden away down a discreet side alley, the ossuary complex was expanded several times and functioned as a secondary cemetery until the early 1700s when the remains were removed, and the buildings were repurposed as a school for poor boys. Today the space houses a fine arts academy and exhibition space. Though it’s still a macabre place with skull and crossbones carved into its exterior timbers.

We rested with coffees at a café on Place Barthélémy in front of Saint Maclou. While a lovely spot, the coffees were overpriced to the point that we could have purchased lunch for two if we’d chosen a less touristy spot. Just a reminder, a block or two off the usual tourist routes and prices drop dramatically.

Rouen’s Cathédrale Notre-Dame has been the center of focus since the first early Christian converts built a temple in 395 AD, on the spot where the current church now stands. And, like the city, the church has a turbulent history. Charlemagne visited in 769, but those pesky Vikings couldn’t decide if they hated or loved the place, sacking it repeatedly in the 9th century, only to later claim the Duchy of Normandy as theirs and embrace Christianity after the Viking leader Rollo was baptized in the church and later buried there as well. Nearby, Richard the Lionheart’s tomb only contains his heart.

Romanesque architecture was the rage during the 11th century and William the Conqueror attended the consecration for the first of many expansions and renovations that would follow over the centuries.

More chiseling and hammering continued during the 12th century when successive Archbishops embraced the new Gothic style. In 1204, Philip II of France celebrated Normandy’s merging with his kingdom amidst the new Gothic renovations.

During the 16th century, a second tower in the Renaissance style was built and ornate stonework and hundreds of statues were added to the front of the church, creating the visage that remains today.

Later lightning strikes, hurricanes and Calvinists would wreak havoc on the church. During the French Revolution any metal objects, not hidden away, were seized and melted down to create cannon balls. During WWII the cathedral was heavily damaged by Allied bombs. The damage was so extensive that final restoration wasn’t completed until 2016, when all the scaffolding was finally removed. Built and rebuilt, inside and out, for over eight hundred years, the cathedral is a fascinating place to explore.

The next morning we headed down Rue de Gros-Horloge, Rouen’s main pedestrian-only thorough fare that runs east to west from the cathedral to the Place du Vieux-Marche, a historic market square. This is the street where the city’s famous 14th century astronomical clock, Le Gros-Horloge, seems to transport you backwards through time to the Renaissance. Early in the morning is the best time to experience this landmark without crowds, as later in the day the narrow lane is as busy as Paris’ Champs-Élysées. During our short time in Rouen, we passed under its gilded façade many times and always, like Monet and his multiple paintings of the cathedral, tried to capture this beautiful clock just right in our photographs.

Indulging our wanderlust, we veered left and right off the lane to satisfy our curiosity. We found ancient gargoyles on the Tribunal Judiciaire de Rouen, and whimsical unicorns, a porcupine, and a reference to L’Ordre de l’Hermine, the Order of the Ermine, a medieval chivalric order on the exterior walls of the Hotel de Bourgtheroulde, a former 1500s mansion, built in what is kindly referred to as the Flamboyant Gothic style popular at the time.

Seriously – the Order of the Ermine is not from a Monty Python skit. A small but ferocious animal, during the Middle Ages the ermine was believed to to fight to its death if attacked rather than “sully the purity of its white fur,” and was used by many medieval chivalric orders to symbolize their uncompromising integrity and honor.

There was also the Ordre du Porc-Épic, porcupine, for prickly knights, and the Order of the Golden Fleece, for royal embezzlers. These were actual chivalric orders, though I am taking liberty with their membership.

Today the Place du Vieux-Marché is surrounded with restaurants and cafes with outside tables, which were very lively at Happy Hour when students and folks just off work congregated on the square. Quite a different scene now as opposed to the day in 1431 when Joan of Arc was burned alive at the stake, in the center of the square, though her heart remained untouched by the flames. A beautiful, modern wooden church built in 1979, the Église Sainte-Jeanne-d’Arc now memorializes the spot where her pyre stood. A plaque nearby reads “Oh Joan, you who knew that the tomb of heroes is in the hearts of the living.”

Inside the food market we savored our first fresh oysters from the Brittany coast and purchased some fruit, and of course cheese! A difficult process considering the tremendous variety we could choose from.

Intrigued by Joan of Arc’s story, the next day we headed to the Historial Jeanne d’Arc, which is housed in a wing of the ancient Archbishop’s Palace where part of her trial was held. We were skeptical at first while buying our tickets, thinking we’d just be watching a movie. But we both ended up being enthralled with the interactive digital technologies used to project Joan’s saga onto the old stone walls, floors, and domed arches.

Her history was exceptionally well portrayed and presented as chapters, with each chapter presented in a different room of the architecturally interesting space. We climbed one of the palace’s towers and were rewarded with a timeless view down Rue Saint Romain to the church of St. Maclou; a view that would look familiar to Joan of Arc were she to stand in this spot today, so little changed from her time.

A symbol of defiance, heroine for the French, and a successful military adversary against the English, she claimed God supported Frances’s freedom, but this was a position the Rouen church could not support as they were allied to England and claimed God was on their side. She was tried and convicted for her heresy. Her male jury also had difficulty with her dressing in men’s clothing for battle. As if because she was a woman, she should have worn a skirt and sat side saddle as she rallied the French to fight. But this practicality was viewed as cross dressing and as such was held to be against God’s law. (Though the robes of the clergy were not considered feminine.) The French finally defeated the English and succeeded in uniting Normandy and Rouen with France. Twenty-five years after her execution, Joan’s family petitioned for the trial records to be reviewed. The court determined she had been tried “under false articles of accusation,” and posthumously declared her innocent and annulled her sentence in 1456.

Our time in Rouen was a beautiful look back into Medieval France.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Tenerife; Miradors, Miradors, & More Miradors

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You’ve landed, rented a car, checked into your hotel. Then what? Where to? It seems the more we’ve traveled and the older we’ve become, the less we plan. Throw a dart at the map? Often, how blue the sky is is the determining factor. That can be tricky in Tenerife where the weather changes quickly multiple times a day. But when in doubt, choose a mirador, any mirador. We figured enroute to them we’d pass other wonderful discoveries that would spur us to detour and investigate, rounding out what we saw of the island. Let your adventure around Tenerife begin. Here’s twelve of the miradors and viewpoints we enjoyed.

Mirador Punta del Fraile

Located on the outskirts of Buenavista del Norte, a manned roadblock across the pavement required us to park. It was about a thirty minute, moderately strenuous uphill walk, and the views along the way were awesome. It was well worth our effort. Reaching the mirador, gale force winds whipped through a cut in the rock which the road followed down to the lighthouse at Punta de Teno, three miles away. Behind us a large cliff face blocked most of the view of the Teno headland.

Nearby Buenavista del Norte is delightful old village with a historic church and memorial to a locust plague in 1659.

Playa del Roque de las Bodegas & Mirador de Playa Benijo

Any resemblance to a straight road disappeared as we turned onto TF-12 to work our way across the island to Playa del Roque de las Bodegas and the Mirador de Playa Benijo. The distances between sites on Tenerife are relatively short as the crow flies, but the roads are narrow and serpentine, so the driving is slow, even though not many cars are on the roads. Rising into the mountains, the terrain changed from arid brown to verdant green. The views along the way of isolated villages hugging the steep slopes were tremendous and there are multiple places you’ll want to stop for photos.

Our intent was to drive all the way to the El Draguillo Mirador, as our GPS map led us to believe it was feasible, but the road ended at a very small gate in a muddy car park with a sign that said only residents of the village were allowed to drive past this point. Evidently this is the starting point for El Draguillo trail, a 6-hour hike.

The parking lot was jammed full, and it took a serious multipoint K turn to get us out. We recovered nicely though by having a great lunch nearby at La Venta de Marrero, a cliffside restaurant with a fabulous view of Playa de Benijo, below.

Mirador Playa de las Teresitas

Only twenty minutes from Santa Cruz de Tenerife, the island’s largest city and capital, the Mirador Playa de las Teresitas seems a world away with tremendous views south of the coast.

Turn around and walk a few yards back along the road for a spectacular view of the black sand beaches Playa de Las Gaviotas and Playa Cueva del Agua.

La Barada

Set on a steep hill, the restaurant La Barada, just a short distance off TF-5, is technically not a mirador, but it is a very popular place due to its glass pier that is cantilevered dramatically out over the countryside from the restaurant. It offers an amazing bird’s eye view of the coast with Pico del Teide in the distance. The food was also very good and the terrace was alive with boisterous activity the afternoon we stopped. 

Mirador de Cherfe

Sitting atop a mountain pass, this mirador has expansive views of the sea. It was also one of the busiest miradors, with vendors selling lava trinkets, and many tourists stopping on the way to or from Masca, like us.

Oh, the thrills of driving in the mountains of Tenerife were just beginning!

Pico del Teide: Mirador de los Poleos, Mirador de Samara & Mirador de La Ruleta

Venturing into the foothills, our drive continued along TF-38 and traversed ever-changing, diverse bio-systems as we left the arid shrub-covered lowlands behind and climbed into hillsides covered with pine forests. It was a well paved but narrow serpentine road, without any shoulder, that required constant vigilance. The mouths of ancient lava tunnels were visible from the road, but there was no room to pull over and stop for photos until we reached the Mirador de los Poleos.

Beautiful, inhospitable, Death Valley-esque, lunar or Martian, however you choose to describe the varied topography that surrounds Pico del Teide, it’s enthralling and fascinating. So much so that filmmakers have used the location for scenes in several block buster films: One Million Years B.C. – 1966, Planet of the Apes – 1968, Clash of the Titans – 2010 and its 2012 sequel Wrath of the Titans and in 2023 the Last Triala, a Star Wars fan film. 

TV episodes of Doctor Who, The Dark Along the Ways and season 2 of The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power have incorporated Tiede’s environs into their productions.

Jardines del Marquesado de la Quinta Roja

Any visits to La Orotava should start at the Jardines del Marquesado de la Quinta Roja. Constructed in 1883, it’s a beautiful French-style, terraced, formal garden with a view over the town and the distant sea. A smaller but older (1788) sister park next to it, the Hijuela del Botánico, features a towering dragon tree and other plantings of specimen trees collected from Spain’s former colonies. After coffee at the garden’s café, it’s an easy walk downhill in La Orotava’s historic center.

Mirador La Garañona

Is set dramatically atop a 1000ft sheer cliff, in El Sauzal, with a tremendous view of the coast below. The park’s shaded paths lead to a delightful small café perched at the cliff edge. We lingered and soaked in the view.

The Iglesia de Santa Catalina is nearby. It’s a classic, white-washed church from the early 1500s and picture perfect with its magnificent dragon tree in front. Nearby the Restaurante el Calvario is a great place to stop for a delightful meal.

Mirador Roque Grande

The waterfront in Puerto de la Cruz is beautiful and there are numerous miradors, beaches and tidal pools along the coast where you can swim. We strolled along the promenade above the black sand beaches at Playa Maria Jiménez, and Playa Chica to El Castillo San Felipe, a small block fortress built in the 1600s to prevent pirates or the British from landing on the beach there.

We lunched at a restaurant on the boardwalk under umbrellas just yards from the surf. Stopping at the Mirador Roger Piedra Gorda and Mirador Roque Grande rounded out the afternoon. Though parking was a challenge at both spots, we think the effort was worth it for the dramatic seascapes we viewed.

Mirador del Emigrante

The views driving into Garachico are impressive, and we stopped several times before entering the old town. As prosperous as the Canary Islands are today, we were reminded by the statue at the Mirador del Emigrante that life here was not always easy.

This poetic description by Fernando García Ramos, the sculptor, explains for the viewer the meaning behind his statue of a walking man – with a hole in his chest, as if in his heart – holding a suitcase. “The figure is scanning the horizon, in a daring position, as if pretending to jump over the sea, with a suitcase in hand, and many more suitcases in a series as a chain behind him; these suitcases behind him surely mean the memories, the sadnesses, the nostalgia, the girlfriend, the mother, the sisters, the families that are left behind by an emigrant who takes a new life, who jumps over the infinite sea, in search of a new life in strange and distant lands.”

Mirador Caribe at the Palmetum

Reaching the Mirador Caribe at the Palmetum, we were rewarded with an expansive view of the city and Auditorio de Tenerife.  A botanical garden, the Palmetum was started in 1995 atop 30 acres of reclaimed land that was once a landfill. Now it’s filled with nearly a thousand palm trees gathered from around the world. It’s a spectacular place.

Playa del Médano

For our last full day on Tenerife we headed to El Médano to be nearer the airport for our flight the following morning. Arriving late in the afternoon to Playa del Medano, we entertained ourselves watching wind and kite surfers speed across the whitecaps. The more experienced kiters crested the waves and performed aerobatics before splashing back into the sea. Closer to town, families favored the gentler waves, wider beach, and a view of Montaña Roja volcano on the horizon. Tables at eateries along the boardwalk were quickly filling as the golden hour approached. A crescent beach, gentle waves, good wine and delicious seafood – is there a better way to end the day? We’ll miss Tenerife.

We hope you found the photos inspirational for planning a trip to Tenerife.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Tenerife Part 4: Pico del Teide, La Orotava, Puerto de la Cruz & Beyond

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The silhouette of the ancient volcano mesmerized us. Even in the dark blues and blacks of the night the volcano’s majestic silhouette loomed large above Icod de Vinos. Later the moon rose and contributed a magical otherworldliness to our vista. During the winter when its 12,000 ft summit is snow covered and there is a full moon, it’s said to shine like the beacon of a lighthouse that can be seen from the coast of Morocco. The aboriginal Guanches believed Pico del Teide held up the sky and placed offerings on the volcano’s slopes to appease Guayota, an evil deity they believed responsible for its volcanic eruptions. We made our own photographic pilgrimage to Teide as we drove to the Hotel Alhambra in La Orotava, our base for the remainder of our vacation. Though not the most direct route from Icod de los Vino to La Orotava via Pico del Teide it was, I can assure you, the most interesting.

Teide is still considered an active volcano and while its cone hasn’t erupted in the last 850 years, side vents on its slopes have spewed destructive massive lava flows across its slopes in 1492, which Columbus noted in his logbook as he sailed on his maiden voyage of discovery, 1704,1705, 1706, 1798 and 1909. Our route on TF-5 cut across the lava field left from the 1909 El Chinyero vent eruption. Now over one-hundred years later new growth pines are just beginning to emerge from this carnage. Their verdant green needles, a refreshing sign of life in an otherwise barren landscape. Crossing the ridge of the mountains we descended into Santiago del Teide. The main road was lined with several inviting spots to stop for café! (We didn’t realize at the time, but this was also our last chance for lunch, as many places normally open in high season are closed or only open on the weekends in the shoulder seasons.)

After coffee we visited the town’s church, Parroquia de San Fernando Rey. It’s a small, whitewashed structure constructed in the late 1600s and has an interesting collection of religious art. Across the street stands a life-size statue called “the brave Guanche,” dedicated to Alonso Diaz, a goatherd, who in 1509 stood up for his rights and successfully petitioned Spain’s King Fernando the Catholic for justice, after 200 goats were stolen from him by a Spanish conquistador. By royal decree the goats were returned.

Venturing into the foothills, our drive continued along TF-38 and traversed an ever-changing, diverse bio-system as we left the arid shrub-covered lowlands behind and climbed into hillsides covered with pine forests. It was a well paved but narrow serpentine road, without any shoulder, that required constant vigilance. The mouths of ancient lava tunnels were visible from the road, but there was no room to pull over and stop for photos until we reached the Mirador de los Poleos. Here the raw beauty in these charcoal-colored landscapes flourished beneath the Chinyero Volcano, and we had a chance to walk across the lunar-like terrain, part of the immense lava field from its 1909 eruption. Dotted with huge boulders, it was difficult to comprehend the ferocious forces required to expel these massive rocks from their subterranean origin.

Continuing on, we had encountered what we thought was fog until, to our surprise, we emerged above the clouds at Mirador de Samara.

This area is also very popular for hiking, with many very obvious trails crisscrossing through a young forest emerging from the volcanic soil left from Pico Viejo’s last, 92 days long, eruption in 1798.

Approaching noon, we turned toward Vilaflor, the highest village, at 4600ft, on Pico del Teide’s southern slope and surrounded by vineyards. The surrounding wineries produce some of Tenerife’s best wines from Listán Negro, Malvasia, Negramoll, and Listán Blanco grapes. And are embodied with a distinctive terroir from the warm climate and fertile volcanic soil. The weather had suddenly turned gray and dreary. More frustrating though, the wineries we had planned to visit were closed mid-week during the shoulder season. Fortunately, we happened upon Mar de Nubes, a craft store and café run by a friendly young married couple from Tenerife and the States. The shop features only handicrafts made by Canarians and local wines and artisanal beers. Of course, we shopped.

Beautiful, inhospitable, Death Valley-esque, lunar or Martian, however you choose to describe the varied topography that surrounds Pico del Teide’s, it’s enthralling and fascinating. So much so that filmmakers have used the location for scenes in several block buster films: One Million Years B.C. – 1966, Planet of the Apes – 1968, Clash of the Titans – 2010 and its 2012 sequel Wrath of the Titans, and in 2023 the Last Triala, a Star Wars fan film.  TV episodes of Doctor Who, The Dark Along the Ways and season 2 of The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power have incorporated Tiede’s environs into their productions.

Driving back up the mountain we continued on to view the large sculptural outcroppings at the Mirador de La Ruleta and the desert-like dunes of the Siete Cañadas hiking area, before following the long downward grade of the road to La Orotava. We speculated that if you dropped a soccer ball at the top of the slope, it would bounce downhill continually until it splashed into the ocean at Puerto de la Cruz, roughly 23 miles away. Our route along TF-21 cut through forests ravaged by the wildfires of 2023. The blackened trees were the only scars in the otherwise pristine wilderness of the Tiede’s northern slope in Parque Natural Corona Forestal.

Late in the day we coasted into our parking space in front of Hotel Alhambra. Parking on the streets in La Orotava is free, but it’s a competitive sport. We chose to stay at this hotel for its distinctive architecture and location in the historic center. While the exterior of the 500-year-old dwelling is quietly classical, the interior walls of its Canarian-style courtyard were beautifully transformed in 1925 with intricate floral and geometric Nasrid art designs, created with gebs plasterwork and enclosed under a high glass roof. An eclectic decorating theme is highlighted with frescos by Maestro Antonio Otazzo, a local self-described painter, sculptor, musician, philosopher, and poet. As if being followed by a friendly giant, Pico del Teide was in our line of sight when we opened the shutters on our room’s window.

La Orotava was rather easy to walk around if we were walking across the slope, but after several days our hamstrings and calves were sore, though our butts were firmer. “Walk a little then café,” as we say was the perfect approach to exploring this wonderful town.

Along with San Cristóbal de La Laguna, it’s considered to be one of the prettiest towns on Tenerife.

Getting to the higher points in town we asked the hotel to call for a cab, for a quick ride to the Jardines del Marquesado de la Quinta Roja. Once part of an estate, it’s named after the noble interred in the park’s marble mausoleum; as a member of the Masonic Temple his family was not allowed to bury him in the town’s catholic cemetery. Constructed in 1883, the garden is a beautiful French-style, terraced, formal garden with a view over the town and the distant sea. A smaller but older (1788) sister park next to it, the Hijuela del Botánico, features a towering dragon tree and other plantings of specimen trees collected from Spain’s former colonies.  And if you are in awe of dragon trees, as we are, the Villa de La Orotava Dragon Tree Tour might be for you.

From the gardens we wandered downhill along cobbled lanes, past wonderful examples of colorful Canarian architecture, into the historic old town, which is centered around the Nuestra Señora de la Concepción. Started in 1516, it is the town’s oldest and largest church, with its colorful dome giving the town its iconic skyline.

But La Orotava’s history starts early in 1496 with the final defeat of Tenerife’s aboriginal Guanches at the battle of Aguere, after which their leader committed suicide by jumping off a cliff in nearby Tigaiga. “To the victor go the spoils,” and the fertile lands of the Guanche kingdom of Taoro were awarded to the nobles, conquistadors and financiers who participated in the Spanish victory.

The rich soil of the hillside was perfect for the cultivation of sugarcane and the steep streams from the mountain were soon harnessed to run sugar and lumber mills. Prosperity followed. Ice from Mt. Tiede chilled the drinks of the town’s wealthy.

Landowners and merchants built large family mansions in a style which would become known as Canarian, which feature interior courtyards and distinctive facades with decorative wooden balconies and the family’s Coat of Arms prominently facing the street. Convents housed the daughters from families that didn’t want to diminish their wealth by paying the dowry for the girls’ wedding, as was the custom of the time. 

Vines and wine replaced sugar cane and ruled the town’s economy in the 17th century. In the mid-1800s, the textile mills of Europe were searching for different dyes, and mealybugs or cochineal were bred in cactus around La Orotava and harvested to obtain a crimson dye, produced from an acid that the bug makes to fight off predators. Since the late 1800s, vast banana plantations thriving on Tenerife’s mineral-rich volcanic soil continue to bring prosperity to the island and La Orotava, enabling the community to restore its historic buildings.

Not wanting to miss anything on Tenerife, we planned day trips from La Orotava around visiting coastal miradors and following any whims along the way. The Mirador Punta Del Hidalgo was not our favorite photographic destination, but we did enjoy stopping at the crescent shaped, black sand beach at Playa del Arenal in Bajamar, and a farmer’s market, Mercadillo del Agricultor in Tacoronte. Here we purchased some pastries for a snack and some Tuno Indio juice made from the purple fruit of the Canarian Red Prickly Pear. The cactus was brought to the Canary Islands from the Americas centuries ago and has been used in Canarian folk medicine to lower blood sugar and treat other ailments. It also has antiviral, anti-inflammatory, antioxidant, and anti-ulcerogenic properties. It tastes pretty good.

Afterwards we headed to the Mirador La Garañona in El Sauzal. Set dramatically atop a 1000ft sheer cliff, there’s a tremendous view of the coast below. And the park’s shaded paths led to a delightful small café perched at the cliff edge. We lingered and soaked in the view.

On the way to the mirador, we whizzed passed a small neighborhood restaurant set by itself on a corner, and decided to try it on our return trip. But first we had one last stop to make on the way at the Iglesia de Santa Catalina. It’s a classic, white-washed church from the early 1500s and picture perfect with its magnificent dragon tree in front.

Lunch at Restaurante el Calvario was delightful, with excellent house wine and menu featuring traditional Canarian dishes. A young friendly staff, tolerant of our poor Spanish, contributed to a very enjoyable afternoon.

Puerto de la Cruz, just down the hill from La Orotava, was the destination for our last day trip. Originally a small fishing village, the town grew in importance after the main harbor on the north coast of Tenerife in Garachico was filled with lava from a 1706 volcanic eruption. Close to La Orotava, it also benefited from that town’s thriving economy, with the export of sugar, wine and bananas from its port. It has been a popular vacation spot since the Victorian era. Now it attracts visitors and expats from across Europe, drawn to its cosmopolitan vibe, wide beaches, quaint historic center, numerous parks, and vast array of restaurants.

Giant three-hundred-year-old fig trees, planted when the park first opened in the 18th century, are king here. Shaded pathways thread through a cornucopia of verdant jungle, flowers, and water garden. We enviously wished that we could grow everything in our garden at home.

In the historic center we had coffee across from the majestic Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de la Peña de Francia and afterwards were able to catch a glimpse of a bride and groom taking their vows. Their antique wedding car waiting under gently swaying palm trees on the plaza in front of the church.

The waterfront in Puerto de la Cruz is beautiful and there are numerous beaches and tidal pools along the coast where you can swim. We strolled along the promenade above the black sand beaches at Playa Maria Jiménez, and Playa Chica to El Castillo San Felipe, a small block fortress built in the 1600s to prevent pirates or the British from landing on the beach here. We lunched along the boardwalk under umbrellas just yards from the surf.

Stopping at the Mirador Roger Piedra Gorda and Mirador Roque Grande rounded out the afternoon. Though parking was a challenge at both spots, we think the effort was worth it for the dramatic seacapes we viewed.

That evening we drove up into the hills above La Orotava and enjoyed a great meal at Bodegón Casa Matías. It’s a rustic establishment, decorated with wine barrels and antique farming tools to acknowledge the history of the region. The chefs and owners, a vivacious husband and wife team, are part of Tenerife’s farm to table movement, sourcing only local meats, including rabbit and goat, fish, cheeses, and seasonal vegetables for their traditional Canarian recipes.

For our last full day on Tenerife, we headed to El Médano to be nearer the airport for a flight the following morning. Arriving late in the afternoon to Playa del Médano we entertained ourselves watching wind and kite surfers speed across the whitecaps. The more experienced kiters crested the waves and performed aerobatics before splashing back into the sea.

Closer to town, families favored the gentler waves, wider beach, and a view of Montaña Roja volcano on the horizon. Tables at eateries along the boardwalk were quickly filling as the golden hour approached.

A crescent beach, gentle waves, good wine and delicious seafood – is there a better way to end the day? We’ll miss Tenerife.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Tenerife Part 3: Garachico & Buenavista del Norte – A Wonderful Coastal Drive

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Our drive along the coast started in the small harbor of Icod de los Vinos. From the start the sea vistas were beautiful, with crisp clarity and saturated blues and brilliant white breakers crashing against the rocky coast. The lighthouse on the remote headland Punta de Teno was our destination. Though only sixteen miles away, it took a good part of the morning with all the frequent photo stops we were making as we proceeded. The spectacular scenery along this short drive rivals the Pacific Coast Highway in California and Chapman’s Peak Drive outside Cape Town, South Africa or the Amalfi Coast of Italy. Just epic!

A few minutes from Icod de los Vinos along TF-42, we stopped at Mirador El Guincho which overlooks the coastal homes, banana plantations, and the new Port of Garachico. Constructed in 2012 behind a large breakwater, it is the only harbor on the north side of Tenerife. Beyond the harbor the extinct volcano Montaña de Taco highlights the horizon, its crater now used as a reservoir.

Enthused by what we glimpsed as we passed through Garachico, we decided to keep with our original plan to go to our farthest destination first and then return later to linger in the quaint town.

“Drive a little, then café.” We were ready to stop by the time we reached Buenavista del Norte and easily found parking around the Plaza de los Remedios. Sitting in the shade, we ordered coffees from the café under the park’s gazebo. It’s a classic Canarian town with colorful two and three story homes. What’s unusual though is the town sits on flat land! Something that is in short supply on this mountainous island. It’s only access to the sea was from the small rocky landing at Playa de las Barqueras, where for centuries supplies were rowed ashore from passing merchant ships. Nearby set along the dramatic coastline is the Buenavista Golf Course, designed by the famous Spanish golfer, Seve Ballesteros.

The Church of Nuestra Señora de los Remedios stands across from the plaza and has played a significant role in the town’s history since its cornerstone was laid in 1516, most importantly when the townspeople filled the church in 1659 and prayed to the statue of La Virgen de los Remedios to stop a plague of locust which was ravaging their crops. According to history the plague stopped. Sadly in 1996, that historic statue and many other centuries-old religious treasures were lost in a fire that destroyed the church.

It’s very easy to speed by and miss, but on the outskirts of town on Cruz de Toledo at its intersection with TF-445 there is a statue of a locust atop a tall column with the anagram of the Virgen de los Remedios, and the dates 1659-2015 which commemorate that event. Every fifth year a procession from the church carries the virgin’s statue out to the locust monument. 

We continued towards Punta de Teno only to be stopped by a manned roadblock across the pavement, just shy of Mirador Punta del Fraile. Only buses and taxis were allowed to travel the road farther; we weren’t told why. Even Google map drivers have been prohibited from making the journey. There was a small dirt parking area next to the gatehouse and we could see a few folks walking the long incline to the mirador. We followed. It was about a thirty minute, moderately strenuous walk, and the views were awesome. It was well worth our effort. Gale force winds whipped through a cut in the rock which the road followed down to the lighthouse at Punta de Teno, three miles away. Behind us a large cliff face blocked most of the view of the Teno headland. It’s a barren peninsular without tourist amenities, just a lonely lighthouse and modern wind turbine farm, the blades of which must turn furiously 24hrs a day, if it’s as blustery there as it was at Mirador Punta del Fraile. Hold your hats!

The views returning to Garachico were equally as impressive as the morning sights, and we stopped several times before entering the old town.

As prosperous as the Canary Islands are today, we were reminded by the statue at the Mirador del Emigrante that life here was not always easy. This poetic description by Fernando García Ramos, the sculptor, explains for the viewer the meaning behind his statue of a walking man – with a hole in his chest, as if in his heart – holding a suitcase. “The figure is scanning the horizon, in a daring position, as if pretending to jump over the sea, with a suitcase in hand, and many more suitcases in a series as a chain behind him; these suitcases behind him surely mean the memories, the sadnesses, the nostalgia, the girlfriend, the mother, the sisters, the families that are left behind by an emigrant who takes a new life, who jumps over the infinite sea, in search of a new life in strange and distant lands.”

Occasionally we spotted colorful red rock crabs scurrying about as walked along the waterfront to the Castillo de San Miguel, a square block fortress built from quarried lava rock in 1575 to protect Garachico’s port from French, Dutch and Arab pirate attacks, along with the threat of British invasion.

For two hundred years Garachico’s harbor was the most important commercial port in the Canary Islands. Its citizenry accumulated wealth through prosperous imports and exports from Spain’s New World colonies and Europe. It was a prestigious town with many warehouses and shops, fine homes, convents, and churches.

This ended on May 5th, 1706, when Volcan Arenas Negras, a vent volcano on Mt. Tiede’s lower slope, erupted and spewed lava down a ravine that led directly into the town and harbor. Amazingly, no lives were lost, but a great number of the town’s historic buildings as well as four convents were destroyed, buried under lava that flowed into the town for nine days. Buildings close to the lava flow caught fire and burned to the ground. The fortress narrowly escaped, but it lost its relevance when the harbor was filled with lava and ships could no longer anchor there. With the loss of the harbor, merchant ships shifted to Puerto de la Cruz, folks left and Garachico evolved into a fishing village until the tourist economy on Tenerife took off in the 1960’s, embracing tourism so enthusiastically that the town recently constructed an ocean front municipal pool open to all along the promenade.

Walking into the center of town, we admired several noteworthy historic buildings:, Convento de San Francisco (1524,) and its church the Iglesia de Santa Cruz de Tenerife; Casa Palacio de Los Condes de La Gomera (1666.) They still stand around a beautiful, shaded gazebo in the Plaza de la Libertad.

Walk a little then café.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Tenerife Part 2: Icod de los Vinos or Colonial Charm, Dragon Trees, and Miradors

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Departing Santa Crux de Tenerife, we drove along the TF-5 towards Icod de los Vinos, our base for the next several days as we explored the lower part of the north side of the island. A compass orientation doesn’t accurately describe how Tenerife is split into north and south regions, but Pico del Teide and its rugged highlands roughly divide the island into the dryer South, which faces Africa and catches the westerly blowing Sharqī, a hot wind from the Sahara, while the North of the island is shielded by Pico del Teide from the hot winds blowing west from Morocco, is wetter from Atlantic Ocean storms.

We are not really resort and beach people; there’s that getting sandy issue that deters us. We do enjoy a close proximity to the ocean and beautiful seascapes, both of which were easily attainable on the north side of Tenerife. We figured that the best way to do this was to chase miradors. And there wasn’t any shortage of them on the island. We figured enroute to them we’d pass other wonderful discoveries that would spur us to detour and investigate, rounding out what we saw of the island.

Set on a steep hill, the restaurant La Barada, just a short distance off the highway, was our first stop. Though technically it’s not a mirador, it is a popular place due to its glass pier that is cantilevered dramatically out over the countryside from the restaurant. It offers an amazing bird’s eye view of the coast with Pico del Teide in the distance. The food was also very good and the terrace was alive with boisterous activity the afternoon we stopped. 

We arrived late in the afternoon to our lodging at Hotel Emblemático San Marcos in iIcod de los Vinos. Located on a steep narrow street, it was a challenge to park close to the buildings on the driver’s side and still have enough room to get out of the car, but the parking was free and right in front of our hotel. Built in the early 1700s as a private mansion, it exemplified typical Canarian architecture of the period with its courtyard and meticulously crafted interior, rich with polished wood. The view from our room over the red tiled roofs of Icod extended to the sea.

Still early in the evening, we headed uphill to explore the historic center of the town and to our delight happened across an outdoor concert in the festively decorated plaza next to the Iglesia Mayor de San Marcos. The performances were part of the town’s September’s month-long Christ of Calvary celebrations. Legend says that when the conquistadors first landed on the beach here in the late 1400s they discovered a statue of San Marcos awaiting them. A fortuitous omen that promptly required a church be built. A century later the church was beautifully expanded to what it is today.

As the evening was darkening, we caught our first glimpse of El Drago Milenario. Believed to be 1000-years-old, it is the largest dragon tree on Tenerife. With over 300 branches, and a circumference of 66 feet, it’s a lofty 70 feet tall.

Beloved by the folks of Icod de los Vinos, the tree’s image is included on the town’s coat-of-arms along with Mount Tiede which also towers over municipality.

In centuries past trees harvested from the mountain’s slopes were sledded down the steep ancient roads of the old town, all the way to the harbor, where prosperous shipbuilders used them in the construction of naval vessels that participated in the ill-fated Spanish Armada of 1588. This unique sledding tradition is still kept alive every November with the La Fiesta de las Tablas, when younger folks speed down Plano Street on tablas, polished planks of wood, that often become airborne with their riders when they hit bumps in the road. Unfortunately, we did not witness this fiesta, but the video clips on YouTube are amazing. The cleared slopes around the town now host orchards, vineyards and banana plantations.

That evening we watched the climax of the festival – a spectacular fireworks display – from the balcony of our room. Throughout the night church bells continued to ring out loudly at odd times with seemingly random numbers of chimes. A curious oddity at the end of a wonderful day.

The weather was brilliant and the next morning we set out to visit the Mariposario del Drago, a large glassed enclosed tropical greenhouse that has a butterfly breeding program. Being gardens we find butterflies very entertaining. The experience here was delightful, and elicited smiles from everyone when a butterfly landed on them.

Across the street from the Mariposario, the El Drago Milenario stands behind a high walled and gated fence. The small admission fee to the park is well worth it to support the town’s effort in keeping this goliath of a tree alive. But, if you’d rather skip the expense and put it towards coffee or lunch, there’s an enticing café named Casa del Drago, with a good view, right next door. Farther uphill along Calle San Antonio there is Drago junior, a magnificent younger dragon tree that, according to legend, the town seized from its owner when he tried to cut it down in a fit of rage.

Fortunately, this part of the historic town center is relatively flat and the walking was easy as we headed back to admire the plaza around the Iglesia Mayor de San Marcos in the daylight and the church’s 16th, 17th, and 18th  century religious art.

Afterwards we strolled along the town’s old lanes until we reached city hall and the Iglesia de San Agustin, both of which are dramatically set on a small plaza at the top of a set of ancient stairs. The church dates from the late 1500s and was originally part of the first convent built in the town by the order of Los Augustinos.

The road to Playa de San Marcos in the harbor of Icod is spectacular with views of the coast. It was here, in this sheltered bay, one the few natural harbors on Tenerife’s north coast, that the Saint’s venerated statue was discovered in a cave along the cove.

We found it best to just find a place to park and then walk to the vantage point that interested us. During the September shoulder season when we visited, tourists were scarce and finding parking was relatively easy.

Early the next morning we headed towards Puerto de Santiago on a route that took us to the mountain ridge above Icod. The final destination of the day would be the isolated village of Masca. A serpentine drive from Icod led to a hairpin turn that fed us into Vieja a la Vega, a very narrow steep lane, but really more like an alley lined with homes. This was one of the steepest roads we’ve ever encountered, requiring us to downshift to second gear for the long and seemingly endless ascent to the main road at the top. Fortunately, we didn’t encounter any cars coming downhill, as there was literally no room to pass. At the top we intersected the TF-5 and followed it through an old growth forest covered with stately pine trees. Continuing on, the road traversed a Martian like landscape. A huge lava field that was the result of Volcano Chinyero‘s last eruption in 1909. The terrain became noticeable drier as we crossed the mountain and descended into Santiago del Teide.

The roads to Pico del Tiede, Masca, and Puerto de Santiago converge here, making it the perfect spot for a café break before continuing down to the Mirador Archipenque to view Los Gigantes, a stretch of tall cliff face that dramatically rises straight up from the sea.

From here you can also see two of the other Canary Islands, La Gomera, and La Palma on the horizon.  For centuries Santiago was a quaint fishing village, but it has embraced tourism and now draws folks enchanted by its natural beauty and striking location along the coast. Its harbor from November to February is also a popular hub for whale watching excursions to depart from.

Backtracking through Santiago del Teide we turned into the mountains and followed a long stretch of twisting and turning road to the Mirador de Cherfe. Sitting atop a mountain pass, it has expansive views to the sea. It was also one of the busiest miradors, with vendors selling lava trinkets, and many tourists stopping on the way to or from Masca, like us. Oh, the thrills of driving in the mountains of Tenerife were just beginning!

The isolated hamlet of Masca seems to be a mecca for folks wanting to get into the more remote parts of Tenerife. With limited parking options, we had to wait for a space to become available only to realize after we walked into the hamlet that all the restaurants were closed on Monday. Yikes!

With growling stomachs, we continued on. Starvation was thwarted in El Palmar at the Restaurante El Rincón La Abu, a wonderful establishment where we were the only customers late in the afternoon. The house wine and our meals, pork cheeks in sauce and chicken breast stuffed with serrano ham and spinach, were excellent. We appreciated that we never felt rushed to finish, but we did notice when we were getting into our car that they were locking up for the afternoon. When home our routine finds us having lunch late in the afternoon, but this wasn’t always possible on Tenerife where many of the restaurants close at 2 or 3pm and then reopen later.

It took us awhile to adjust to this earlier lunch schedule. Continuing on we stopped to observe the Montaña Zahorra, an ancient lava dome from which its fertile soil was quarried in the 1960s, 70s and 80s. The distinctive pie shapes of the excavations represented the individual owners’ mineral rights.  

Exuberant like rally drivers, we felt victorious from a day well spent and headed back to Icod de los Vinos to enjoy a glass of local wine on the balcony of our room and watch the moon rise over the foothills above the town.

Till next time, 

Craig & Donna

Tenerife Part 1: Santa Cruz de Tenerife & San Cristóbal de La Laguna: Old & New, Rugged Mountains & Seascapes

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Bright sunlight filled the jet’s cabin as our pilot dipped the plane’s wing into a descending curve that revealed an arid rugged coast, bound by surf and azure waters. Tenerife! The walk to the car park under gently swaying palm trees was refreshingly balmy, a good omen for our visit.

Heading north on TF-1 in our rental car, views of picturesque small villages along the coast awakened our expectations for the days ahead. Our 14 days on Tenerife were divided evenly between stays in Santa Cruz de Tenerife, Icod de los Vinos and La Orotova, with multiple day trips planned from each town to explore the island in depth. Traveling during the September shoulder season, we were able to find some very good pricing for stays at the Iberostar Heritage Grand Mencey, Hotel Emblemático San Marcos, and the Hotel Alhambra.

Three hotels with distinctive character. Santa Cruz de Tenerife was our first destination, the island’s capital; it is a surprisingly large yet intimate, historic and cosmopolitan port city that offers ferry service to several of the other Canary Islands.

The volcanic seven island archipelago is closer to the coast of Morocco than the Iberian Peninsula. Discovered and populated by folks of Berber origin known as the Guanches around the 5th century B.C., It’s thought their indigenous Canary culture developed in isolation over the next 2000 years until Spain’s Age of Discovery sent fleets of ships south along the African coast in the early 1400s. In 1492, after sailing south from Spain, Christopher Columbus’s fleet of three ships and his intrepid explorers stopped in the Canary Islands to resupply their fresh water and food before catching the favorable, westward-blowing trade winds that carried them across a vast ocean to the discovery of the New World. Tenerife was the last island to succumb to Spanish rule in 1496 after the Guanches were forcefully defeated. For the next 400 years the islands played a crucial role in the colonization of the Americas, sending settlers to help establish Caracas, Buenos Aires, Montevideo, and San Antonio, Texas, along with exporting the first banana plants and sugarcane seeds to the islands in the West Indies. Potatoes and maize, new foods from the Americas, arrived first in the Canaries along with treasure ships laden with silver and gold destined for Spain. The importance of the islands to the Spanish crown was noted by the English privateer and favorite royal bad boy Sir Francis Drake, who found the weather so much more agreeable than England and attacked them in 1586 and 1595. Dutch privateers along with Barbary and French pirates also attacked the islands frequently.

Situated along the tree lined Rambla de Santa Cruz, with its wide pedestrian walkway that runs down the center entire length of the boulevard, the Iberostar Heritage Grand Mencey blended effortlessly into the beautiful 19th architecture that surrounds it. While parking on the street in Santa Cruz de Tenerife is free, there is tremendous competition in finding a space, so we opted to use the hotel’s garage during our stay. Fortunately, our lodging was only a fifteen-minute walk from the city center. It was an ideal location to explore the city from.

Adjacent to the hotel, the Parque García Sanabrias provided a tranquil sanctuary under a canopy of old growth trees. It’s a huge city park with different gardens, monumental sculptures, and several eateries, and is popular with folks seeking a place to exercise or relax. It’s here that we were first introduced to café leche y leches, a visually attractive layered coffee that was originally created in Santa Cruz de Tenerife early in the 1900s. Surely it was an act of divine inspiration that led to its creation at the Bar Imperial for a loyal customer who always requested the same special coffee. Made with whole milk, condensed milk, espresso, and cinnamon, its popularity quickly spread across the Canaries. Made with an additional shot of Liquor 43, it’s called a “Barraquito,” in honor of the customer who inspired the drink’s creation.

Walking through the city on the way to the harbor and the Palmetum one day revealed a vibrant combination of old and new. Beautiful historic buildings and grand sculptures dotted our route. We were surprised to find that the city also has a modern tramline, the Tranvia de Tenerife, that connects its outer neighborhoods and La Laguna to the city center and port area.

Reaching the Plaza de Espana, we paused to contemplate a tall obelisk, the Monument to the Fallen. A controversial piece today, it was erected in 1947 during the dictatorship of General Franco, and sadly dedicated to the victors in the Spanish Civil War. In 2019 a local government commission determined that the forced labor of political prisoners was used to construct it. And the “monument violates the Law of Historical Memory, and it needs to undergo a resignification process.” Nearby stands a contemporary sculpture called “Lo llevo bien,” or “I’m doing well,” by Julio Nieto, a Basque artist based in Tenerife. It’s a 16-foot-tall stainless-steel sculpture shaped like a humanized tree. A re-interpretation of Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders, Nieto’s piece symbolizes “the optimism of the human being, who, despite all his thoughts, carries it well.”

Looking back at the city from the park’s edge, the rectangular modern shapes of the city contrasted sharply with the jagged silhouette of the rugged Tenerife mountains behind them.

We walked along the waterfront to the Auditorio de Tenerife Adán Martín, Santa Cruz’s iconic landmark, an auditorium and arts center, designed by the Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava. Its ultramodern design reflects Tenerife’s prosperity and optimism for the future.

From there it seemed as if we were walking back through time as we passed the Castillo de San Juan Bautista, a short circular fortress constructed in 1640s to defend Santa Cruz from pirate and British attacks, and the Ermita de Nuestra Señora de Regla, a small church that dates from this era.

Reaching the Mirador Caribe at the Palmetum, we were rewarded with an expansive view of the city with Auditorio de Tenerife, and Parque Maritimo iCesar Manrique. A botanical garden, the Palmetum was started in 1995 atop 30 acres of reclaimed land that was once a landfill. Now it’s filled with nearly a thousand palm trees gathered from around the world and other plantings. It’s a spectacular place.

Heading back through the city, we stopped at the old-town market Nuestra Señora de Africa; it’s a sensory experience with colorful fruit displays, aromas of fresh baked goods and the clattering of commerce. Originally an open-air market, it was reconfigured in the 1940s. Built in a neo-colonial style, its arcaded shops and plazas attract locals and tourists. Outside the main entrance two statues reminded us of the old way of life on Tenerife when men still rowed heavy wooden boats through the surf to fish and women called Lechere would walk from village to village with baskets balanced on their heads, carrying jugs of milk to sell.

We finished our walk to the hotel down the wide pedestrian walkway in the center of Rbla. de Sta. Cruz, so we could get a better look at some of the interesting architecture that we passed when we first drove through town.

The weather on Tenerife can be fickle, sunny, foggy, rainy, and cloudy all within the same hour, as it was when we headed northeast early the next morning to the small village of San Andrés for breakfast, before visiting Playa de Las Teresitas, a wide manmade beach of imported yellow sand built behind a series of protective breakwaters. Across from the small café where we had breakfast under a threatening sky stood the ruins of Castillo de San Andrés, a small round fortress built to deter pirates from landing and ransacking the village and Santa Cruz. As British troops attempted to land in 1797 and seize Spanish treasure from the Americas, it’s believed a canon shot from this fortress wounded the famous Admiral Horacio Nelson, causing the amputation of one arm. This cannon is oddly on exhibit in the museum at the Castillo de San Cristobal in Santa Cruz. During the 18th and 19th centuries flooding from the stream next to the castle undermined its foundation causing it to split into almost even pieces, like a cake sliced in half.

Above the beach the Mirador Playa de las Teresitas offers tremendous views south of the coast. Turn around and walk a few yards back along the road for a spectacular view of the black sand beaches Playa de Las Gaviotas and Playa Cueva del Agua.

Any resemblance to a straight road disappeared as we turned onto TF-12 to work our way across the island to Playa del Roque de las Bodegas, the Mirador de Playa Benijo and continue onto the El Draguillo mirador in an isolated hamlet in the Anaga Rural Park.

Distance between sites on Tenerife are relatively short as the crow flies, but the roads are narrow and serpentine, so the driving is slow, even though not many cars are on the roads. Rising into the mountains, the terrain changed from arid browns to verdant greens. The views along the way of isolated villages hugging the steep slopes were awesome.

Our intent was to drive all the way to the El Draguillo Mirador, as our GPS map led us to believe was doable, but the road ended at a very small gate in a muddy car park with a sign that said only residents of the village were allowed to drive past this point. Evidently this is the starting point for the El Draguillo trail, a 6 hour hike. The parking lot was jammed full and it took a serious multipoint K turn to get us out. We recovered nicely though by having a great lunch nearby at La Venta de Marrero, a cliffside restaurant with a fabulous view.

Scenes obscured by fog and low clouds as we drove across the mountainous interior that morning were now brilliant in the afternoon sunlight as we headed toward the Túnel de las Hadas. It’s a mesmerizing channel covered with moss, that was cut through the surrounding laurel forest. It is located in the Parque Rural de Anaga, which is recognized as a biosphere reserve with the largest number of endemic plants in Europe. The fog rolled in again and it was enchanting.

Our last day trip from Santa Cruz was to San Cristobal de La Laguna, an old colonial city that on its founding in 1497, after the defeat of the indigenous Guanche kingdoms, became Tenerife’s and the Canary Archipelago’s first capital. The village at first grew haphazardly around the Iglesia de la Concepción.

These first dwellings, built mostly of reeds, were ordered to be replaced in 1502, as their building material threatened to destroy the growing town if it ever caught fire. By this time La Laguna was the largest city in the Canaries with 6000 thriving inhabitants, two large churches and several monasteries. The city leaders adapted a plan Leonardo Da Vinci created for the city of Imola, Italy, as a blueprint for their city. Local son and Jesuit missionary José de Anchieta is credited with the inspiration to use this design of La Laguna when he founded the cities of Sao Paulo and Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, in the mid-1500s. The priest is highly revered on Tenerife and a venerated wooden sculpture of him from the Cathedral of La Laguna is carried in procession through the streets every June 9th.

On the flip side of good there is always bad, and San Cristóbal de La Laguna also recognizes another historical figure from their city, Amaro Pargo, a famous corsair, from, as the Spanish like to call it the “Golden Age of Piracy,” who savaged ships flying the British and Dutch flags sailing to their colonies in the West Indies. With a reputation as notorious as Sir Francis Drake’s, he was also recognized for his services by the Spanish crown and was declared a Caballero hidalgo, a knighthood, in 1725. He was also a merchant with many business interests and during his time the richest man in the Canary Islands, who was also highly regarded for frequent and large religious donations. He had an interesting relationship with a nun from the Catedral de San Cristóbal de La Laguna, Mary of Jesus de León y Delgado, who he credited with saving his life during a fight in Cuba by her ability to bilocate. Sister Mary is an interesting individual in her own right, credited with miracles, acts of healing, clairvoyance, levitation, psychokinesis, and stigmata. Sister Mary’s incorrupt body is preserved in the Monastery of St. Catherine, where she lived for 63 years, without ever leaving. Every 15 February her ornate glass-covered coffin, gifted by Amaro Pargo, is placed on display in the convent. With 1,251 miracles attributed to her, she has been nominated for canonization.

Though La Laguna is over 500 years old, it hosts a 300-year-old university with nearly 25,000 students that keeps it young at heart. Vibrantly colored buildings are interlaced between traditional examples of Canary architecture that feature wooden balconies that face the street and have deep courtyards to provide a shady sanctuary from the midday sun. The city’s major buildings incorporate a variety of styles that have been trendy across the centuries.

Older Gothic, Baroque, and Renaissance style buildings dot the historic center, while Neoclassical elements are present in the newer 18th century buildings that were built around the city’s core. In other words, there’s a delightful hodgepodge of architectural styles to enjoy.

Some of the older buildings have now been re-envisioned as exhibition spaces, as was the deconsecrated Ermita de San Miguel, which hosted a show of 3D printed sculptures when we visited. Others are now hotels or restaurants. The historic core of the city is pedestrian only and as we like to say “walk a little then café” is the best way to explore it.

Returning to Santa Cruz, we detoured into the mountains above the city to Parque de Las Mesas for an expansive view of the city below us. Brilliant in the afternoon sun.

Till next time,

Craig & Donna

 
 

Madrid: An Ambience That Ages Well

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First Impression: Madrid is monumental! The minute we exited the Puerta de Atocha train station onto the sidewalk, we were struck by the beauty of the wide boulevards lined with stately trees and grand architecture, and the top of buildings graced with colossal sculptures of mythic gods.

If the Paseo del Prado, the route to our hotel, could speak, it would surely boast of its famous destinations along its length: Madrid’s Museum Triangle, which includes the Reina Sofia Museum where Picasso’s Guernica hangs; the Prado Museum, which highlights the works of Diego Velázquez and Goya; as well as the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum, which displays 13th-20th-century European masterpieces. But its bragging rights continue with the Real Jardín Botánico, the Museo Naval with its fascinating exhibits devoted to Spanish maritime history, The Glory and Pegasus sculptures atop the Ministry of Agriculture, and the famous fountain depicting the goddess Cybele’s chariot being pulled by two lions. This relatively short distance is packed with so many highlights it should be called Madrid’s marvelous mile.

Our hotel the Apart-Hotel Serrano Recoletos was just a few blocks from the iconic Cibeles Fountain, which is centered in a traffic circle you usually have to observe from a distance, but overnight the Paseo del Prado was transformed into the festive final leg of the Movistar Half Marathon, with the finish line down the street from our hotel.

With the majestic boulevard closed to traffic, folks were free to wander up to the fountain for a close view, an accessibility that rarely happens. Yesterday we hadn’t realized the median strip that runs the length of Paseo del Prado was lavishly planted with gardens and as luck would have it, the tulips and flowering trees were in bloom. Heading towards the historic center of Madrid, we observed a large group of healthcare professionals marching peacefully down the Gran Via protesting government policies. It was a busy Spring Sunday in Madrid.

Plaza Mayor, ground zero for the historic center of Madrid, was our destination. Once the ancient city’s market area, the area was transformed by architect Juan Gómez de Mora during Philip III’s reign in 1617, and of course the King is dutifully recognized, gallantly astride an equestrian statue in the plaza’s center.

The vision of three successive architects contributed to the plaza as seen today, the result of three devasting fires in 1631, 1670 and 1790. Over the centuries it has hosted bullfights, executions during the Inquisition, Royal wedding celebrations, soccer games and Christmas markets. As an exclusive address in Madrid, many of the apartments are passed down within the same families from generation to generation.

Plaza Mayor gets hectic, but tucked away under the arcaded sidewalk, there are some hidden gems worth finding. Our favorite was La Torre del Oro. It’s an old atmospheric bar dedicated to celebrating Spain’s bullfighting traditions.

There are so many interesting destinations centered around this plaza that we often started our days here as a way to get oriented in old Madrid’s labyrinth of alleys. Treating the nine ancient gateways into the plaza as compass points, we would follow their direction into the surrounding barrios.

Our wanderings to soak up the ambience of this ancient quarter were frequently determined by a list of restaurants and cafes, along with historic sites and churches, we hoped to find. The choices were overwhelming. Since this was our first time in Madrid, we hit many of the tried-and-true spots, like Chocolatería San Ginés, famous for serving Madrileños the best hot chocolate with churros for over 125 years. There was a fast-moving queue when we arrived before 11, which suddenly evaporated and freed sidewalk tables, but it was much more interesting before the lull in activity. And El Riojano, a renowned 19th-century Pastelería with a tantalizing spinning tower of sweet temptations in its storefront window, is sure to break the will of any dieter. When you first enter, it looks like there are not any tables to sit at, but next to one of their display cases there is an opening into a large, popular back room for café. We are after all tourists.

One late afternoon by the El Oso y el Madroño sculpture, a band of buskers filled the Puerta del Sol with music. The Bear and the Strawberry Tree is a medieval heraldic emblem that has been associated with Madrid since 1222, when King Alfonso VIII used the image on a stamp to seal a royal decree.

We continued past the Plaza Mayor towards the Plaza de la Armería, where the Catedral de la Almudena, (1883), and the Royal Palace of Madrid (1738), face each other. Turning onto Calle del Factor, we walked a short distance uphill to the Jardín de Larra and joined a small group of folks waiting to enjoy the sunset.

Afterwards at the bottom of the street we entered the Iglesia Catedral de las Fuerzas Armadas. It’s a small 17th century church dedicated to the Spanish armed forces. The church’s simple façade conceals a lavish marble interior with several interesting altars depicting paternalistic colonial themes.

The streets of Madrid seem even busier at night with folks bustling about after work. On the way back to our hotel, we stopped at the Mercado de San Miguel, one of Madrid’s old, covered food markets, which dates from 1916. Today it’s a gentrified, popular gastronomic destination, with tapas, tapas, and more tapas to satisfy everyone’s tastes.

Madrid’s iconic Tio Pepe neon sign blazed brightly above the Puerta del Sol, and shops along the plaza brilliantly displayed their merchandise in dramatically lighted storefront windows. While Madrid exudes ambience during the day, the city becomes magical in the evenings.

Dinner was at La Casa del Abuelo CRUZ, a traditional tapas bar that has been run by the same family since 1906. Their specialty, gambas al ajillo (sizzling garlic prawns), while very delicous, was a terrible value for the portion size. Their vino de casa, an excellent strong red wine, was memorable and eased the pain of the excessive bill.

Spain’s empire building and wealth followed Columbus’ discovery of the Americas in 1492. A daring nautical leap of faith at the time, it set in motion an era of exploration by sea, that would expand the Spanish Empire around the globe. With that in mind, and an interest in boats, we headed to the Museo Naval on Paseo del Prado, near the Prado Museum. It’s a wonderful museum with exhibits in chronological order, which highlight exquisite ship models, nautical instruments, maps, weaponry, and paintings depicting important naval battles. The exhibits include models of the Niña, Pinta, and Santa Maria which composed Columbus’ small fleet on his epic first voyage.

Afterwards we headed into the centro historico for lunch at Casa Toni, an intimate, no-frills bar, that serves tasty seafood and offal tapas. A short line had formed for tables by the time we arrived, but it moved quickly, especially if you opted for a table upstairs, though downstairs is where all the action is with other folks, jammed into a small space, standing at the bar, and seated at some very tiny tables. It’s a friendly boisterous spot. Pig ears and fried lamb lungs might not be for everyone, but they were surprisingly very tasty. 

Gold and silver from the Americas fueled church building across Spain in the 16th – 18th centuries.While it’s possible to enjoy Madrid without visiting any churches, we’ve developed a policy of going inside if the door was open. It nicely slowed down our day and transported us back to a time when amazing buildings were constructed only using hand tools to carve stone and shape wood. And the religious paintings and iconography, while they might not be of interest to everyone, display a level of craftsmanship and imagination that’s worthy of appreciation. Unfortunately, the churches were also vast repositories of riches, donated by the wealthy and poor alike, to secure a place in heaven.

Near the San Miguel market, down from the Plaza de la Villa, on Calle de Puñonrostro, we happened upon the inconspicuous entrance to the small chapel at the Monastery of Corpus Christi las Carboneras, that dates from the early 1600s. It’s a tall, narrow, petite sanctuary. When we were turning to leave, I noticed on the second level the privacy screen across the prayer area for the sequestered nuns. It didn’t actually offer much privacy since a I spotted a seated nun watching the tourists in the chapel. I waved gently, she smiled and waved discreetly back.

A door further along the calle leading to the convent’s dulces turno was just being locked; I could hear the click, a few minutes shy of their posted hours. The dulce turnos are a centuries-old tradition that has remarkably survived in convents across modern Spain, as a means for nuns to support themselves. The turno is essentially a lazy-susan style cabinet with doors on both sides of the wall that lets the customers purchase cookies and other baked cooked from the sequestered nuns while still maintaining the nuns’ privacy. Cookie orders are spoken through the wall. If your Spanish is insufficient, it’s handy to write out what you’d like. There is usually a list of what’s available taped to the door of the cabinets. You place your money on the shelf, the wheel turns, and cookies appear as if by magic. It’s delightful! At the bottom of the street, in front of a public library, stands a bronze statue of a man. It’s named El Lector, the reader, a tribute to Carlos Cambronero, a writer devoted to Madrid’s history. Across the street the unusual convex, baroque facade of the Basílica Pontificia de San Miguel (1739) intrigued us, and we explored more inside.

The calles go every which way in La Latina, one of Madrid’s oldest areas, where the narrow streets and plazas follow the original 9th century footprint of the Arab citadel that originally stood there. Though its buildings might be old, the area now attracts a vibrant young crowd that enjoys an immense collection of tapas bars and restaurants along Cava Baja and Cava Alta. The two nearly parallel streets have been popular since medieval times, when traveling merchants stayed at inns and taverns along the calles, and used tunnels or access holes dug at the end of the streets to enter the walled city at night when the gates were closed.

At the end of Cava Baja and Cava Alta, the colorful Mercado de la Cebada, with its distinctive wavy roof, is a modern architectural dichotomy in its surroundings. The shopping in this mercado is an authentic Madrileño experience that is not touristy at all.

From the entrance to the market, we noticed the tall silhouette of the Royal Basilica of Saint Francis the Great’s large dome, several blocks away, dominating the neighborhood, and decided to check it out.

This is a mammoth, mid-18th century cathedral designed in the Neoclassic style, the size of which we did not fully realize until we were standing under its 108-foot-wide and 190-foot-high dome. Legend believes that St. Francis chose this site himself when he visited Madrid in 1214 during his pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. The dome is the largest in Spain and the fourth largest in Europe. It was breathtaking in scale and equally fascinating with celestial frescos by Casto Plasencia Mayor decorating the cupola, and paintings behind the altar by Manuel Dominquez and Alejandero Ferrant, illuminating biblical stories.

Six smaller but equally opulent chapels in several different architectural styles, from Baroque to Byzantine, and Renaissance to Rococo, ring the main altar, each mini museum displaying a wealth of religious art created by the Spanish masters Francisco José de Goya, Alonso Cano, Francisco Zurbarán, Antonio González Velazquez, José Moreno Carbonero, and others. This church is one of the most beautiful we’ve visited in Spain and should be on everyone’s “must do in Madrid,” lists.

Afterwards, on Carrera de San Francisco, 14, as we started our return leg to our hotel, we happened upon two very good gastronomic discoveries. The artisanal bakery, Obrador San Francisco, was full of the wonderful aroma from fresh baked bread that was just being put out for purchase. And of course, to go along with good bread, you need good cheese. This was accomplished easily enough, right next door, at Quesería Cultivo, a cheese shop, with an amazing array of Iberian cheeses. It’s worth stopping here just for the earthy aroma that greets you when you enter the store, an experience that will have you picturing idyllic Spanish mountain pastures, full of grass-grazing and milk-producing livestock.

Being the cheese aficionados that we are, we had one more stop in mind, at Casa González.  They have been selling cheese in Madrid since 1931 and have slowly expanded to become a petite gourmet shop and small bar with a handful of tables, where they are happy to advise you on which wines to pair with each cheese.  

On our last full day in Madrid, we wandered the exhibition galleries at the Prado, viewing the museum’s vast collection of classical European art, which spans from the sixth century BC until the late 19th century. We especially enjoyed the works of Goya, Velázquez, and El Greco. Goya created over 700 paintings during his lifetime and embraced many different themes from royal portraiture, to Romanticism, to religious art, and later his dark paintings, toward the end of his life.

Around the corner from the museum, we lunched at Plenti, which served delicious and inexpensive food. We spent the rest of the afternoon exploring Real Jardín Botánico, where many of its plantings were just beginning to flower.

In El Retiro Park we did the classic tourist stuff, visiting the Palacio de Cristal, originally built as an exposition greenhouse, but now hosting art exhibits, and the Monument to Alfonso XII on the El Retiro boating pond. Interestingly, the park was originally created in 1630 as an exclusive sanctuary for Spanish Kings and members of the royal court, and famous naval battles were re-enacted on the boating pond for the monarchy’s entertainment.

The large 350-acre treed park, with manicured gardens, fountains and monuments was perfect for royal courtships and discreet liaisons. It was gifted by the monarchy to Madrid and permanently opened to the public in 1868, a much-needed addition to the city’s greenspace at the time.

The sun was warm for late March and folks were out and about, enjoying life. It was a perfect day.

Till next time,

Craig & Donna

Barcelona: An ancient yet modern metropolis

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Usually, we shy away from large cities. I am not sure exactly why, though it’s probably anxiety about how hectic a new city might be and imaginary stress of navigating public transit, or predatory taxi drivers. But we’ve only ever heard how wonderful Barcelona was from our friends and decided to take the plunge ourselves. Boy were our pre-conceived notions way off! Starting with a trouble-free taxi ride (it’s as if the Barcelona City Council told the taxi union to treat the tourists well or we’ll allow Uber and Lyft to operate in the city) from the airport to our hotel, One Shot Aragó 257 in Barcelona’s Eixample district.

The district dates from the city’s expansion in 1855 when the Spanish Crown finally relented and permitted the demolition of the ancient defensive walls around the historic core of Barcelona. This allowed the city to expand beyond its ancient footprint to accommodate a growing population, that was literally bursting the city’s walls. A visionary plan by Ildefons Cerdà to urbanize the farmlands surrounding the old walled city was chosen.

An enlightened architect and civil engineer, he envisioned Eixample to be a model of urban living, where every citizen had enough sunlight, clean air, water and green space for a healthy lifestyle. Cerdà designed the Eixample district with short blocks to encourage “walking, mixing, and vibrant street life,” and oriented the streets to run northwest to southeast to receive maximum sunlight. The buildings on each block were no higher than seven floors and built around a central treed courtyard.

Comprised of six neighborhoods, Dreta de l’Eixample, Antiga Esquerra, Sagrada Familia, Fort Pienc, Sant Antoni, and Nova Esquerra, we can attest that Cerdà’s Eixample district and his vision for Barcelona’s future has withstood the test of time and the city continues to be a wonderful, people-friendly place to explore by foot. Today Barcelona is a sprawling city of millions; still, with most of its 19th century buildings only 7 stories tall, it never felt congested and always felt as if we were strolling through intimate neighborhoods. Of course, there were exceptions on La Rambla and the promenade along the Platja de la Barceloneta oceanfront, which were busy even in off-season March.

Today, continuing improvements to the city’s urban landscape, fostered by the concerns of climate change, are being implemented to the city’s 19th century footprint with the pioneering of Superblocks. These are 3 square block areas that will become pedestrian only with trees planted where the roadway was removed in order to expand the city’s green spaces and enhance urban living.

Just exploring the blocks immediately surrounding our hotel was rewarding with discoveries of cafés, tapas bars and interesting shops. Our favorite for morning coffee was the Catalan pastry shop, Casa Vives, located too easily, on the corner down the street from our hotel. The contemporary tapas at Vinitus couldn’t be beaten, and a formidable line awaited if we didn’t arrive early enough.

Contemporary interior design has always intrigued us, and fine examples can be found all across the city. But in our neighborhood the bookstore Llibreria Finestres and Lucciano’s Barcelona, an ice cream shop, stood out, along with Bolibar Bronzes with its vast array of fascinating architectural door hardware. We can’t imagine how much our suitcases would have weighed if we had indulged ourselves by shopping there.

Eixample also claims several buildings designed by the innovative modernista architect Antoni Gaudi. Near our hotel, on Passeig de Graçia, was the Casa Batlló, a private residence that Gaudi redesigned in 1904 with his signature use of flowing organic forms, whimsical decorative elements, and texture. Also, on Passeig de Graçia is Gaudi’s La Pedrera-Casa Milà, 1906, a private residence for his client on the lower floor and apartments above. The building is known for the undulating lines of its facade and sculptural chimneys. Sadly, we sufficed with just viewing the exteriors of these landmarks, as we felt the entrance fees were exorbitant at €30 per person at each site.

We put these savings towards the tickets for the Basílica i Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Família, or simply the Sagrada Familia, Antoni Gaudi’s masterpiece. Like the Eiffel Tower in Paris, Big Ben in London, and Rome’s Coliseum, Gaudi’s soaring towers at the Sagrada Familia serve as Barcelona’s iconic landmark.

The cornerstone of the Sagrada Familia was laid in 1882, but Gaudi was not the first architect. He replaced a colleague who designed a more traditional church with a gothic façade, flying buttresses and a pointed bell tower. Gaudi transformed it into the enlightened, visionary structure that now graces Barcelona with eighteen spires.

Twelve of the spires are dedicated to the Apostles, while the remaining six are dedicated to the four Evangelists, the Virgin Mary and Jesus Christ. Realizing the project would outlive him, Gaudi left detailed plans and models that are still being followed, nearly 100 years after his untimely death in 1926 (he was struck by a tram and died from his injuries a few days later.) Construction of the cathedral relies on ticket sales and private donations, consequently during the pandemic, work nearly came to a stop. Currently the church’s final completion date is set for 2026, one-hundred-forty-four years after that cornerstone was laid and 100 years after its architect’s death. Talk about a lasting vision!

The Cathedral is an awe-inspiring temple that is visually uplifting and celebrates life, with its unique use of organic forms and stunning play of light from its stained-glass windows. We highly recommend purchasing your tickets and scheduling a time to visit online, well ahead of your visit to avoid the queue at this celebrated monument.

Walking between landmarks is one of the best ways to experience Barcelona and with that in mind we headed to Mercat de l’Abaceria, a traditional neighborhood mercado with multiple vendors on Pg. de St. Joan. Though much smaller than the famed Mercado de La Boqueria on La Rambla, which has sadly become gentrified and overly touristy, this mercado is a genuine neighborhood experience, where we enjoyed lunch and purchased olives, cheese, and sausages for snacking later.

Any first visit to Barcelona can’t be complete without a stroll down La Rambla, taking its name from the Arab word “ramla,” for sandy riverbed, which is how the path from the old walled city to the Mediterranean Sea started eons ago. La Rambla became a street leading to one of city’s ancient gates in the 1400s when a riverbed was filled in and folks trekked to an open-air market in an area known as Pla de la Boquería. It eventually became the main thoroughfare to the port and was lined with several convents.

The market wasn’t officially recognized as La Boqueria until the 1840s and didn’t exist in a covered structure until 1914 and now famously hosts 200 food stalls and millions of visitors every year. Flowers have always been a tradition along La Rambla and it started with La Boqueria’s market stall owners, centuries ago, giving flowers to their customers as a token of appreciation for their shopping. In 1702, 280 trees were planted along La Rambla. Streetlamps were installed along its length in 1860 and its newspaper stands remained open all night. Since then, it has been Barcelona’s most historic boulevard, the place to stroll, to be seen, to people watch.

Now three quarters of a mile long, the tree lined boulevard runs from the Columbus Monument at the harbor past the historic Gothic Quarter to Plaça de Catalunya, Barcelona’s central plaza where the old medieval city ends and the newer Eixample district begins.

Wandering through the historic old town section, we visited the Cathedral of Barcelona, a massive Gothic structure that dates from 1298, when it was built upon the ruins of an old Roman temple.

It was the city’s most important church for 600 years until the construction of the Sagrada Familia was started. The difference between the two is night and day. The cathedral is somber, while the Sagrada Familia lifts your spirit.

Afterwards on our way to the Palau de la Música Catalana, we stumbled upon Raima, a fantastic stationery and art supply store that is so out of place in the medieval old town, it’s wonderful. If you enjoy artful things, Raima has four floors full of visually stimulating displays and a hidden gem, a quiet rooftop café.

The walk through the narrow alleys of Barcelona’s ancient city center is filled with interesting architectural details fronting centuries-old buildings. Each successive generation decorated their city with sculptures and monuments, small visually intriguing vignettes, but which sadly have lost their historical significance over time. Now in many of the city’s plazas, modern art stands wonderfully juxtaposed against the ancient buildings.

The Palau de la Música Catalana is Barcelona’s most beautiful concert hall and is often referred to as the city’s, “magical music box.” It was constructed in 1905 by a contemporary of Gaudi’s, modernist architect Lluís Domènech i Montaner, in a style that is referred to as Catalan Art Nouveau, which incorporates the decorative arts of stained glass, ironwork, mosaic, painting, and sculpture together in a project. It’s a captivating space that highlights the great craftsmanship of the era. 

The Barcelona beaches were not tempting us, but someone during our travels suggested that we must go to the seaside district of Barceloneta and find Bar Electricitat. “Because, they have the best bombas in Barcelona.” Try saying that tongue twister three times fast! We haven’t done a lot of comparative taste testing regarding this, however the bombas, fried mashed potato balls stuffed with sauteed ground pork and beef, were delicious. And the bar itself is a friendly, delightful no-frills place with a gregarious waiter, who seemed to know everyone, and a good house wine. We cut our walk along the beach short when the wind started to kick up sand.

Unfortunately, by the time we reached Parc de la Ciutadella, our cloudless morning was becoming overcast, though that did not deter folks from relaxing on the parks expansive lawns and enjoying a warm Spring Day in mid-March. Designed in the late 19th century for the Universal Exposition of 1888, the park has an assortment of monuments dedicated to Spain’s glories, a boating lake, and life-size concrete sculpture of a woolly mammoth named Júlia. She’s been popular with generations of Barcelonian families since she was installed in the park over 100 years ago.

The next morning, we took a cab to Park Guell, another Antoni Gaudí creation set in the hills above Barcelona. In 1900, Eusebi Güell, a wealthy industrialist, envisioned the wooded hillside as an exclusive gated community with sixty homes and common areas designed by Gaudí.

By 1907, the whimsical entrance pavilions, viaducts, hypostyle market area, and the grand esplanade with its stairway were completed.

But the project failed to attract buyers and the hillside became Güell’s private retreat. Upon his death his heirs offered to sell the park to the city. Barcelona agreed and opened the park to the public in 1926. The park has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1984 and annually attracts nine million visitors. Get your tickets online ahead of time and arrive at the park as early as possible. Even by 11AM, in March, there was a hefty crowd of folks visiting the park.

Something old, something new, there are plenty of interesting things to do and see in this dynamic, ancient yet modern metropolis. We had a great 5 days exploring Barcelona. And one of the surprising things we discovered about ourselves during our years of travel is that after having purposedly avoided living and working in cities in the United States, we actually enjoy European city life!

“Just close your eyes and let’s pretend we’re dancing in the street in Barcelona”- Ed Sheeran

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Road Tripping Through Andalucia: The Pueblos Blancos of Ubrique, Villaluenga del Rosario and Arcos de la Frontera

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Just below the northern horizon, a white brushstroke highlighted the verdant canvas before us as we savored the view from the top of the castillo in Castellar de Frontera one last time. That swath of white slowly changed into Jimena de la Frontera as we drove closer. One of Andalucia’s famed Pueblos Blancos, the village is set on the hillside below the ruins of its ancient castle which once protected it.

In ancient times the homes in villages featured roughhewn stone masonry. Lime paint was a luxury, until its use was greatly expanded during the mid-1300’s when a bubonic plague pandemic swept through the Mediterranean countries. Residents of villages were required yearly to cover the outside and the interiors of their homes and churches with a limewash, known for its natural anti-bacterial and insecticidal properties, in an effort to reduce the spread of disease. Community inspections were done, and folks were fined for noncompliance. This mandated conformity was eventually appreciated as an aesthetically pleasing look and a symbol of meticulous tidiness. Fortunately, the custom stayed and has become an iconic signature of southern Andalusia.

Villaluenga del Rosario was our ultimate destination for the day, but before that we would be driving through the expansive forests of Parque Natural Sierra de Grazalema and stopping along the way in Ubrique, and Benaocaz. All pueblos blancos, though all different in size, setting and atmosphere. According to our maps app the trip would take 2 hours. But it was a glorious 58-mile sinuous route through the mountains, and with several stops it took us most of the day.

The vast 130,000-acre Parque Natural Sierra de Grazalema, with peaks reaching 5400 feet, is one of the wettest areas in Spain, receiving almost 80 inches of rain a year. This is surprising, considering that many areas in Andalucia are often used to replicate the American southwest for European filmmakers. These wet conditions over many millennia have created a dramatic karstic landscape of shear mountains, lush valleys and caves, especially Pileta Cave with its 30,000 year old prehistoric paintings. The park’s lower elevations feature forests of cork oak, carob, hawthorn, and mastic. Higher slopes transition to a landscape of gall oaks and Spanish fir, a tree species that survived the last Ice Age. This ecosystem supports a diverse fauna that contains 136 species of birds, most notably a large population of griffon vultures, and 42 mammal species, that include foxes, badgers, roe deer, otters, and Spanish ibex. And in ancient times it was the refuge of wild, now extinct, aurochs, the ancestor of the famous Spanish Fighting Bulls, toro bravo. The park has been a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve since 1977.

Farmers still harvest cork and olives amidst the rocky terrain and graze cattle, sheep, and goats within the park. This practice made for an interesting encounter when we rounded a curve and faced a VERY LARGE BULL standing in the middle of the road, adjacent to some pasture. We stopped, looked around for his farmer, but there was no one in sight. It was obvious he was the king of this domain, with no intention of moving aside until he felt like it. Slowly we inched forward and watched him eye us until he decided to saunter across the road and let us pass.

Ubrique is a large thriving town with 17,000 inhabitants set in a valley surrounded by tall peaks and steep scree slopes, its homes built above and around boulders too large to move. The town’s prosperity comes from its fine leather workshops, which account for 60% of the townspeople being employed directly or indirectly in the creation of leather products. It started simply enough with leather cases and pouches to carry tobacco and the Precise, a heavy-duty strap that allowed workers to safely carry silex stones and iron bricks.

By the mid-1700s their fine leather products and artisanal craftsmanship was recognized across Europe which fueled an export industry. The good fortunes of the town continued to grow until the mid-2000 when clients seeking higher profit margins moved their leather goods production to China and other Asian countries. Fortunately, their exodus did not last long, and they returned to Ubrique when they realized that the excellent craftsmanship in this small Andalucian town could not be rivaled by cheap labor. Today Ubrique is considered the “artisanal leather capital, “ for high-end fashion brands like Chloe, Gucci, Hermes and Louis Vuitton. “So many stores, so little time.” Of course, we shopped! The decision-making process was painful, but Donna managed to select one single beautiful purse to take home.

In March the twisting roads, higher into the mountains, were nearly void of traffic. Occasionally a campervan passed. Reaching Benaocaz, we parked and strolled through a nearly empty town square in search of coffee. It was a quiet weekend afternoon in the shoulder season, and few people were about, but luckily, we happened to come across Restaurante Nazari, a rustic restaurant with outside tables that had a view of the valley below the town.

Villaluenga del Rosario was only a little farther, and higher into the mountains. The village is dramatically set along one side of a narrow green valley at the base of a sheer mountain massif. The lane to our inn, the Tugasa La Posada, looked too narrow to drive down, and I was concerned about getting to a point that required backing up. A difficult task in an alley barely wider than our rental car, and there was plenty of parking above the village.  La Posada wonderfully reflects the typical inn of centuries past, with a large tavern, featuring regional recipes, on the ground level and a handful of rooms above.

Several things are unique to this pueblo: Snowy winters are common in the Sierra de Grazalema Natural Park’s highest village, situated at an elevation of 2800ft. It is also the smallest village in the Province of Cadiz, with only 438 residents. And the village has a unique octagon shaped bullring, built around a natural rock formation, that is the oldest in Cadiz Province, dating from the mid-1700s. The exact year of construction for the bullring isn’t known, as the town’s archives were lost in a 1936 fire. Located on an important cattle trading route through the mountains, the bullring was also used as a corral during livestock festivals.

But before domestic cattle were raised in the area, prehistoric people used to pursue auroch, a wild bull that lived in the Sierra de Grazalema until it was hunted to extinction in the Middle Ages. Nearby in Cueva de la Pileta, primitive cave paintings of bulls have been dated to the Paleolithic era 27,000 years ago. The famous fighting bulls of Spain, Toro Bravo, descend from this primal auroch lineage that once roamed wild. Ancient pagan festivals often conducted a running of the wild bulls, tethered to a group of men by a long rope, through their villages before a ritual sacrifice.  “Toro de Cuerda'”(Bull on Rope) festivals, are thought to be the foundation of the modern Spanish Bull Fight, and are still held in Villaluenga del Rosario, Grazalema, and Benamahoma. With the advent of Christianity some of these pagan elements were incorporated into church celebrations of a pueblo’s patron Saint. In Grazalema the early church Christianized the practice and includes the Feast of the Bull in celebrations to the Virgen del Carmen every July. Benamahoma’s “Toro de Cuerda” is held in August during their festival to honor the town’s patron saint, Anthony of Padua.

This tranquil village has gone through some turbulent times in its past. Villaluenga del Rosario, known for its woolen textiles in the 17th century, did not escape Napoleon’s destruction as his troops retreated across the mountains after they abandoned their siege of Cadiz in 1812. French troops sacked the village and torched the old Church of El Salvador. Now only the walls and roof arches remain, open to the sky. The sanctuary is now used as a cemetery.  The economy declined throughout the region in the 1800s and early 1900s, and the mountains were beset with bandits. Notoriously, José María El Tempranillo and Pasos Largos, the most infamous of the Sierra’s outlaws, would frequent the village and hideout in the surrounding caves. They are celebrated as Robin Hood bandoleros, robbing the wealthy and redistributing their stolen goods to help the poverty-stricken locals – Andalucia’s mountain justice. These same caves in the 1930s would shelter Republican resistance fighters escaping Fascist troops during the Spanish Civil War. A hiking trail, Los Llanos del Republicano, from the village to caves is named after them.

The rural population continued to emigrate, contributing to further economic deterioration until the villages’ employment prospects improved with the opening of a cheese factory, Queso Payoyo, in 1997. The Payoyo goat is an ancient breed from the Sierra de Grazalema and considered endangered. Since Queso Payoyo opened 25 years ago, its goat and sheep cheeses have received 175 national and international awards. Thirty-five farms now supply Payoyo goat and Merina grazalemeña sheep milk to the cheesemaker. Their shop just across the road from the village seems to be a Mecca for cheese aficionados. Open seven days a week, we were surprised to find it packed with customers early on a Sunday morning, when we stopped to buy some cheese before we headed to Benamahoma.

It was a beautiful crisp spring day, and we enjoyed a slow walk uphill into the village. Next to the Plaza de las Huertas the façade of the Ermita/mezquita de San Antonio, a church/mosque, visually represents Benamahoma’s complex cultural identity, with Moorish horseshoe-shaped arches and three golden spheres topped by with a gold crescent, typically seen on minarets, atop its tower.

This region in Spain has a very complicated history, beginning with Alfonso X’s Reconquista which started in the mid-1200s, paused, then continued for the next 400 years with his successors. Benamahoma was the last Moorish village in the mountains to have its inhabitants expelled from the region in 1609, eighteen years after Grazalema’s Muslim villagers were forced out, though the hamlets are only nine miles apart. Their reprieve was caused by the fact that although Alfonso X and later Kings achieved military victories, they did not have enough troops to garrison each village, nor sufficient numbers of willing Christian settlers from Northern Spain to repopulate the conquered towns. Consequently, to keep the economy of the area going and subjects to collect taxes from, Moors were allowed to stay as long as their local Princes swore allegiance to a Christian King and declared themselves loyal vassals.  This did not always go smoothly and there were rebellions. Most famously the Mudéjar Revolt in 1264, when the towns of Jerez, Lebrija, Arcos, and Medina-Sidonia were recaptured and occupied by Moors for several years before Christian armies secured the towns once again. 

Benamahoma’s historic, pragmatic tolerance is celebrated the first weekend every August with a Moros y Cristianos Festival. Carrying swords, shields and blunderbusses, historical reenactors dressed in period clothing parade through the village to the bullring, where they then engage in mock hand-to-hand combat. The battles are won with the capture of an image of San Antonio de Padua by the Moors on Saturday and then won by Christians on Sunday with the rescue of his image. Many of the positions in the opposing armies are hereditary, the tradition being passed down from father to son, through the generations. Benamahoma is the only village in western Andalucia which celebrates this festival.

This village’s remoteness in the Sierra de Grazalema did not protect it from the atrocities committed during the Spanish Civil War. Near the bullring, in the Parque de Memoria Historica, silhouettes stand where villagers once stood against a wall before they were massacred by Fascists. Sadly, this memorial is also near the village’s second church, the Iglesia de San Antonio de Padua.

Backtracking as we headed to Arcos de la Frontera, we stopped at a radio station above El Bosque. A trail behind its tall antenna offered the perfect vantage point to capture a photo of the village below. We did not stop in El Bosque, but after catching glimpses of the village as we drove through, in hindsight we wished we had.  But there was a time constraint, we wanted to spend the afternoon exploring Arcos de la Frontera, before flying on to Barcelona the next morning. 

The A-372 between El Bosque and Arcos de la Frontera has to be one of the prettiest stretches of highway anywhere. With the reflection of the Sierra de Grazalema in our rearview mirrors, we wished we could have lingered longer.

I’ve always loved maps for researching routes, finding obscure sites, and figuring out the best vantage point to capture a landscape from. This brought us to our first two stops at the Molino de Angorrill, an old mill, and the Mirador Los Cabezuelos, before we entered the hilltop citadel. Both places along Guadalete River had wonderful views of the ancient city.

After this our map app failed us when it suggested we head the wrong way down a one-way calle into the village. We eventually found an underground parking garage at Parque El Paseo and towed our suitcases uphill to the Parador de Arcos de la Frontera.

It was LONG walk, but of course we stopped frequently to take photos. Located next to the 500-foot-high Mirador Plaza del Cabildo and adjacent to the Basílica de Santa María de la Asunción and the Castillo de los Duques de Arcos, the hotel was a perfect base for a one-night stay. Formerly the Casa del Corregidov was an Andulcian palace before it was acquired by the government and renovated to be a parador in 1966.

Arcos has always been a favored spot, appreciated for its access to abundant water sources and its easily defensible position atop a cliff face. It has hosted settlements since the Neolithic period, Bronze Age, Tartessians, Phoenicians and Romans periods.

The village continued to grow under the Moors and while the facades and interior of buildings in this ancient town have changed over the centuries the original Arab footprint of the village, with its exceedingly narrow lanes has remained the same.

The view from the mirador and the hotel’s patio were phenomenal during the golden hour. As the sun was setting, a large flock of storks appeared over the bell tower of the Basilica and circled for about fifteen minutes before flying away. It was a magical experience that nicely capped our short time in Arcos.

The next morning, we watched the sun rise over the Sierra de Grazalema and the village’s church steeples from our hotel room, before wandering through the village’s ancient lanes one last time.

Till next time,

Craig & Donna

Road Tripping Through Andalucia: Medina-Sidonia, Alcalá de los Gazules, & Castellar de la Frontera

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“We should tuck the mirrors in,” I said as we eyeballed the passage through the narrow arch ahead of us. We were on the Plaza de Espana in Medina-Sidonia, a forty-minute drive from Cadiz. But we couldn’t be further away, as it felt like a passage in time to centuries past as we drove into the village. Folks have lived on this hill since before the Phoenicians settled Cadiz in 1100 BC, making the village one of the oldest settlements in western Europe. But it is with the Phoenicians and later the Romans, Visgoths, Moors and finally the Spanish that the village grew. Sitting 1,000ft above the fertile rolling plains below, the highest point for miles around, the village offers incredible vistas of the surrounding countryside out to the Atlantic Ocean. The pueblo blanco we see today has its roots with the Moors in the 8th century.

The plaza was nearly deserted when we strolled across it, mid-week in the middle of March, looking for a café. While the plaza was empty, we found a café, Restaurante Paco Ortega, bustling with activity. We ordered Tostadas de Jamón and Alfajor, a sweet gingerbread-like confectionary from the Arab period, that the town is famous for. We enjoyed the tostadas and the lively chatter of the café, but we were pointed across the plaza to Pasteleria Aromas de Medina for the Alfajor. True to its name, delicious whiffs of fresh baked pastries greeted us as we crossed the threshold of temptation. The Alfajor de Medina Sidonia was heavenly. It’s made with local honey, nuts, breadcrumbs, and a variety of spices – what’s not to like? The only question was how much to buy.

The day was really the first one of our Andalucian road-trip. Previously we had stayed for multiple days in Jerez de la Frontera and Cadiz (click to read those blogs.) Medina-Sidonia was the first of two stops, before we stayed in Castellar de la Frontera.

I swear the 12th century Arco de Belén, one of the original gates into the old walled Arab village, was slimmer than the one at the plaza. Located on a narrow, uphill blind curve, it took me two tries to align the car correctly for safe passage through the wall.

It’s a nice walk from the plaza in front of the cathedral to the ruins of the ancient castillo that once crowned the crest of the village. It must have been magnificent when it was the seat of the Dukedom of Medina Sidonia in the 15th century. The hereditary dukedom was one of the oldest in the kingdom of Spain and its land holdings encompassed most of Andalucia. But the castle eventually lost its significance, and its massive walls were slowly dismantled. The castle’s stones used to expand the village are now hidden behind plaster and white paint. Interestingly, the 7th Duke of Medina Sidonia was commander of the Spanish Armada that sailed to attack the south of England in 1588. Currently the 22nd Duke of Medina Sidonia resides in Madrid.

Next to the cathedral there is another set of ruins, one massive corner of which is all that is left of the Torreón de Doña Blanca, named for Doña Blanca (who was Blanche of Borbón,) the 14-year-old child bride of King Peter of Castile. They married in 1353 for King Peter to secure an alliance with France. However, there were difficulties in receiving her promised dowry. Shortly after their marriage, Peter abandoned Blanche for his lover, the Castilian noblewoman Maria de Padilla, who many believed he had married in secret before Blanche. He ordered Blanche, now officially the Queen of Castille, imprisoned in the Castle of Arevalo. In 1361 she was moved to the tower in Medina Sidonia to prevent rescue by French forces that were now battling King Peter. He ordered one of his noblemen to execute Blanche, now 22, but the knight bravely refused the king’s command, saying it was treasonous and would cause further disorder in the country. However, she was handed over to the King’s willing crossbowman, Juan Pérez de Rebolledo of Jeréz, who executed her. I can only imagine how many bags of silver changed hands. Peter only lasted another eight years on his throne until his half-brother, Henry of Trastámara, defeated him.

Built in the 16th century on the foundations of the village’s old mosque, the Iglesia de Santa María la Mayor still gracefully commands the hilltop. With Gothic and Renaissance elements inside and out, we found it to be one of the more interesting churches we had visited in Andalucia, not including Seville.

It is filled with wonderful pieces of religious art and has a very fine baroque sculpted altar, depicting stories from the Bible, and an ornate choir stall. The church also has a very nice arched cloister. The 135-foot-tall belltower, its upper portion built upon the minaret of the former mosque, was definitely worth the climb for the fantastic aerial views of the town and surrounding farmlands.

Next to the church, we were delighted to find that the Monasterio De Jesús, María Y José has a dulce turno. This is a lazy-susan type cabinet that allows you to purchase cookies and pastries made by the sequestered nuns who follow the convent’s centuries old recipes. It’s an interesting experience, talking in our inadequate Spanish through the wall to the invisible nun on the other side. We now seek out this opportunity wherever possible. The convent’s church has a noteworthy octagonal floor plan with its ceiling decorated with mural paintings.

Alcalá de los Gazules, a half hour away, was our next destination. Along with Medina-Sidonia and several other pueblos blancos, it is on the Ruta del Toro. This route through the open ranges of Cadiz Province highlights the region’s equestrian traditions on large fincas that raise Spain’s famous fighting bulls for the ring, as well as for their beef. Along the roadside here the iconic Osbourne Bull billboards playfully promote their brandy.

Rounding a curve, the hillside before us glittered with impressionistic white dots, which were nearly blinding in the midday sun. As we approached, their definition improved and revealed the old Arab village.  The ancient footprint of the town hasn’t changed in centuries. The village is composed of multiple levels of terraced dwellings built above each other, along staircases, winding narrow lanes and alleys that traced the natural topography of the hill to its apex.

One of the advantages of shoulder season travel is that it is much easier to find a parking space. The disadvantage, though, is that some sites of interest have off-season hours, which was what we encountered with the Iglesia Parroquial de San Jorge and the Castillo de Alcala de los Gazules.

Since the Romans first laid stones for a fortress, the town has had a castle at its summit. It was the Moors though who built a small but substantial fortification that used the sloping wall technique, copied from the Templars, to build the Homage Tower. This impressive tower is all that is left after Napoleon’s troops blew apart the rest of the castillo as they exited following a brutal occupation of the town in 1810.

After the Reconquista, the towns’ Moorish past was erased with the construction of the Iglesia Parroquial de San Jorge above the old mosque. Its ornate gothic façade, carved from soft stone, now shows centuries of erosion. Later with the building of the Santo Domingo monastery, in 1506, the town was decreed to be a religious learning center. Although the monastery served as a training center for priests, it was also used for centuries to hold prisoners of the Spanish Inquisition.

A few minutes outside of the village, before continuing onto Castellar de la Frontera, we stopped for a late lunch/early dinner at los Corzos. It’s a large facility with a restaurant, café, grill and charcuterie shop, all featuring typical Andalusian fare. Though it appears to be geared for tourist buses that ply the route between Malaga and Cadiz, they take their cuisine very seriously and we had a splendid lunch.

The de la Frontera attached to many village names in Andalucia refers to a region officially called “Terra Nullius,” a ‘no man’s land.’ A fluctuating border area was established in the 1200s, when the first Reconquista, led by Ferdinand III of Castile-León, ran out of resources to continue their conquests farther. For two-hundred years this was an unclaimed land, in which Christian crusaders and Islamic jihadists continued to clash.

Castellar de la Frontera, still remotely isolated in the cork forests of Los Alcornocales Natural Park, truly exemplifies a wilderness fortress; with only one serpentine road in and out, it’s many miles off the main road. Today it is one of Europe’s best-preserved examples of a medieval village existing within a castle. But in the 1960’s it was a different story, when after centuries of neglect, and a dwindling population due to emigration, the remaining residents were relocated to a newly constructed town, Nuevo Castellar, ten miles away.

In the 1970s, northern European “hippies” discovered the fine Andalucian weather and the now abandoned village, squatting in some homes, and building rough shelters outside the castle walls. The old town was eventually obtained as an investment by the Rumasa Group, Spain’s largest conglomerate and the country’s leading hotel chain in the 1980’s. Later the company’s financial troubles led the Spanish Government to expropriate Castellar. They declared it a ‘Historical and Artistic Monument,’ and invested funding to restore the old castle and its village. Today rooms in the castle and several casas in the old village are reservable through Tugasa Castillo de Castellar Tugasa is a hotel organization formed by the Cadiz regional government and operates nine hotels and nine separate restaurants throughout the province.

We didn’t realize our modestly priced (under €100) room would be ideally located in the Torre del Homenaje, the highest part of the castle with spectacular panoramic views. Getting to it was a bit of a challenge, even with the use of an elevator. The castle was built atop a huge multi-faceted rock protrusion, so that each ledge of the stone became one floor for rooms. While there are hallways from the elevator landings, they branch off and have short flights of stairs, up and down, to the rooms in various wings of castle. Signage was rather lacking, but after a few wrong turns we located No. 206.

We were further surprised when we discovered that a narrow alcove in our room, with a twist and a turn, led to a sitting area with a small bedroom. Geez, if we had known we would have invited our kids. Better still, a set of stairs led to the top of the tower – our private mirador! To the manor born, for the next two days! We enjoyed incredible views: to the west over the Guadarranque reservoir, below the village, and southeast to the Rock of Gibraltar and the coast of Morocco beyond.

“Hey Rosa,” a lanky toothless patron smiled as he yelled, “tienes clientes,” you have customers, after we stood at the bar long enough to learn the gentleman was one of the original squatters of the 70’s. Two beers were all we could get from Rosa, as the kitchen was only open on weekends until the tourist season started later that Spring. Fortunately, we had purchased some bread, cheese, and sausage at los Corzos earlier, and we still had a vermut with us from Jerez de la Frontera, so we were set for a picnic dinner.

We rose for sunrise the next morning and watched kestrals zip along the castle’s walls. Over the reservoir a kettle of griffon vultures circled for a while before flying off. The medieval village within the castle’s wall is very compact and it was easy to wander through its attractive lanes. Outside the walls we spent a good bit of time walking about looking for the best vantage points to photograph this pretty village, which is recognized by Los Pueblos más Bonitos de España as being one of the nicest in Spain.

Later for coffee we stopped at the Hotel La Almoraima, located off the only road between the old town and Nuevo Castellar. The stunning hotel is set in what once was a 1600s convent and takes excellent advantage of the orange tree-filled courtyard and surrounding old cloisters, now renovated into chic rooms.  

The convent’s original chapel has also been lovingly restored and is used regularly for weddings. The history of the architecturally distinctive tower that stands next to the cloister is vague, with some thinking it was an Arab watch tower, when this was the “Terra Nullius,” and existed before the religious complex was built. The old convent and its extensive lands, a vast 34,000-acre cork forest, eventually became the property of the Dukes of Medinaceli, who turned it into a palatial hunting estate, one of the largest in Spain.

By the 1890’s it was the destination for Spanish nobles and English aristocrats from Gibraltar, who participated in Royal Equestrian Hunts, and the Duke had a private station built on Henderson’s railway for their use. In 1922 Queen Victoria Eugenie of Spain exited at the Duke’s station and then traveled by horse drawn carriage to the estate and the ancient castillo for a brief visit. The eroded cart track to the castillo was finally improved and paved in 1924. In 1973 the 18th Duchess of Medinaceli sold the estate, which included the old hilltop castle, to the Rumasa Group. It was later seized by the Spanish government in the financially troubled 2010s and the Mexican actress Salma Hayek expressed interest in acquiring it before the government decided to manage the estate itself. I find these obscure histories fascinating!

Bar el Molino, a small taberna on the edge of Nuevo Castellar’s central plaza, was a wonderful untouristy spot. With shaded outside tables, cold beer and delicious food, our lunch was perfect. In an effort to experience as many different places as possible, we’ve started to take our after lunch or dinner coffee and dessert at a different establishment.

With this in mind we found Pasteleria Gastrokook, off by itself on the edge of town. Wow! We were so fortunate to stumble across this incredible pastry shop. This gourmet pastelería is reason enough to visit Castellar de la Frontera or even Spain. It is definitely worth a detour especially if you are near Gibraltar. We quickly conferred and declared a calorie-free day! I mean, what is the point of exploring all these distant locales without enjoying their cuisine. Geez, at our home in Georgia, USA, we can’t even find artisanal bread! I did gently chide the two cyclists that pedaled over from Gibraltar for ordering only black coffee. Surely, they would have burnt off all those calories by the time they returned to the rock. Sometimes, willpower is simply deprivation by choice.

Till next time,

Craig & Donna

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Jerez de la Frontera: Quiet and Captivating

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For a moment I thought I was hallucinating, when the truck in front of us pulled away at the traffic circle and revealed a towering paranormal monster. A scene and song from GhostBusters! played through my mind. To say the least, this puffy creation was an odd introduction to a new destination, but Bibendum, or Bib, aka the “Michelin Man,” made us laugh.

After a long day of travel, our stomachs were now growling from hunger and Donna quickly located a small neighborhood restaurant, Rincón de Castro. It was only a few blocks away from Bib, down a side street, on the outskirts of Jerez de la Frontera. Shouldering our day packs, we entered the taverna and were obviously tourists – from the puzzled looks we received it was clear they didn’t get many foreign visitors through their doors. It turned out to be a delightful meal. We apologized for our minimal Spanish, and as the waitress seated us she asked Javier, who spoke very good English, to help us through the menu. He suggested the sherry, our first glasses in Spain, an appetizer, and a main. All the dishes were very good and we were enjoying the sherry. “And with your cafe, have you tried Tocino de Cielo? It’s a traditional Jerez dessert.” The name of the dessert roughly translates to ‘heaven’s bacon’, which reflects the dessert’s color only and is a total misnomer for this wonderful flan-like creation. The nuns of Convento del Espíritu Santo have been credited with the divine inspiration for this sweet treat, first baked 600 years ago. They created a recipe to use the huge quantity of leftover egg yolks donated to the convent from the sherry producers of Jerez, who only used the egg whites to clarify their wines. The oldest convent in the city, it dates from 1430, and still stands near the Cathedral of Jerez de la Frontera, between the Bodega Tio Pepe and Bodegas Fundador. Thus began our vacation. We were off to a good start.

We hadn’t heard any buzz about Jerez de la Frontera when we started planning our March Andalucia road-trip. This was a decision sparked by a great deal on airfare. Ultimately, we were headed to Cadiz, a destination highly recommended by our Italian friend Giulia several years ago. While planning the trip, we learned that Malaga, Seville, and Jerez de la Frontera all had good regional airports. We’d lived in Seville for a month several years ago and totally enjoyed immersing ourselves in the city’s life. But this would be a short two-week adventure and we didn’t want to repeat anything. Malaga, on the Mediterranean, seemed too far and we decided we would save that city for another time. And then there was Jerez de la Frontera, which looked surprisingly fascinating, when I started clicking around Google maps. We say surprisingly, because really it gets very little notice, even though it anchors the Sherry Triangle, an area that extends from Jerez northwest to Sanlúcar de Barrameda on the Atlantic coast, and south to El Puerto de Santa Maria, near Cadiz. It’s a quiet off-the-beaten-path destination, especially in the shoulder season. Larger than Cadiz, smaller than Seville, the city was the perfect size for a three-night, two-day stay, after arriving XRY.  We don’t like to admit aging, but twenty hours of airports and flights takes a toll on us.  So now that first afternoon after we land is spent recovering: airport, rental car, food, hotel in short order.

We emerged from the underground parking at the Plaza del Arenal, onto a large square centered with a bubbling equestrian statue, surrounded by empty tables. We would learn that come 8:00 every evening this would all change when folks filled the restaurants, tapas bars and side streets around the plaza with activity.

Following our host’s directions, we crossed the plaza and entered an arched alley that opened to the sky when it reached a small courtyard between the buildings. Shade netting strung across the alley created a picturesque play of light on the diners outside Bar Juanito.

The restaurant was just around the corner from our lodging at the Palacio del Virrey Laserna, a 13th century palace that has remained in the same family for several centuries. While the name is quite impressive, being a palace and all, and it does have some nice antiques along with some interesting décor in the guest wing, it feels a little tired. Perhaps this is an unfair criticism for an ancient family home. A tour of the private part of the palace was included in our room rate. Sadly, they restrict photos in this part of the palace, which is filled with fascinating ancient memorabilia and furniture collected from Spain’s various colonies at the apex of its empire. Interestingly, in 1264, it was one of forty Moorish properties given as a reward to the knights that valiantly served King Alfonso X during the Reconquista of Jerez. Located only a short distance from the Alcazar, the old Moorish fortress, its proximity and size indicated it was once the home of an important Moor.

As nice as the ambience was on the Plaza the del Arenal, prices were rather steep, so the next morning we walked down a side street off the square to Los Reyes Pastelería. One of everything would have been our first choice. Yum!

Later that morning we worked our way to the Mercado Central de Abastos, one of the oldest covered markets in Spain dating back to 1837. It has become part of our travel ritual to explore the central markets in the cities and towns we visit. The ones in Spanish cities close to the ocean are especially rewarding, as vendors display fresh seafood, shellfish, prawns and sea urchins. The Andalucia bounty doesn’t stop there. Olives, sausages, cheeses, and vegetables galore. And of course, jamon! The finest being named Pata Negra, in reference to their black hoofs. This jamon comes mostly from three villages, Jabugo, Cortegana, and Cumbres Mayores in the Sierra de Arecena mountains, two hours north of Jerez. Here the free-range pigs are raised on an organic diet of only acorns which imparts a unique flavor to the jamon. We made some purchases for a snack later.

Around the corner from the market the iconic Fundador sign sits atop a historic building which is home to an equally famous 100-year-old bar named the Gallo Azul, or Blue Rooster. Known for its 6th floor semi-circular bar, interesting interior, and view of Jerez from its windows, it was unfortunately under renovation when we were in the city but is now open.

Walk a little then café was our philosophy as we wandered our way across Jerez towards Plaza de la Yerba and Plaza de la Asunción. There seems to be an infinite number of eateries across the city to the point that it feels like are more restaurants than retail shops. The dilemma is that they all look so inviting.

We were in Jerez several weeks before Easter and signs of Holy Week preparations were evident at the Plaza de la Asunción, where reviewing stands surrounded the plaza in front of the ancient City Hall and Real Iglesia De San Dionisio Areopagita. Built in 1575, during the reign of Felipe II, the façade of the old town hall is covered in ornate relief carvings depicting popular Renaissance motifs and is considered one of the finest examples of Andalusian Renaissance architecture. Though now, its weathered stonework is in need of some tender-loving care.

The church across the plaza stands in austere beauty by comparison, its simple 15th-century Gothic-Mudejar architecture the perfect backdrop for the monument to la Virgen de la Asunción, centered in the plaza before it. Interestingly, the monument was a relatively new addition to the plaza in 1952. It was created by the legendary religious sculptor Juan Luis Vassallo, from Cadiz, whose many monumental pieces can be seen atop buildings and in public spaces across Spain.

The church’s belltower was originally a civilian construction in 1447 to serve as a watchtower to spot attackers or fires. Several years later the town’s first public clock was installed on it. The inside of the church features an 18th-century baroque interior. In preparation for Semana Santa, the statue of the Virgin stood in one corner dressed in her ceremonial attire. Maybe it’s just me, but I think there was a Barbie as Scarlett O’Hara, from Gone with the Wind, theme happening?

A huge church needs a significant name to match it and the Cathedral of Jerez de la Frontera / Colegiata de Nuestro Señor San Salvador successfully fills this obligation. It’s a massive structure supported with flying buttresses that we were able to get an aerial view of from the belltower across the way. It’s thought the belltower was reconfigured around a minaret that was part of the Great Mosque of Jerez before the reconquest.

With a special tax on sherry wine approved by the crown, construction of the cathedral was started in 1695. The first worship service was held sixty years later, but it would take another twenty years before the church was completed.

Inside the church is very austere, but voluminous. The soaring ceilings of the cavernous space is supported by monumental Corinthian columns, the width and height of giant sequoia trees. The huge doors on the ends of the naves dwarfed us. It was an enormous engineering feat.

The sacristy was interesting with a display of the church’s treasure. The old-world craftsmanship in the archaic religious objects was amazing. An odd detail was two doorknobs sculpted as dog heads. We asked the attendants if they knew the story behind them, but no. They were a playful insight into the mind of God’s representative in Jerez. In one corner a small alcove revealed a nautilus staircase that spiraled aloft. Disappointingly, it was roped off and Donna was unwilling to create a diversion for me to explore further.

Walking by along the bodegas of Gonzalez Byass, famous for its sherry aging warehouses, we made our way through a lovely, shaded park to Taberna La Sureña, a small tavern across from the Alcazar. “No se permite hablar de política, religión o deportes,” roughly translated as no talk of politics, religion or sports allowed, was wisely written in chalk above the bar. It’s a small space with only three tables inside and three on the sidewalk. We snacked on two local cheeses with sausage, crunchily addictive picos (a mini dry bread stick,) and our first taste of vermut, or vermouth, that wasn’t part of a martini. It was a wonderful, flavorful revelation. Though sherry and vermouth are considered fortified wines because brandy is added after fermentation, vermut additionally gets infused with spices and aromatic herbs. Flavorful and complex, the local vermut became our wine of choice during our trip through Andalucia.

Across the way the Alcazar of Jerez beckoned for exploration. The history of all the towns in Andalucia is complex, with loosely associated tribes, Phoenicians, Romans, Vandals and Visgoths. It wasn’t until the Moorish rule of the region between the 8th and 13th centuries that Jerez underwent a period of great urban development. It was during this time that the city was ringed with a defensive wall and the Alcazar was expanded to become a fortified palace and city-within-a-city, with its own separate economy, supported by a granary, warehouses and olive presses. With the Christian Reconquista in 1264 the Alcazar became the seat of the first Christian mayors of the city and the palace was used by royal visitors. The addition de la frontera (“of the frontier”) to cities’ name reflects that this was a hotly contested region, with an expanding and contracting border for many decades.

The discovery of the Americas in 1492 brought prosperity with the export of wine to Spain’s colonies in the New World. Interestingly a conquistador from Jerez, lvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca, survived an ill-fated expedition which explored from the gulf coast of Florida to Texas. Surviving capture and enslavement by Indians, he and three compatriots trekked across the wilderness for eight years before being reunited with fellow Spaniards along the Gulf of Baja on the Pacific coast of Mexico. In his book La relacion y comentarios del gouernador Aluar Nuñez Cabeca de Vaca, the documenting of the native American tribes he encountered is so unique that he is regarded as the first ethnologist of the American southwest.

The ancient olive oil press at the Alcazar is huge. Touring the supporting production rooms with smaller presses and underground ceramic storage vats reinforced the importance of olive oil to the local economy centuries ago. A path through the gardens led to the old hammam. Centuries ago, it must have been quite an impressive structure with cool and hot baths, surely a luxury back then. The scale of the hammam is best seen from atop the fortress walls, some of which were constructed using a rammed earth technique.

We found the palace, renovated to a utilitarian boredom, the least interesting part of the grounds. Though it did have an intriguing set of wood doors carved with the profiles of famous citizens. And on the highest level there is a nice view of the Cathedral of Jerez across the park.

Later that evening as we strolled across town in search of elusive Alcauciles Fritos (Fried Baby Artichokes) we happened upon one of the cities’ brotherhoods practicing marching with a weighted platform before the big events of Holy Week. With military precision they followed their captain’s instructions and performed a switchback maneuver through restaurant tables that nearly blocked their route.

Down a side street near the central market, we found Tabanco La Reja, a small tapas bar far removed from the center of the city, that’s known for its local fare. The young seasonal artichokes are sprinkled with lemon juice and sea salt, then pan fried in oil over high heat until the stalks and hearts are tender, and the juices caramelized to set the flavor. They were sublime.  Flamenco music from a tabanco across the calle drifted in, the vermut was good, the evening was perfect.

Strolling back to our hotel, concert music filled the street as we passed the Iglesia Conventual de San Francisco, drawing us inside. A Brotherhood band was playing to a full church. Another pre Semena Santa event that charmed us.

Churches, churches, churches. Spain, Italy, Portugal. Everywhere a church They share that history of religious influence that so dominated the emergence of European kingdoms during the Middle Ages and Renaissance. Princes and paupers donated for that access to the stairway to heaven, enriching the church with grand architecture, priceless art, and jeweled encrusted religious iconography. Which is exactly why we visit so many of them. “Follow the money, it’s where the art is,” is how I like to phrase it.

Covered in highly detailed baroque relief carvings, the Iglesia de San Miguel stood magnificently before us. Though much smaller than the Jerez Cathedral, the façade of this church and belltower are stunningly beautiful.

And the inside feels more intimate with a modest gilded altar. But we could only speculate on the hell fire and brimstone sermons that might have been delivered here based on a fiery retablo which dominates the church. Created by master sculptors Martínez Montañés and José de Arce, in the 17th Century, it depicts the Archangel Michael fighting very realistic devils.

Across from the church the sequestered nuns of the Convento San José Franciscanas Descalzas still operate a dulces turno, a lazy susan type cabinet, in the wall of the convent from which they sell pastries and cookies made from ancient church recipes to support themselves. It’s handy to have paper and pen to write down what you want from a list that hangs on the wall, or to use the translator app on your phone. It’s a wonderful centuries-old tradition that continues in many convents across Spain.

Scattered across Jerez are colorful ceramic advertising murals that usually highlight various sherries. They are all very artistic and seem to be unique to Jerez.

Touring a sherry bodega, a wine cellar, is a must in Jerez and there are several vintners in the city that offer tours, then tastings at their facilities. We chose Bodega Tio Pepe at Gonzalez Byass, basically for its convenience to other historic sites nearby. And we do admire their iconic Tio Pepe logo and advertising.

The bodega was started in 1835 by a young 23-year-old businessman, Manuel María González Ángel,  who had no experience creating wine, but he enlisted the help of his beloved Uncle Pepe to show him the ropes. Their first sherry was well received, especially in England. In appreciation for his uncle’s expertise González named their sherry Tio Pepe, “Uncle Pepe.” The iconic logo was created in 1935 , and shows a bottle dressed with a wide-brimmed hat, Andalusian jacket, and Spanish guitar to celebrate the company’s 100th anniversary. It soon became one of the world’s most recognizable advertising logos. The sherry is exported to 115 countries around the world.

The tour through the old bodegas was very interesting, as the guide explained that tiered casks never get completely emptied. The ready-to-drink aged sherry is siphoned from the bottom barrel until it is one-third-full. It is then refilled with less aged sherry from the cask above. The procedure is repeated until new wine is added to the partially emptied top cask. From start to finish the aging of sherry takes four years. In keeping with the times, the tour ended in a very hip tasting area that features various configurations of the Tio Pepe logo.

Most worthy restaurants in Jerez don’t open until 8:00PM and then seem to instantly fill up, with patrons spilling onto the street. If you have a particular spot in mind, our suggestion is to arrive when it first opens, as many do not take reservations, or try dining there for lunch. The good news is Jerez takes its cuisine very seriously and there are few places geared toward tourists. The most popular street we found was Calle San Pablo, a narrow alley filled with lively tapas bars. It’s located between the Iglesia de San Miguel and Plaza del Arenal. A walk along Calle Consistorio which starts at the plaza will also lead you past many places that will whet your appetite.

Jerez de la Frontera has a wonderful tranquil ambience. Historic with a cosmopolitan flare, the city is often overlooked by folks visiting Andalucia. This is a blessing for those that enjoy its charms.

“If God had not made Jerez, how imperfect would his work be!” – Benito Perez Galdos.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Peru: The Inti Raymi Festival – An Ancient Celebration Revived

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The precision stone masonry of ancient Inca craftsmen lined narrow alleys, and slowly began to come to life with Quechuan women dressed in their colorful attire. They were clutching baby llamas and claiming spots to pose for photos with tourists. It would be a busy day. The Plaza de Armas, the historic center of Cusco, would soon be packed with spectators for the Inti Raymi Festival.

This nine day long ancient Inca ritual traditionally celebrated the Sun God, Inti, on the winter solstice in the southern hemisphere, June 21st, but is now observed on the feast day of Saint John the Baptist, June 24th, in an attempt to blend beliefs. The celebration marks the beginning of a new life cycle with the approach of Spring and warmer weather for the planting of crops to begin another agricultural year. We wanted to scope out the plaza early and find a spot with an unobstructed view of the activities.

In ancient times the ritual began at Coricancha the Temple of the Sun, now the Convent of Santo Domingo since the Spanish conquest of Peru. Talented astronomers, the Inca built the temple in the 1400s for one portal to celestially align with the rising sun on the winter solstice and brilliantly fill the gold covered interior with light.  

After watching the sunrise and receiving this blessing, the Inca ruler as the Sun God’s earthly representative would thank the Sun God for the last year’s harvest and request his light shine upon the Inca Empire favorably for another year.

He was then carried ceremonially on his throne atop the shoulders of warriors across Cusco, followed by other members of the royal Inca family, the mummified remains of previous Inca emperors and delegates from hundreds of different tribes that inhabited the vast Inca Empire that spanned from Columbia, Ecuador, Bolivia, Chile, from the Pacific coast over the Andes to the Amazon jungle, representing a rainbow of people, a theme that today is incorporated into the city flag of Cusco.

Conquistador Francisco Pizarro captured Atahuallpa, the 13th and last Inca emperor. Atahuallpa offered a room filled with treasure for his freedom, and the Spanish accepted. The walls of Coricancha and other temples across the Inca Empire were stripped of their gold and silver, which was then melted into bullion and sent to Spain on the famous treasure fleets that plied the Atlantic from 16th to the 18th century. The Spanish executed the Emperor when he refused to convert to Christianity in 1533.

The Spanish banned the Inti Raymi as a pagan event. But the tradition went underground and was observed in secret, in isolated villages throughout the Andes. The festival was revied in 1944, mostly due to the efforts of two proud Quechuans, Faustino Espinoza Navarro (a scholar and artist) and Humberto Vidal Unda (a future mayor of Cusco and a leader of the Indigenismo movement, which advocated for native political involvement.)

Researching historic chronicles such as Royal Commentaries of the Inca by Garcilaso de la Vega (1612), the illustrated book The First New Chronicle and Good Government by Felipe Guamán Poma de Ayala (1615) and a manuscript by friar Martín de Murúa, The Historia General del Piru (1616), that also contains illustrations, Navarro created a script and Unda envisioned the theatrical staging for a cast of 800 performers.

The event has grown over time and now includes 25,000 participants drawn from hundreds of Peruvian indigenous groups, who dress in their unique regional garments parade, dance, and sing their way through Cusco and the Plaza de Armas. They then continue uphill to the ruins of Sacsayhuaman fortress, overlooking Cusco.

In this open expanse above the city roughly 80,000 people gather to watch all the participants fill the field for the grand finale, which depicts simulated animal sacrifices, pledges of loyalty to the Inca emperor from all the tribes, and final offerings to the Sun God. This is the second largest festival in South America, after Carnival. It was a dynamic and colorful event that was a joy to experience.

Till next time,

Craig & Donna

A New Mexico Road Trip: Earth, Sky, & Art

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One of the things we enjoy most about traveling is picking the brains of folks we’ve had the pleasure of meeting throughout our journeys. Whether it’s a tip from a car rental agent about an isolated restaurant in the Azores or from a young Italian attorney who shared her love of Cadiz, Spain, with us, we try to follow through. Sometimes acting immediately, but mostly tucking the tips away into the deep recesses of our minds to consider in the future.

When the same question is asked of us about the best places to see in the United States, Albuquerque, Santa Fe and Toas in New Mexico immediately top our list as the most unique destination in the USA. Maybe I’m a little cynical with an over-simplified view that the United States is mostly a homogenized mass of sameness that spans 3000 miles from the Atlantic to Pacific, mostly sharing the same landscapes, urban architecture, and strip malls with the same ubiquitous retailers – Home Depot, Starbucks, Panera, Pizza Hut and McDonalds – from coast to coast. Yes, the same is true, though to a much smaller degree, of the urban sprawl that surrounds Albuquerque. Though here you’ll find Blake’s Lotaburger, frito pies, piñon coffee, frybread-style sopapillas, and pozole (a hominy dish) along with parking lots filled with roasters full of Hatch green chilies every September when the harvest comes in and that wonderful aroma fills the air. We hope these photos and this story pique your interest in New Mexico, an endlessly beautiful, culturally diverse, artistic, and quirky place that is truly the “Land of Enchantment.” And a destination we always enjoy exploring.

Start in the Petroglyph National Monument, then follow Central Ave (Old Rt66), from the original adobe buildings of Old Town, circa 1706, east across town up to the Knob Hill area around the University of New Mexico and beyond to the Tijeras Pueblo Archaeological Site and the beginning of The Turquoise Trail. You will have spanned several millennia from the oldest petroglyphs dating from 2000 BC to the present and a blending of cultures that is refreshing. It’s a remarkable stretch of history for a young country that typically dates itself to the English colonies of Jamestown – 1607, and Plymouth – 1620.

A 2013 archeological excavation in northern New Mexico unearthed stone tools used to butcher a mammoth, and radiocarbon testing dated them to be 36,000 years old. These tools are attributed to some of the first people that migrated across the Bering Sea from Asia, the ancestors of Native Americans. Jump forward 35,000 years and you have pueblo Indians living in settlements along the Rio Grande Valley and across northern New Mexico. Their first contact with Europeans comes with a back story and cast of characters worthy of the best fiction writers.

It starts with orders from the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V (Charles I of Spain) to Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca (from Jerez de la Frontera, near Cadiz, from that great tip earlier) authorizing him to colonize the region between Río Soto la Marina, Mexico, and what is now Tampa, Florida, a distance of 1500 miles. Tragically believing the distance between the two was only 45 miles, Cabeza de Vaca landed north of Tampa in April 1528 with 300 men and forty horses. Unable to rendezvous with their ships, the expedition was doomed. Traveling west across the top of the gulf towards the nearest Spanish settlement of Tampico, Mexico they encountered alligators, venomous snakes, and hostile natives. They were captured, enslaved, beset by disease-bearing mosquitos; they crossed numerous creeks, swamps and rivers. By the time they reached the “Isle of Misfortune,” Galveston, Texas a year later, only 15 remained.  They crossed the Rio Grande near El Paso. With the help of friendly tribes, Cabeza de Vaca and three others, Alonso del Castillo, Andrés Dorantes de Carranza, and his slave Esteban the Moor survived an eight-year Homeric ordeal, that took them across the Mexican desert to the Pacific Ocean before being reunited in 1536 with their compatriots in Mexico City. The three Spaniards were rewarded with titles and land by the King. Cabeza de Vaca became the Viceroy of Paraguay, gained political enemies and was unjustly tried in Spain and imprisoned in North Africa. It is not known if Esteban the Moor was granted his freedom, but he was not forgotten.

De Vaca and his fellow survivors had returned with legends heard from the Indians they encountered of fabulous riches farther inland. These stories of insurmountable wealth were still fresh in everyone’s minds two years later when Friar Marcos de Niza (from Nice, France) arrived in Mexico City after leading the first groups of Franciscans into Peru with Spanish conquistadors to conquer the Inca civilization. In hope of finding the fabled “Seven Cities of Gold,” a treasure that allegedly rivaled that of the Aztecs and Incas civilizations, the Viceroy of Mexico planned an expedition headed by Friar Marcos de Niza, along with Esteban the Moor who had the most knowledge of the area’s tribes, and their customs. It seems from reading various accounts that Esteban led, and Friar Marcos followed. They both were the first foreigners, a North African slave and a European, to explore the area we now recognize as the American Southwest. This is 27 years before the founding of St. Augustine, in Florida in 1565. Friar Marcos claimed Esteban the Moor was killed near a Zuni pueblo when he reached one of the “cities of gold.” Marcos also claimed to have seen a city larger than Mexico City, with buildings nine stories high glittering on the horizon. Dream, mirage, a pueblo glowing like a sunset – a lie? Wanting to avoid Esteban’s fate, the Friar ventured no further and returned to share his exploits in Mexico City. The lust for gold was consuming and a year later, in 1540, Francisco Vázquez de Coronado led an expedition of 400 hundred soldiers with 1500 native porters and Friar Marcos north again to attain that treasure. And boy was he miffed when they reached the Zuni tribe and found nothing but a “poor pueblo.” Accusing Friar Marcos of lying, he sent him back to Mexico. Coronado’s expedition would stay in the region for two years, traveling in several smaller groups west as far as the Grand Canyon and east into Texas and Kansas. They never discovered gold though they did travel through areas where it would be discovered centuries later. They returned emptyhanded. It would be 53 years before Spaniards ventured north again.

In 1595 King Philip II of Spain chose Don Juan de Oñate to colonize the upper Rio Grande valley. In 1598 he led an expedition north that included 20 Franciscan missionaries, 400 settlers, 129 soldiers, 83 wagons, plus livestock, with the stated mission from the Pope to spread Catholicism. But there was still hope that the evasive “Seven Cities of Gold,” would finally be discovered. Fording the Rio Grande near present day El Paso, he proclaimed all the lands north of the river “for God, the Church, and the Crown.” Life in the new territory under Oñate was severe. Some settlers urged a return to Mexico when silver was not discovered, and Oñate executed the dissenters. Pueblos that refused to share winter food stocks needed for their own survival were brutally suppressed into submission. The Spanish imposed the encomendero on the pueblo tribes. This was a colonial business model that granted conquistadores or ordinary Spaniards the right to free labor and tribute from the indigenous population. In return Nuevo México encomiendas were obligated to “instruct the Indians in the Roman Catholic faith and the rudiments of Spanish civilization.” The free land and free Indian labor promised with the encomendero was also used as a recruiting tool to encourage settlers to venture north from Mexico. The pueblos did not submit willingly; any resistance was forcibly repressed until the Pueblo Revolution in 1680. Four-hundred Spaniards died, including 21 priests, but there were almost 2000 Spanish survivors. Warriors followed the fleeing refugees all the way to El Paso to ensure their expulsion from Indian territory. But by then there were three generations of intermarriage, along with shared ideas, technology and customs.

When the Spanish returned 12 years later, they did not try to reimpose the encomendero, and returning missionaries displayed more tolerance of indigenous religious beliefs. Spain instead sought to enlist the Pueblo tribes as allies to resist French and British empire expansion farther west. The vast area claimed by Coronado and Oñate became part of the United States with the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, which ended the Mexican-American War in 1848. It’s a fascinating multilayered history that continues to contribute to New Mexico’s uniqueness.

But enough about history. Land at the Albuquerque International Sunport, rent a car and hit the road. Head north on Rt25, with the Sandia Mountain Range glowing in the late afternoon light on your right and a spectacular sunset in the west. This sublime experience could be the beginning of a long love affair with the state, as it was for us. The expansive vistas and sky, along with incredible light and dramatic ever-changing weather out here are just awesome, especially if it’s your first time to the Southwest. Fair warning: the state can become addictive with endless ways to satisfy your wanderlust.

The ruins of the old Spanish missions in the Salinas Valley and Mountainair are south of Albuquerque. Route 40 East will take you to the beginning of the Turquoise Trail, a splendid backroad route that gracefully curves, rises and falls through the rugged foothills of the Sandia and Ortiz mountains as it follows NM14 north for 65 miles. Pass through the historic towns of Golden, Madrid, Cerrillos and San Marcos just south of Santa Fe. Follow Route 40 West to see the amazing rock drawings at the Petroglyph National Monument or continue farther to the Zuni Reservation, mentioned earlier.

Veer off Rt25 and head to Jemez Springs where you’ll find, red rock canyons, old logging roads and hot springs. Farther along in the Valles Caldera National Preserve you can see herds of elk grazing in a 13-mile-wide meadow that is now all that remains of a collapsed volcano cone after a massive ancient eruption.

Nearby the 11,000-year-old cliff dwellings carved into the canyon walls of Bandelier National Monument are a must stop. There are plenty of interesting detours and quirky stops to make along the way.

Santa Fe and Toas lie in the mountains farther north of Albuquerque and have been popular destinations with artists and writers since the early 1900s – D.H. Lawrence, Georgia O’Keefe and Ansel Adams and many others enjoyed the vibrant Indian and Hispanic cultures. Today Hollywood stars like Julia Roberts, Val Kilmer, Ted Danson, and Oprah Winfrey have homes in the area.

The city retains it early Spanish heritage with historic adobe buildings surrounding Santa Fe Plaza. The Indian market is still held under El Portal in front of the Palace of the Governors, the oldest continually occupied public building in the United States, since its construction in 1610.

The region continues to support artists and craftspeople with numerous galleries, festivals, and fairs. A stretch of 80 art galleries in old adobe buildings along Canyon Road belies its ancient roots as part of El Camino Real, The Royal Road, that ran 1600 miles to Mexico City. Famously Spanish settlers from Mexico introduced chili peppers into the region via this ancient trade route.

The landscapes north of Santa Fe continue to be intriguing, with Black Mesa, sacred to Native Americans, and the Puye Cliff Dwellings which run along the base of a mesa for over a mile. Stairs and paths cut into the cliff face led to adobe structures atop the mesa’s plateau. East of Espanola, the Santuario de Chimayo, built in 1816, still attracts pilgrims seeking miraculous cures from its “healing dirt.”

Heading into the mountains of northern New Mexico, the durability and sustainability of well-maintained adobe structures are evident in the elegant San Francisco de Asis Catholic Mission Church in Rancho de Taos, which dates from 1772.

Impressive Taos Pueblo, a multi-storied residential complex, has been continually occupied since its construction in the 1400s. Today nearly 150 people continue to live traditionally in the pueblo, as their ancestors did, without running water or electricity.

Nearby the Rio Grande River Gorge fractures the earth like a lightning bolt. The view from the center of the bridge looking down into the chasm is magnificent and terrifying. Farther north as the river rises from the gorge it has a totally different character as it meanders through the high desert.

While this far north, it’s worth the effort to visit the Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, located just across the state line in southern Colorado.

Over many thousands of years, sands blown across the high desert plains accumulated at the base of the Rocky Mountains here to form the tallest dunes in North America.

Wave when you see us!

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Nicaragua: The Dioromo Hipica – a Horse Parade

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Celebrating the equestrian lifestyle has been a Spanish tradition since the Middle Ages and followed early Spanish colonists across the Atlantic to Central and South America in the 1500s. In Nicaragua the tradition lives on in beloved hipicas, horse parades.

There are numerous Hípica festivals, held in towns large and small, across the country throughout the year. They are usually the main event of a town’s festivities marking their patron saint’s day. By pure luck, one February, we were able to experience the Dioromo Hipica which is one of many activities held to honor La Virgen de Candelaria in the small village of Dioromo, eleven miles away from Granada.

This was a wild and crazy event, with hundreds of cowboys, dancing horses, a bull riders, and pickups trucks loaded with brass bands parading through the village. The streets were crowded with onlookers.

Because we were standing close, we were occasionally smacked by a horse tail. There were life-size toy horses for kids to sit on and get their photo taken by their parents; small amusement rides and food stalls surrounded the town plaza.

Baile de Las Negras dancers in painted masks and ornate costumes performed before a large crowd in front of the church. Down the side streets a group of men carried aloft a tall statue of the Virgin door to door, to bring blessings to the households.

I think we were the only gringos there experiencing this wonderful local event.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

The Turquoise Trail: Scenic, Artsy and Quirky

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We always have a wonderful time in New Mexico, but often we’ve too easily fallen into the fastest route, the Albuquerque to Santa Fe rut. Heading north on Rt25, with the Sandia Mountain Range glowing in the late afternoon light on your right and a spectacular sunset in the west is a sublime experience, worthy of inclusion into the “wonders of the world.” The sky and light out here are just awesome, especially if it’s your first time to the Southwest. Aside from traveling north through Jemez Springs, Valles Caldera and Bandelier National Monument, all great destinations admittedly, there are not many alternative routes to Santa Fe, unless you are willing to circumnavigate northern New Mexico for days and hundreds of miles, which is a great alternative and may inspire future adventures.

Instead of following the “westward ho!” from cowboy movies of our youth, we headed east out of Albuquerque eighteen miles on Interstate 40/Route 66 to the Tijeras Pueblo Archaeological Site and the beginning of the Turquoise Trail National Scenic Byway. The trail is a splendid backroad route that gracefully curves, rises and falls through the rugged foothills of the Sandia and Ortiz mountains as it follows NM14 north for 65 miles. Passing through the historic towns of Golden, Madrid, Cerrillos and San Marcos just south of Santa Fe.

Archeological evidence found at multiple sites in Tijeras Canyon traces early habitation going back 9,000 years, near the end of the last Ice Age. The Pueblos people and their first permanent dwellings date to the 10th century AD.

It’s believed that Tijeras Pueblo was built in the early 1300s and had 200 rooms in terraced buildings arranged in a U-shape pattern around a central kiva.  The settlement only flourished for about 100 years before it was abandoned in the 1400s due to extended periods of drought and raids from nomadic Plains Indian tribes.  The Spanish tried to encourage settlement of the area in 1763 with the Carnuel land grant, but that failed after repeated raids by Comanche, Kiowa, and Plains Apache Indians forced settlers to flee. Permanent resettlement didn’t occur until 1819 when the Spanish made peace with the tribes.

Sadly, today all that is left of the Tijeras Pueblo is a terribly eroded mound of rubble with a self-guided trail that winds through the ruins. There is a small museum attached to the Park Ranger Station, which is only open on weekends.

If you haven’t taken the Sandia Peak Tramway, due to the fear of heights or its expense, you can still enjoy the view with your feet firmly planted on the ground. Follow NM14 north, turn left in the village of San Antonito onto Sandia Crest Road, and follow the signs to the 10,678-ft summit. Entrance to the park is free, but there is a small parking fee at the top. The views across Albuquerque are fantastic!

Past San Antonito the desolate, sparsely populated nature of the old west returns, with open vistas and greater distances between dirt tracks that spur occasionally left or right from the road and lead who knows where.

Legends of “Seven Cities of Gold,” and treasure that was rumored to rival the Aztec’s wealth brought Francisco Vazquez de Coronado with 2000 conquistadors north from Mexico City in 1540. On the Rio Grande north of present-day Albuquerque, Coronado commandeered a pueblo as headquarters for his expedition. His men spent two years searching an unknown region that spanned from Texas and Kansas to the Grand Canyon, searching for gold. He never found any because the Pueblo tribes attributed no value to it. Turquoise was the gold they mined for. Spiritual properties attributed to the stone are courage, good fortune and protection of the wearer in battles. The stone was a valuable trading commodity and pieces of Cerrillos Turquoise have been found by archeologists at indigenous sites in Canada and Aztec and Mayan tombs in Central America. Two years later Coronado returned to Mexico empty handed, though his camp was only 30 miles from the stream where this precious mineral glittered in the water.

In 1825, decades before the California Gold Rush, when New Mexico was still part of the Spanish Empire, the mineral placer gold was discovered in Tuerto Creek which ran down from the Ortiz Mountains. Two rough mining camps grew into small villages named El Real de San Francisco and Placer del Tuerto. Built with adobe bricks in 1830, the San Francisco de Asis Catholic Church congregation sought to soften the rough mining town’s edges.

This first discovery of gold west of the Mississippi brought prosperity to the villages for several decades. The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo ended the Mexican-American War in 1848 and allowed the New Mexico territory to be annexed to the United States and the villages were combined and renamed Golden. At its zenith, the town supported many businesses, several saloons, a stock exchange, school, and post office. By the mid-1890s the luster of gold had worn away and ranching had become the dominant enterprise. Folks moved away for better opportunities; the last nail in its coffin and the beginning of its transition to a ghost town was the closure of its post office in 1928.

Not much has changed since then for Golden. If you blink you’ve driven through it. But the quirky Bottle House is worth a quick stop and sets the tone for the area that’s full of independent, eccentric, and colorful personalities. The towns along the Turquoise Trail all share similar once-prosperous histories followed by decades of decline, until a slow rediscovery began in the 1970s. It started to attract folks and artists drawn to the ruggedness and beauty of the terrain, those seeking an alternative lifestyle, wanting to live off-the-grid, or just wanting to be left alone. Evolution happens and of course there are now more homes, restaurants, RV parks, small museums, shops, and galleries. But fortunately, there seems to be some unspoken agreement between the old timers and newcomers to keep the area “historically quaint and Old West,” as if time has stopped. You’ll have to drive to Albuquerque to find a strip mall.

A short distance farther along, the San Francisco de Asis Catholic Church and cemetery still stand and command a small knoll above the road.  Its original adobe bricks were covered with a concrete veneer during a 1960’s restoration. But walk around the back of the church and it’s possible to see them where the veneer has broken away. The church supports a small congregation and holds mass on Saturdays at 4:00 pm.  Annually, every 1st Saturday of October, the church hosts the Fiesta de San Francisco de Assis which begins with a 11:00 am mass, followed with the blessing of the graves in the cemetery and a procession lead by Matachines dancers.

The vistas between the towns are epically endless and evoked thoughts of how folks centuries ago managed to survive on this wild frontier. Drive too fast and you’ll whiz by many interesting roadside attractions.

Compared to Golden, Madrid is a metropolis! Coal was discovered in the Ortiz Mountains during the mid-1800s, spurring a squatter’s camp called Coal Gulch. MAD-rid, not Ma-DRID, was founded in 1869. So much coal was being mined that the Santa Fe railroad constructed a spur down from Cerrillos into the town in 1892. We wet our whistles on the patio of the Madrid Brewing Company & Museum, in front of an ancient steam train with what we must say was one of the best craft beers we’ve tasted.

It’s difficult to believe that at its zenith the town once boasted a population greater than Albuquerque’s 3000 folks in 1906. All the small claims were eventually consolidated into the Albuquerque and Cerrillos Coal Company. It became a company town and the extraction of coal from the hills surrounding the town was king. The company provided the booming town and its employees with everything.

Houses were bought in Kanas, disassembled, and shipped on the railroad to Madrid to satisfy the demands of a growing population. The company built a community center, school, and hospital. Most importantly, after it burned down on Christmas Day in 1944, the company rebuilt the Mineshaft Tavern, with its famous 40′ long bar where miners could stretch out after a long shift hunched over underground. The first lighted baseball field west of the Mississippi was built for the town’s minor league baseball team, called the Madrid Miners. Electricity produced at the local coal fired power station ran the mines and was provided free to all the residents of the town. Free electricity encouraged extravagant Christmas light displays that drew in visitors from afar to see lights that covered every building and were strung up the mountainside.

The company brought 160,000 gallons of water daily by train tank cars into the town and legend says every home had a green lawn. The price of coal collapsed in the 1950s when natural gas was beginning to be piped into homes, and the company and town’s economy collapsed as well. In 1954 the entire town was offered for sale for $250,000.00 in the Wall Street Journal. There were not any buyers. Except for a few squatters, the town sat abandoned for twenty years until it was decided to sell the company homes one at a time. Studios, shops, museums, restaurants, and galleries now line the 20 mph main stretch. Packed with tourists on the weekends, it’s almost impossible to find a place to park. Like the rebuilt bar, the town today is a phoenix risen from the ashes.

Just north of Madrid, a huge contemporary metal sculpture similar to a Trojan Horse highlights the landscape. You can’t get very close to it, as there’s no visible gate and it’s behind a rancher’s barbed wire fencing. As of this writing I haven’t been able to identify the artist. The sculpture is intriguing, and its placement is mystifying. Other artists have also placed their creations along the drive.

The turn for Cerrillos lies just beyond the bridge that crosses the over the Arroyo Viejo, a seasonal creek. It’s the only town on the Turquoise Trail that you have to turn off NM 14 to reach. That half-mile journey takes you back 150 years to a village with dusty dirt roads, wide enough to turn around a team of horses and a wagon. Cerrillos retains its old west authenticity, with many original adobe structures and 1800s era rough-hewn lumbered storefronts. It is deemed so authentic, many western movies have used the town for their location shoots, most notably the 3:10 to Yuma (2007) starring Russell Crowe and Christian Bale, along with Young Guns (1988) which had a huge famous cast that starred Jack Palance, Kiefer Sutherland, Lou Diamond Phillips, Emilio Estevez, Charlie Sheen, and a cameo appearance by Tom Cruise as a soldier shot in the climatic scene. The action comedy with Clint Eastwood Every Which Way but Loose (1978) was also filmed here. A few miles away John Wayne filmed The Cowboys (1972) in San Marcos.

Pueblo Indians had been conducting small open pit mining with hatchets on Mount Chalchihuitl, which is now part of Cerrillos Hills State Park, since the 900s. The stone was gathered for its believed sacred properties, along with lead sulfide, which was the source of glaze paint used to decorate native pottery. Spanish settlers arrived in the 1600s and mined the same hills for silver. There was an uneasy coexistence, and silver mining ceased with the Pueblo Rebellion in 1680. Small mining efforts returned to the area after the Spanish renewed efforts to live peacefully with the Pueblo tribes. New Mexico was a United States territory when gold was discovered around Cerrillos in 1879.  The railroad arrived in 1880. The boom town supported thousands of miners with 4 hotels, 5 brothels, 21 saloons, and an opera house which once hosted a performance by the famous French stage actress and singer “the Divine Sarah,” Sarah Bernhardt.

Four thousand prospecting pits, mine shafts and holes were dug in the area by 1884. The town’s prosperity and recreation attracted outlaws like the Ketchum Gang, Silva’s White Caps and Billy the Kid. Cowboys from Cerrillos were recruited to join Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Riders for their campaign through Cuba during the Spanish American War. The president of a gold and silver mining company began promoting turquoise and silver Jewelry to visitors arriving by train. Tiffany & Co. at one point even owned their own mine to provide the stone for their booming turquoise jewelry sales that lasted into the 1900s. The St Joseph Catholic Church standing today was built in 1922 and replaced an earlier 1884 structure. A Methodist Church graced the other end of town. It was never a ghost town, but slowly, one by one, the area’s mining operations played out and closed until only several hundred people remained in the area.

Mid-week in early spring, the only door that swung open was at the Casa Grande Trading Post and Cerrillos Turquoise Mining Museum which has a mind-boggling array of displays and trinkets. It is a large 28 room adobe hacienda that looks like it has been there for centuries. But in fact the owners, Todd and Patricia Brown, along with family and friends, started construction in the 1970s that eventually utilized 65,000 handmade adobe bricks.

Some Interesting highlights from the Cerrillos Historical Society include:

1888 – The dark stain on the floor of Dr. Palmer’s second-floor office, the relic of Black Jack Ketchum’s bullet wound, is the local must-see attraction. The first meeting of the Cerrillos Masonic Lodge is held at the Palace Hotel in their upstairs room.

February 19, 1890, 11am – Nelly Bly, the famous New York World reporter was racing back to New York on her round-the-world-in-80-days journey (she made it in 72 days, 6 hours, 11 minutes, 14 seconds). Her train stopped at Cerrillos only long enough to take on water. The 67 miles from Albuquerque to Lamy by rail was done at the breakneck speed of 46 miles an hour!

August 1892 – The new railroad spur to Coal Gulch is completed and the town of Madrid is born.

1899 – The Cochiti Gold Mining Company builds an Edison coal-fired dynamo at Madrid, which provides Cerrillos with its first electric lights. Those were the days!

Just past an interesting geological rock formation called Garden of the Gods, we reached our farthest point north and turned around on the Turquois Trail in San Marcos at the intersection with the road that leads east to Galisteo and eventual the pueblo ruins at Pecos National Historical Park. Along the road here are some whimsical wind sculptures created by David Hickman.

We could have continued north on NM14 to Santa Fe, but we chose to return to Albuquerque via Madrid and stop for a crisp cold beer at the Mine Shaft Tavern and stretch our legs.

Till next time,

Craig & Donna

South of Albuquerque: Mountains, Missions and Bottomless Cups of Coffee

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In all our previous trips to Albuquerque, we had always opted to head towards Santa Fe, never exploring south of the city. But we only had a few days to ourselves this time after attending our daughter’s wedding and decided to do day trips from the Duke City. The nickname references the city’s naming in 1706 honoring the 10th Duke of Albuquerque and/or the Albuquerque Dukes, a beloved minor league baseball team.

The pueblo ruins around Mountainair piqued our interest. We mapped out a circular route; south on I-25, east on NM-60 to Mountainair, then north on NM-55 & NM-337 to Tijeras where we would pick up I-40 West back to town. The day dawned with a crisp blue sky, and we headed south. We would have preferred a slower drive through the Rio Grande Valley nearer the stately Manzano Mountain range, but with 153 miles to go and multiple stops it would be a long day. The panoramas from I-25 were expansive.

Francisco Vazquez de Coronado’s failed mission to find the legendary “Seven Cities of Gold,” in 1540 did not discourage other explorers from trying, which brought Don Juan de Oñate onto the scene. A marriage to Doña Isabel de Tolosa Cortés de Moctezuma, granddaughter of conquistador Hernán Cortés, and the great-granddaughter of Aztec Emperor Moctezuma II, gave Don Juan de Oñate new prestige and influence. In 1595 King Philip II of Spain chose Ornate to colonize the upper Rio Grande valley. In 1598 he led an expedition that included his nine-year-old son, a nephew, 20 Franciscan missionaries, 400 settlers, 129 soldiers, 83 wagons, plus livestock, north from Mexico City, with the stated mission from the Pope to spread Catholicism. But there was also hope that riches rivaling that of the Aztecs and Incas would be found again. Fording the Rio Grande near present day El Paso, he proclaimed all the lands north of the river “for God, the Church, and the Crown.”

They eventually reached three pueblos in the Abó Pass area, which were on an ancient route between the mountains that facilitated trade between the Plains Indians of Eastern New Mexico and the Pueblo peoples that lived in the lush Rio Grande Valley. This area that at the time was thought to have a population of 10,000 talented farmers, weavers, stone masons, ceramicists, and adobe making Pueblo Indians, which the Spaniards quickly began exploiting. They eventually reached three pueblos in the Abó Pass area, which were on an ancient route between the mountains that facilitated trade between the Plains Indians of Eastern New Mexico and the Pueblo peoples that lived in the lush Rio Grande Valley.

This area that at the time was thought to have a population of 10,000 talented farmers, weavers, stone masons, ceramicists, and adobe making Pueblo Indians, which the Spaniards quickly began exploiting. Life in the new territory under Oñate was severe. Some settlers urged a return to Mexico when silver was not discovered, and Oñate executed the dissenters. Pueblos that refused to share winter food stocks needed for their own survival were brutally suppressed into submission. The most notorious crime occurred at the Acoma Pueblo, north of Albuquerque, when the inhabitants resisted seizure of their winter provisions, killing Oñate’s nephew during the upheaval. In response, soldiers under his command massacred 800 men, women, and children. The 500 surviving villagers were enslaved and by his decree every Acoma man over the age of twenty-five had his left foot amputated. Word of his atrocities eventually reached the Spanish throne, and in 1606 he was recalled to Mexico City, tried and convicted of cruelty to colonists and natives. With a slap on the wrist, he was banished from Nuevo México, and allowed passage to Spain where the king appointed him Minister of Mining Inspections.

In 1621, Fray Francisco Fonte was assigned the task of building a mission at Abó Pueblo. First occupying rooms in an existing pueblo and later commandeering labor, including a large number of women, to build a separate church and convento which radically incorporated a kiva into its structure. This effort at syncretism was most likely modeled after the Catholic church’s success in Peru where Pachamama, an “Earth Mother” goddess who was celebrated to facilitate the indigenous population’s conversion to Catholicism. This  technique was adapted from Julius Caesar who allowed conquered peoples to keep their religions, as it “eased the acceptance of Roman rule.”

Two other Church missions in the Salinas Valley at Gran Quivira and Quarai pueblos were also constructed around the same time as Abo’s and also incorporate Kivas. This was a controversial practice as the Spanish Inquisition, (1478–1834), was still going strong. This threat couldn’t be used against the Puebloans, as they were not yet considered citizens of Spain without conversion. But it was a dangerous tight rope for the friars who constantly heard from the regional Spanish civil authorities that they were overly tolerant of the Indians “pagan beliefs,” and the Puebloan’s religious studies took too much time away from the encomendero. The encomendero was a colonial business model that granted conquistadores or ordinary Spaniards the right to free labor and tribute from the indigenous population. In return Nuevo México encomiendas were obligated to “instruct the Indians in the Roman Catholic faith and the rudiments of Spanish civilization.” The free land and free Indian labor promised with the encomendero was also used as a recruiting tool to encourage settlers to venture into the wilderness. The pueblos did not submit willingly; any resistance was violently suppressed. Though out-numbering the Spanish invaders, the Indians’ weapons of stone-tipped arrows and spears were no match against the Spaniards’ guns, armor, metal swords, and horses. Relations with Puebloans ultimately deteriorated when the friars, under civil pressure, refused to allow the kachina dances in the Kivas and filled them with rubble and dirt to prevent their use.

An extended period of drought and frequent raids from the plains tribes led to abandonment of the three Salinas pueblos by 1678, two years before the Pueblo Revolution in 1680 in which they surely would have participated. Four-hundred Spaniards died, including 21 of the 33 priests, but there were almost 2000 Spanish survivors. Warriors followed the fleeing refugees all the way to El Paso to ensure their expulsion from Indian territory.

When the Spanish returned 12 years later, they did not try to reimpose the encomendero and returning missionaries displayed more tolerance of indigenous religious beliefs. Spain instead sought to enlist the Pueblo tribes as allies to resist French and British empire expansion farther west. But the Salinas Valley remained deserted until Spanish shepherds returned for a few years in the early 1800s, only to be forced out by nomadic Apaches. Successful resettlement did not happen until the mid-1860s.

We turned off NM-60. Long ago the road was known as the Atlantic and Pacific Highway, one of the original Auto Trails in the early years of motoring. It was a route marked with colored bands on utility poles, that started in Los Angeles, California, and ended 2700 miles later in Virginia Beach, Virginia. Those were the days! We followed the single lane road into a gully and through a seasonal stream before rising to a field in which the earth-red stone ruins of the Abó mission glowed in the morning sun. The ruins of the mission church are massive. The complex must have been a wonderous sight when it was built next to the pueblos. Unfortunately, only piles of rubble remain of the pueblos themselves and I could not find a record as to why they were destroyed. But there is an entry from a Spaniard’s journal that describes the Salinas villages before the mission was constructed; “Each of these pueblos must have about 800 people, young and old. They were close to the plains and had bison-hide (acquired by bartering salt with the Apaches,) as well as cotton and deerskin garments; they had maize and turkeys; their houses were well-built, of slabs and rocks and whitewashed inside; the province was well forested with pine and juniper.”

We imagined a small town nestled into the mountains. Yes, it sits on the summit of Abó Pass at an elevation of 6,500 feet, in the vast expanse of the high desert. The mountains were way behind us. Mountainair is a misnomer, though the air is crisp and the town catches the winds blowing in from the eastern New Mexico plain. It’s a quaint crossroads that keeps its frontier spirit alive. In the early 1900s it was also “The Pinto Bean Capital of the World,” when peak production filled over 750 train carloads of beans in one season. A 10-year drought in the 1940s forced farmers to become ranchers. The town had passenger rail service between 1907 and mid-1960s. The railroad is an important part of the town’s heritage and BNSF Railway now owns the old Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railway depot which is on the National Register of Historic Places. It’s a good spot to watch freight trains, many over a mile long, on the Southern Transcon route, pass by.

One block south of the main thoroughfare the Shaffer Hotel anchors a quiet corner. It has welcomed guests since “Mom & Pop” Shaffer built it in 1923 and decorated it with chandeliers, hand-carved vigas, and Indian art patterns painted on the walls and ceilings in bright primitive colors. The façade features four Navajo Whirling Logs, ancient symbols that represent wellbeing, good luck and protection, but unfortunately, they are often misinterpreted as nefarious swastikas. During the Depression the hotel claimed itself to be “The Most Unique Hotel in the World.” The hotel boasts a colorful history and one on legends tells of the time when Mom fired a shot at Pop when she found him in the arms of another women. She missed, but the bullet is still lodged in the ceiling above the stairs. The marriage continued. Mom died before she got to kill him.

Mr. Shaffer lived on to become a well-regarded creative wood sculptor, using twisted roots and branches from local juniper trees to carve imaginary beasts. Eleanor Roosevelt arranged an exhibit of his unique folk-art in Washington, D.C. An unusual rock-inlaid fence that Pop built still surrounds the side yard of the inn. At the Mustang Diner good food and, surprisingly, bottomless cups of coffee (star****’s is a foul word in my vocabulary) were a welcome break.

Gas stations are far apart out here, and Mountainair will be your last opportunity to fill the tank for many miles. From Mountainair we could have driven south to Gran Quivira, but it would have been a sixty-mile roundtrip, so we chose to save it for another time.

The views across the high desert were endless as we headed north on NM-55 to the Salinas Pueblo Missions National Monument Quarai Unit. To the east white puffy clouds raced across the sky. We turned west and drove into the rain. The storm was clearing by the time we stopped at an old church in Punta de Agua, not far from the Quarai mission, that dates from the 1860s.

A sign at the entrance warned visitors to stay on the paved trail to avoid rattlesnakes. It was an easy one-mile loop that took us through the church ruins and mounds of the fallen pueblos before circling back through a forest and picnic area. Four massive centuries-old logs still firmly held the weight of the thick stone wall above the church entrance. The scale of the church was immense, and the ruins towered above us.

The three Salinas Valley missions share similar histories, but there is an interesting side note to the Quarai mission. It served as the seat of the Spanish Inquisition in Nuevo México during the mid-1600s. A Spanish Inquisition panel consisting of three priests would send abusive encomenderos, (Indians did have certain rights under Spain’s complex laws), and mis-guided priests guilty of liaisons with native women, back to Mexico City for trail. The women would be sent to Santa Fe to be whipped by civil authorities.

The Quarai mission also had an unusual square kiva built within its walls, but there are not any historical references to why this shape was used. As with the one in Ado it’s thought that the kiva’s location within the walls of the mission represents the church’s syncretic approach to teaching the Puebloans the gospel. By the 1630s, there were 25 mission districts encompassing 90 pueblos in northern New Mexico, with 50 friars trying to convert nearly 60,000 Indians.

The good condition of the ruins today are the results of repairs and stabilization projects started in the 1930s by the Depression era Work Projects Administration, WPA, under the guidance of the Museum of New Mexico.

Our route back to Albuquerque traversed many isolated hamlets without many amenities. Coffee and food was a thing of the past until we reached Duke City. But we did pass several nicely done religious murals along the way in Manzano and Chilili.

The mural on the side of San Juan Nepomuceno Church in Chilili looks like it’s a scene from a Spanish Iberian village and we questioned the choice of a scenic river and bridge as a background, only to realize later that, behind the church, we had in fact crossed over a bridge that spanned the Canon De Chilili, and left centuries behind.   

Till next time,

Craig and Donna

Madeira: Pico Ruivo, Santana & Faial or Summits, Valleys and Stones

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We imagine it’s possible to enjoy a full week pleasantly wandering the quaint streets of old town Funchal, basking in the sun and swimming in front of Forte de São Tiago, while venturing no farther afield than the Monte Palace Tropical Garden.

But the real beauty of Madeira lies in its rugged seascapes and mountains. The mountains admittedly aren’t that tall if you compare them to the Swiss Alps or American Rockies.

The highest, Pico Ruivo, reaches 6100 feet, nearby Pico do Areeiro is a tad shorter at 5,965 feet, and you can drive to its summit. A popular though arduous trail connects the two summits that are often above the clouds. In January and February, the sub-tropical island’s peaks can be snowcapped, and parents take off from work to bring their kids into the mountains to make snowballs and snowmen. There really aren’t foothills before the mountains. They appear to have been thrust violently upward from the earth’s crust like a knife thrower targeting a loaf of bread. They are tremendously steep and majestic, and you can experience them up close through various hikes or simply driving across the island’s numerous switch-back roads. Madeira in many aspects is similar to California, with a landscape where it is feasible to experience mountains and ocean in the same afternoon. On Madeira though it’s within the same hour.

The weather constantly changes on Madeira. The opposite of what’s forecast quite often is what happens, as it was the morning we looked up at a small patch of blue sky, teasing us with a shaft of sunlight while we waited in the parking lot atop Pico do Areeiro for our small group of intrepid hikers to gather. It was also a good twenty degrees chillier than Funchal and we quickly layered up. The clouds descended. A light rain began. Rain ponchos appeared. Visibility was 100 feet. Not the best conditions, but it was a non-refundable tour and our international group of seventeen stoically set forth into the clouds.

Commonly known as the “Pico to Pico” or the PR1 hike, it’s a semi-difficult 5-mile trek with a 1000 ft altitude gain. The route balances across narrow ridgetops and follows cliffside trails, climbs steep stairs and ladders, and passes through narrow rock-hewn tunnels before summiting Pico Ruivo. It then descends to the Achada do Teixeira parking lot for the return shuttle to Funchal. The path is improved in many sections with cobbled pavers and hand railing, but in other parts it was a muddy, puddled mess.

With the rain the trail was slippery and slow going. Unfortunately, the low cloud conditions didn’t allow for spectacular panoramas. But even with the dismal weather we were able to capture some photos that are evocative of the day. Spotting the well named red-legged partridge was a highlight of the trek. If you choose to do this hike, be prepared, wear sturdy shoes or hiking boots, bring extra clothing to layer up, plenty of water and lunch. Personally, I think this hike is too strenuous for older folks, especially if you are an inexperienced hiker. Back at our hotel, glasses of Madeira helped alleviate our chill.

We continually drove back and forth over the mountains. Many times, we partially retraced a previous route only to turn onto narrower country lanes and zig zag to a miradouro or destination that beckoned for a photo op. As birds fly, the distances are short around the island. Not so with the roads.

The Museu Família Teixeira was one such detour. It’s an interesting family museum that displays the older way of life on the island. One fascinating piece was the old wooden grape press on display, which looked like an ancient Roman catapult, more capable of destroying fortress walls than crushing wine grapes. The grounds of the family estate are also exquisitely landscaped as a living memorial garden to a lost son.

Afterwards we worked our way along the backroads through Faial to Santana then headed west down a long single lane road that eventually ended in the Parque Florestal das Queimadas. The full parking lot was quite the contrast to the desolate road we had just traveled.

Beyond the parking area there was a picnic area in a fairytale-like grove with two quaint thatched cottages, the smaller one serving as a snack bar. This is the trail head for the PR9 Levada do Caldeirão Verde, one of the easiest and flattest levada walks on Madeira that ends at a hundred-foot-tall waterfall cascading into a natural amphitheater. Unfortunately, we only followed the path next to the irrigation channel a short way before a sudden downpour turned us back.

Later that afternoon we drove down a well-worn track that followed the shallow Ribeira de São Jorge through a rugged narrow gorge. The road ended just before a footbridge that led to a freshwater lagoon, created by the river’s rushing water, just shy of the ocean. Above the lagoon was a restaurant with outside tables around a pool that had nice views of the surrounding hills and the sea.

Some of the first sugar mills on the island were built in this valley during the early 1500s. It was a good location with an abundant source of river water channeled into the mills to spin their grindstones. The king of crops was eventually dethroned and today all that remains are the Ruínas de São Jorge, Ruins of St. George – a few stone walls, and an arched portico that faces the sea.

Driving back to Funchal at the end of the day, the coastline at Faial called for some last photos we couldn’t resist.

There’s a countless number of miradouros on Madeira and it was so tempting to turn at each sign indicating a view. But leaving a few unexplored provides a good excuse to plan a return to this spectacular paradise.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Madeira: Sao Vicente, Porto Moniz & the Fanal Forest – Mountains, Waterfalls and Waves

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Often, we started our mornings at Forte de São Tiago on Funchal’s seafront to watch the sun rise over the ocean. But turn around and fog could be rolling down the slope of the hills above the city. The weather can be fickle on this mountainous, beautiful island. Though with its numerous microclimates created by the rugged terrain, it would usually be sunny someplace. A fifteen-minute drive in any direction and the weather could be totally different, as was often the case.

While it’s possible to enjoy an entire stay on the sunnier and dryer south side of the island, where Funchal is located, the dramatic mountains and deep valleys of the interior, which stretch the length of the island and the northern coast, are spectacular destinations.

As rugged as Madeira is, man has left his mark on the landscape with terracing and irrigation channels, called levadas. They’ve been an integral part of island life since 1420 when the first settlers were recruited to the uninhabited island, and impossible to avoid. With a landscape covered with virgin forests, experienced lumbermen from the Minho region, farmers and terrace builders from the Douro valley, and fishermen from the Algarve, all seeking better fortunes, were recruited to the island by the promise of land if they worked it for five years.

With a plume of black ash rising from it, Madeira from the sea must have looked like a volcano erupting. Slash and burn fires started to clear the land reportedly lasted for seven years. By the mid-1400s, soil erosion became a problem; largescale slash and burn fires were prohibited and cleared land on the slopes had to be terraced immediately. The felled trees were a valuable export to ship builders in Europe. The enriched soil from the fires was perfect for the introduction of sugar cane, which quickly became the island’s main export. Slaves from west Africa were brought to the island to sweat out this economic expansion.

To support the expanding villages, hamlets, and agricultural terraces, narrow irrigation channels called levadas were arduously cut into the mountains to divert water around the island, from the wet northern side to the dryer southern side. Their water was also used to turn the waterwheels of the first lumber, flour, and sugarcane mills on the island. Close to five-hundred miles of levadas cover this mountainous island that is roughly thirty-four miles long and fourteen miles wide.

Madeira wine replaced sugarcane when Madeira lost market share to the larger sugarcane plantations of Brazil and the Caribbean. Madeira’s a small island with a large agricultural punch. Today it’s well-watered terraces support wine grapes, banana and flower exports to Europe, as well as the cultivation of other exotic fruits like custard apple, passion fruit, tamarillo, avocado, papaya and mango.

The clouds were slowly being torn apart. Shafts of light dramatically illuminated the valley as we drove north across the island to Sao Vicente. It’s a compact village centered around its church. Nearer the ocean, we explored an ancient lava tube that led down to the sea.

Surf pounded against a rocky beach across the road from a truly amazing bakery, Padaria do Calhau. Something we didn’t expect to find, but if you need an excuse to visit, a coffee and pastry at Padaria do Calhau should suffice. Heading west, just outside of town and before you enter a tunnel, the Cascata Água d’Alto tumbles down next to the road. Unfortunately, there is not any convenient parking here.

Following the ER101 west towards Porto Moniz there were a number of beautiful waterfalls on the way. First the Córrego da Furna waterfall will be on your left and has a small, unmarked parking area across from it. Then just past the picturesque village of Seixal with its black sand beach, there is the Cascata da Ribeira da Pedra Branca on an old coastal road.

But farther along the most iconic of all of Madeira’s waterfalls is the Véu da Noiva, or bridal veil. It’s a beautiful waterfall that tumbles over a rockslide that permanently closed a section of the old coastal road. It’s a popular stop with plenty of parking, that’s perfect for lingering.

Before Porto Moniz the longest river on Madeira, the Ribeira da Janela, empties into the sea over a rocky, boulder-strewn beach. Tall, eroded sea stacks stand like sentinels amid a crashing surf only a few yards from the shore. We had lost the sun by this time, but the seascape was just as dramatic, nonetheless.

Madeira’s shoreline is very rugged; most of its beaches are pebbly rather than sandy. Then there are spots where over the eons the waves have eroded away the volcanic rock and created natural rock tidal pools along the coast.

Porto Moniz at Madeira’s northwestern tip is a popular destination for swimming safely in these coastal pools, set dramatically against a background of crashing waves. The pools have been enhanced over time, with steps into the water, sidewalks between swimming areas, and some areas being dammed to create deeper pools. There is modest entrance fee of 1.50€ per person, but it’s one of the best bargains on the island.

After a late lunch we retraced our route to Ribeira da Janela and followed a narrow secondary road over a stone bridge and through the small hamlet of pastel-colored homes set against verdant fields, into the cloud-shrouded mountains.

Whether it was cloudy or foggy we’re not sure, but it was perfectly misty as we pulled into the parking area for the Florestal do Fanal. Roughly 37,000 acres of primal laurel forest, and open woodland, the largest in Europe, it covers the mountainside 3500 feet above sea level. A short walk into the woodlands set us in an atmospheric wonderland of huge windblown trees with gnarled twisted trunks and crooked branches, covered with moss and lichens.

Other hikers and wandering cows vanished into and reappeared out of the mist as we wandered through the silent woods. Mysterious, eerie, or benignly moody are apt descriptions for this intriguing laurel forest that is a photographer’s delight.

Driving back to Funchal we crested the ridgeline of the mountains that divides northern Madeira from the south and suddenly we were driving above the clouds.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

MadeIra: Pirates, Wine & Flowers or Everywhere There’s a Miradouro!

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“Could you recommend any restaurants for lunch?” The young car rental agent seemed surprised, at first, that we asking her opinion. “Where are you staying. What do you like?” “In the center of Funchal. Meat, fish, we enjoy everything,” I replied. “Hah, most places in Funchal will be closed for the mid-afternoon break by the time you reach town, but nearby, though it’s in the opposite direction, there is Restaurante Snack-bar Frente Ao, one of my favorite places.” And so, our Madeira adventure began with a delicious lunch in a no-frills local place. Tasty grilled limpets in a buttery garlic sauce started our meal. A traditional Polvo a Lagareio, baked octopus with potatoes, and scabbardfish served with fried bananas followed. It was scrumptious, heavenly, you get my point, it was really GOOD!  Outside, planes flew close to the water on their final approach to FNC, across a panorama of the coast that stretched all the way to the headland of Ponta de São Lourenço.

Our first short drive to the restaurant revealed a verdant, lush tropical island bursting with flowering plants, and mountainous with steep ravines that descended into the ocean, like the radial arms of a spider’s web, from a central ridge that runs the length of the island. Colorfully painted homes with red tiled roofs dotted the countryside like swathes of pigment in an impressionist painting. There are few direct, only circuitous routes, where even the bridges and tunnels, some almost 2 miles long, curve to follow the contour of the land. Banana groves large and small dotted every plot of land between the homes that covered the hillsides. Three vintage cars zoomed by.

Portuguese sailors blown 300 miles off course by a violent storm as they explored the west coast of Africa in 1418 discovered a small uninhabited island, with a sheltered anchorage, where they rode out the storm. In thanks they christened the island Porto Santo, Holy Harbor. They noted in a ship’s log that on the western horizon a “dark monstrous shape loomed.” A year later they returned. Wood, madeira, from its virgin forests was the island’s first exports. The trees were so tall and straight that they allowed the Portuguese to design larger, sturdier ships, which Vasco da Gama’s fleet used to sail to India in 1497.

Felling trees for export opened the hillsides for extensive terracing of the lower slopes in the mid-1500s, when sugar cane became the prized export. Later grapes were introduced, and Madeira wine was born. Both crops thrived with irrigation provided by an extensive series of arduously cut, narrow channels called levadas, which traverse the rugged terrain and divert water from mountain streams to the agricultural terraces across the island. Their water was also used to turn the waterwheels of the first mills on the island. Close to five-hundred miles of levadas cover this mountainous island that is roughly thirty-four miles long and fourteen miles wide.

With Madeira wine came the English, who believed that fortified wines improved with age on long ocean voyages. Sailing to their various colonies in the Americas, English naval and merchant ships would sail south from England to catch the trade winds blowing west off Morocco. Fortuitously, Madeira was a well-placed port of call to resupply. With full sails and barrels of Madeira wine in the ship’s hold, they’d reach the Caribbean in a month’s time. Farther on, in their New England colonies, members of the Continental Congress toasted the signing of the Declaration of Independence in 1776 with Madeira wine. While being notoriously at odds with Spain for centuries, the Brits and the Portuguese have the world’s oldest alliance which stems from the Treaty of Windsor in 1386 and was fortified, port glasses raised, with the marriage of King John I of Portugal to a daughter of John of Gaunt, Philippa of Lancaster. This treaty of mutual support has lasted over 630 years. Cheers!

Captain Cook and Charles Darwin both visited at the beginning of their explorations. Napoleon in 1815 stopped for a final supply of Madeira wine while enroute to his permanent exile on St Helena. With the advent of steamships, Madeira became a destination for the well to do of Europe. Before the quay was constructed, historical photos show merchants rowing long boats laden with supplies out to ships anchored in the harbor, and returning with visitors to disembark on Funchal’s rocky beach. Doctors recommended its good fresh air for patients convalescing from tuberculosis. Winston Churchill visited in 1950, painted seascapes and stayed at Reid’s Palace, a Madeira institution since 1891 that still serves afternoon high tea.  He left the island with a reputation that it was for stogey old folks, that remained for decades.

But with Portugal joining the European Union in 1986, it enabled a massive investment in infrastructure that united all parts of the island that were previously inaccessible by overland routes. The small island now has over 100 tunnels and bridges, along with seven cable car routes scattered around the island. Across from the cruise terminal at the base of Santa Catarina Park, there is a relief statue set into a granite embankment that commemorates the men who toiled to build the island’s tunnels and terraces.

Flat land is a rarity on Madeira, as is landfill, the lack of which required the airport runway extension in 2000 to be uniquely expanded over the ocean on 180 concrete columns, each of which are 230-foot-tall, for a total length of 9,000 feet. It felt like we were going to land on an aircraft carrier. Fifty-eight cities in twenty-one countries now have direct flights to the island. Cruises to the island continue to be popular and in 2022 Madeira was voted by the World Cruise Awards the Best Cruise Destination in Europe. Madeira has now reinvented itself into a destination packed with outdoor activities that include sailing, whale watching, surfing, paragliding, scuba diving, and mountain hikes for all levels of fitness.

Our hotel, São Francisco Accommodation, was a modest three-star hotel centrally located in Funchal’s historic old town. The big pluses for us were its elevator, underground parking lot across the street, and its location. The most interesting parts of Madeira’s capital city were within walking distance of our lodging. We were set for the week!  We chose to stay in Funchal because it is the island’s largest city, with enough things to do locally so we wouldn’t feel the need to go elsewhere. The car was for day trips to explore the rest of the island.

One afternoon we were drawn down the street by the sound of classical music flowing from the park around the corner from the hotel. Folks casually filled a small amphitheater in the midst of a manicured garden. Next to the bandstand a small kiosk offered a table.  We ordered drinks and enjoyed the afternoon entertainment. At the bottom of the park people mingled around a line of classic cars parked along the street.

Delightfully, Madeirans out of necessity have inadvertently created a sub-culture of serious vintage car enthusiasts. Importing cars to the island has always been very expensive. Consequently, automobiles have become family heirlooms. Many of them are passionately maintained or restored and passed down through the generations. So common is the practice that over 800 vintage cars are registered on this small island. Their enthusiasm is celebrated each year with the Madeira Classic Car Revival, a three day event that culminates with a race along the Praça do Povo waterfront every May.

Several mornings we were up before dawn to walk along the waterfront in search of the ultimate sunrise shots with the unpopulated islands Selvagens and Desertas silhouetted on the horizon. We were not disappointed.

There were numerous interesting photo opportunities from the marina to Forte de São Tiago, which was built in the early 1600s in response to two brutal attacks by pirates. French pirate Bertrand de Montluc assaulted the town in 1566 with three ships. Mayhem ensued as his cut-throats   rampaged and plundered the streets for fifteen days. Then Barbary pirates with eight ships ransacked Funchal in 1617 and took 1200 people back to Algiers as slaves. Now, under the ramparts of the fort, pensioners enjoyed ritualistic morning swims along a peaceful, pebbly Praia de São Tiago.

Around the corner from the fortress at the Miradouro do Socorro, a pretty arbor frames the view of the sea and the Complexo Balnear da Barreirinha, a waterfront day resort where you can rent a lounger and swim in their pool or the sea. Across the street the Igreja de Santa Maria Maior, a small parish church, serenely graces the neighborhood.

Heading back into town we walked along the Rua de Santa Maria, a narrow alley known for the uniquely painted doors on homes, galleries and restaurants that line the street.  To see many of the doors you have to visit the street early before the shops open them for the business day.

In front of the Mercado dos Lavradores, the town’s old central market, there is a bronze statue depicting a merchant driving a team of oxen pulling a flat wooden pallet loaded with barrels of wine. Versions of these toboggans fitted with wicker chairs were called Carro de Cesto. Until roads were introduced in 1904 to accommodate the first cars brought to the island, this was the preferred downhill method of public transport, as a wheeled cart might run away uncontrollably if there was a mishap.

Today, at the steps before the Nossa Senhora do Monte Church, toboggans filled with tourists are pushed downhill by two men, Carreiros, donning wicker hats and traditional white outfits. Hold on, the steep serpentine course is over a mile long and the sleds can go almost 25 miles an hour! There are no brakes, only the special, rubber-soled shoes the carreiros wear, and stopping is accomplished by dragging their feet along the road to slow the toboggan. It’s a popular activity easily combined with a cable car ride from the Funchal waterfront to the Monte Palace Tropical Garden.

Though when we visited we chose to use our car instead of taking the cable car to Monte. We didn’t realize when we started but the google map route we followed to the garden was up one of Funchal’s steepest streets. The Caminho de Ferro takes its name from the old funicular train tracks upon which the road was paved. It runs for two miles straight up a hill with a twenty-five-degree slope and gains nearly 2000ft in altitude. I was doing fine driving uphill in second gear until we encountered a semi-blind cross street that did not have a stop sign, only a large traffic mirror. This was something I hadn’t encountered before, so I came to a complete stop. The incline of the road was very steep at this point, and I had difficulty getting the car moving again without rolling back too far. Ultimately after several frustrating minutes I rolled the car back perpendicularly to the road, got the car in gear and powered slowly through the intersection. Fortunately, there is very little car traffic on the side roads in Funchal and we lucked out in finding a parking space near the garden. The return route into the city center, down streets so narrow it required pulling the mirrors in, was equally challenging.

In the 1700s the hillside that the garden covers was a private estate with a small chateau. Later it functioned as a grand luxury hotel. In 1987 the entrepreneur Jose Manuel Rodrigues Berardo acquired it and transformed it into a serene Japanese themed botanical garden and opened it to the public. It’s a beautiful tranquil landscape, but it’s best to arrive early or late to avoid a crowd. There is also collection of contemporary Zimbabwean stone sculptures from the 1960s and a cave created to display a spectacular mineral collection gathered from around the world.

Slightly smaller and lower on the slope the Jardim Botânico da Madeira is also worth a visit to experience its stunning formal garden with a view of the Funchal coastline, and paths that weave through various plantings. There is also a nice cafe with a terrace that has one of the best views of Funchal.

However, if you enjoy orchids the place to head is the Quinta da Boa Vista. It’s a quirky plant nursery that has been operated by several generations of the Garton family and has hundreds of different orchids. As we entered the first greenhouse, an eager attendant waved us over and encouraged us to smell a delicate plant she was holding. An Oncidium Sharry Baby, it had a delicate chocolate aroma. It was delightful. With two stunning botanical gardens in Funchal and smaller ones seeded around the island, Madeira justly earns its nickname as “The Floating Garden of the Atlantic.”

Earlier we had spotted the hulking edifice of the Fortaleza de São João Baptista do Pico. A 17th century stronghold, it was built high on a hill, 350 feet above Funchal’s waterfront to deter pirate attacks. It’s a wonderful destination within town, with a nice children’s playground and café outside the fortress battlements. The view out over the city and ocean was spectacular.

Other mornings we explored closer to home heading to the Igreja de São João Evangelista, on Funchal’s central plaza. Built by Jesuits in 1629, it is known for the fusion of its Mannerist exterior with a lavish Baroque interior.

We climbed to the church’s roof for an exceptional view of the old town. Funchal’s City Hall is adjacent to the church and has a stately courtyard centered around a unique fountain depicting Leda and the Swan. An odd choice we thought for decorating a municipal building.

But Funchal is very supportive of public art and we passed many interesting sculptures along our walks. The historic old town with its cobbled lanes lined with centuries old buildings and churches was a delight to explore.

One morning we photographed small boats leaving the port at sunrise from Parque de Santa Catarina, which commands a bluff across from the cruise terminal.

From the park we walked along Rua Carvalho Araujo up into São Martinho, an upscale area anchored by Reid’s Palace. Occasionally we popped into the hotels that faced the water to check out their views.

But there is more to this island than just Funchal, so we hopped in the car for farther explorations west along the coast. Our first day trip was on a Saturday afternoon to Câmara de Lobos, famous as a favorite spot for Winston Churchill to paint. A newly married couple was taking wedding photos amid the colorful small boats pulled ashore as young children splashed and played with their dog in the shallow surf  that splashed against the boat ramp.

Parallel parking on a steep incline was challenging, but it’s a skill that’s required on Madeira, and came in handy when we reached the Cabo Girão Skywalk, one of the highest cliffs in Europe. Relatively close to Funchal, this is a popular destination and there was actually a traffic jam as cars and buses creatively parked. This glass bottomed miradouro seems to hover miraculously over fertile fields that grow grapes and tomatoes nineteen-hundred feet below. Nearby the Cabo Girão cable car, originally built to help farmers bring their crops up from the fields, can whisk you down to a secluded beach. We have a healthy fear of heights and instead continued on.

I wasn’t fast enough with my camera to grab a photo of a paraglider swooping low over our car as he landed along the stoney beach at Cais da Fajã do Mar. High above us a group of paragliders swirled on warm thermals and we waited for them to descend, but they kept floating back over the ridge.

We meandered farther west to the beach and harbor, dramatically wedged between ocean and mountain, in Estreito da Calheta.  This is a largely human-altered section of the coast with a breakwater protecting Praia da Calheta, created with imported sand, and harbor next to it. We ate lunch on the promenade across from the marina.

Heading back to Funchal later that afternoon we made a final stop in Ponta do Sol, and were able to find sanctioned parking in one of Madeira’s older, now decommissioned traffic tunnels. Walking out to a small headland we had late afternoon refreshments on a terrace with a brilliant view of the coastal village.

“Roll up your window.” “Wait, you’re not going to…” Yee haw! I yelled and we laughed while a thunderous cascade of water splashed off the roof of our car as we drove under the Cascade of Angels waterfall.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Along the Algarve Coast – Lagos, Carvoeiro & the End of the World

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Finally, the weather was improving as we headed south from Evora to the Algarve coast. We had hit an unusual week of rain in “sunny Portugal,” but the whole Iberian Peninsula had been experiencing a multi-year drought. So, it was good to know that some relief was in sight.

The sky was a refreshingly brilliant blue by the time we drove down palm-lined Av. dos Descobrimentos, along the Lagos riverfront, towards the ocean. On our left, Forte da Ponta da Bandeira stood, a silent sentinel still guarding Lagos’ fine harbor since the days of Henry the Navigator and the beginning of Portugal’s Age of Discoveries in the 1400s, when Lagos shipbuilders supplied fleets of caravels to explore the African coast, and later the Indian Ocean and beyond. In 1580,the fortress repelled the English privateer Sir Francis Drake, only to see him sail farther down the Algarve coast and sack Faro instead. Since antiquity Lagos has been an important trading port; Phoenicians established a settlement on the shore of the bay. Later Greek and Carthaginian seafarers visited and traded with the port.

The Romans came, conquered, and left the first defensive walls and a fortress along the cliff. Over the centuries its ruins have slowly fallen into the sea as the cliff face erodes. The only remnant of its existence is an arched bridge, too dangerous to cross, connecting the mainland to a rock pinnacle. Later Visigoths were succeeded by Moors until the Portuguese reconquest in 1241 permanently secured the port for Portugal. The road curved and climbed to the Miradouro Praia da Batata, where we parked and reveled in our first glimpse of the dramatically sculpted Algarve coast and its turquoise waters.

To our delight our accommodation at VI MAR – GUEST HOUSE was located within old town Lagos, just inside the massive defensive wall, which was expanded by the Moors in the tenth century and still encircles the town.

Our room was small, but it had a compact balcony that compensated for the lack of space and was the perfect spot for a morning coffee or evening glass of wine. The big plus was the location, only five minutes from the center of Lagos and just around the corner from MiMar, a great tapas restaurant, Padaria Central – a fabulous bakery, and MarLe Café for excellent coffees and a quiet place to chill. Our host recommended Casinha do Petisco, a small friendly and lively, family run restaurant famous for its cataplana de marisco (a traditional Portuguese seafood stew). We were not disappointed. Arrive right when it opens at 5:30pm if you’d like to be seated without making a reservation; after 7:00pm they are must.

One of our main reasons for choosing Lagos as a base for our five nights’ stay was the size of the town. Small enough to be manageable, yet large enough to be interesting. A walker’s and photographer’s delight within the old town. Plus the fascinating coastal rock formations of Ponta da Piedade and Praia dos Pinheiros were an easy twenty-minute walk away. We planned day trips to explore the coast, east to Carvoeiro and west to Sagres and Cabo de São Vicente.

At the end of October Lagos was quiet and beautiful, with daytime temperatures in the 70sF. With “walk a little then café” as our mindset we explored the old walled town, riverfront and on multiple occasions the trails and boardwalks along the ocean. The coastal rock formations were fascinating and kept revealing different fissures and crevices as the light kept changing throughout the day, though we thought the afternoon light was the nicest for photography.

The cobbled lanes of the historic district were uncrowded during the shoulder season and the ambience was wonderful amidst the palm trees and tiled facades of the buildings.

At the old Mercado Municipal de Lagos we were tempted by the bounty on display to buy “the catch of the day,” beautiful tuna from the fish mongers. On the top level a quaint small café overlooks the waterfront.

Farther along excellent street art decorated a store front awaiting reincarnation near a laundromat we were happy to use after washing clothes in various sinks for two weeks. It wasn’t Portuguese, but Poké Lagos served a delicious bowl of food as we waited for our laundry to finish.

In the evenings buskers performed in several plazas. One misty night a guitarist enthusiastically worked an appreciative crowd that kept growing and tossing coins into his guitar case. He must have sung for 90 minutes, breaking only to quench his thirst with a beer offered by a local waiter. Several times he announced it would be his last song. But the night was electrifying, and he played on. He proudly acknowledged his wife and young child in the crowd, playing for them as much as he was for us. He was, I imagine, in the ultimate musician’s groove, giving one of his best performances, and the folks who circled around watching and listening loved it as much as he did.

After several days of rough water, the wind and ocean finally calmed, and we spontaneously opted for a boat tour along the cliffs. Expertly timing the surge of the waves, our boatsman safely navigated us through tunnels and between rock formations.

At one point he looked high up the cliff face, waved and then yelled “hey Antonio!” to a lone fisherman wedged precariously on a ledge very high above the water. When asked why folks fish from the dangerous cliffs, our boatsman explained that only certain species of fish inhabit the zone where the bluffs meet the sea and that “Antonio, my cousin, thinks they taste better.” We saw this activity in several other places along the coast. Antonio wasn’t the only loco, maluco, fisherman.

The seaside town of Carvoeiro, with its homes built on cliffs encirling a small crescent beach and a boardwalk which follows the rugged coastline, was a destination one morning. One of the things we appreciate about Portugal is that, while gasoline is expensive, parking is free in most places. Even along the beautiful coast.

Parking near the Forte de Nossa Senhora da Encarnação we followed the Passadiços do Carvoeiro boardwalk atop the cliffs and back into town, stopping often along the way to take photos of the seascape before lunch at a shaded café. Although the temperature was comfortably cool, the sun was strong and frequent escapes to shady spots were required.

Afterwards we headed to Ferragudo, a small town, across from the busy port of Portimão, where the Arade River widens and meets the Atlantic Ocean. Two beautiful, wide sandy beaches with calm waters, the Praia Grande and the Praia da Angrinha front the tidal Arade River here. There are three relaxing restaurants along this stretch of sand to grab a beer and find some shade. The dividing point between the two beaches is the Castelo de São João do Arade. The castle was built in the 1500s to protect the important inland city of Silves from pirates, as the upper reaches of the Arade River were still navigable at the time. Over the centuries the fortress lost its relevance and was eventually abandoned and later auctioned off in 1896 to the Portuguese writer Joaquim José Coelho de Carvalho (1855-1934), who restored the cool digs into his summer residence. Years later the town of Ferragudo was unable to fund its transformation into a cultural center. Since 1998, the unique summer home has been owned by the Portuguese businessman Vasco Pereira Coutinho, who continues to use it as a private residence.

Just beyond the castle and the Praia da Angrinha the river juts to the right into a small, sheltered cove that fishermen have used for safe anchor since the Phoenicians. The harborside village, with whitewashed homes and narrow alleys that gently follow the contour of the hill, first appears on a Portuguese map of the Algarve coast in 1560.

It’s a picturesque harbor with boats bobbing softly on wind-blown waves. Quayside fishermen still piled their nets and pots, reminding us of its roots as a working village, but gentrification is slowly happening.

Driving home later that day we were delighted to spot storks resting in their nests before migrating further south to winter over on the African continent. Spontaneously we turned down a country road in search of more birds. We didn’t find any, but we happened across a historic moinho de vento, windmill, in Odiáxere. A nice surprise and something we would have missed if we had stayed on the main road.

Only an endless sky and sea filled the western horizon as we stood on the cliffs next to the Lighthouse of Cabo de São Vicente. The Atlantic Ocean stretched infinitely before us. In the time of Prince Henry the Navigator, this was the last frontier and filled with legendary monsters. Knowing the coast of North Africa can be seen from southern Spain, Henry sent his explorers south to follow the west coast of the African continent in the early 1400s, and later, when blown off course during a storm, Brazil. There was a high mortality rate amongst the sailors who ventured into the unknown. Fewer ships returned than set out.

But there was always the promise of riches and fame to be found. In 1484, in a plea to the Portuguese crown, Christopher Columbus pitched his idea of sailing due west, but maritime officials rejected it because they thought his estimate of distance to India was incorrect. In 1492 Spain was eager to match Portugal’s discoveries and accepted Columbus’ idea. One hundred and fifty miles east along the Algarve coast, just across the border with Spain, Columbus set sail from the river port of Palos de la Frontera.  For many millennia this barren land’s end, where the horizon swallowed the sun, was considered sacred. Today, near the lighthouse, a witty food truck vendor markets the “last hotdog before America.”

Fifteenth century fortresses dot the Algarve coast at every seaside port. While the Moors retreated from Portugal after their defeat during the Reconquista, Barbary pirates from Morocco, Algiers, Tunisia and Tripoli often raided ships and towns along the coast, taking mercantile goods and hostages. As a defense, Prince Henry ordered the unique Fortaleza de Sagres be constructed upon a narrow cliff-faced peninsula that protrudes like an index finger from the coast. From here you can look west and see the lighthouse of Cabo de São Vicente. The peninsula is flanked on both sides by two sandy beaches, Prainha das Poças and popular with surfers, Praia do Tonel. Only the entrance to the fort that divides the peninsula from the mainland is fortified across the narrow width of this windswept headland. The unscalable cliffs provided the bulk of the fort’s defense, or so it was thought. Though some how that thorn in every sailor’s side (if you weren’t English), Sir Francis Drake, returned to the Algarve Coast in 1587 when Portugal was under Spanish rule and raided the fort!

Without any natural harbor, the fishermen in the old village of Salema used to push their boats across the beach and launch their sturdy craft into the crashing surf, hop aboard and row further out into smoother waters.

Fortunately, lifting glasses of sangria to our lips was the only exertion required to enjoy the beach today. The once sleepy whitewashed village has transformed itself into popular tourist destination with many new villas built along the coast that take advantage of the gorgeous seascape.

Trails going east and west from the town’s central Praia da Salema lead to small isolated beaches. From the top of an actively eroding cliff face the ruins of Forte de Almádena loom over the crescent shaped Praia da Boca do Rio below. We freely roamed the ancient ruins, but well away from the roped off precipice that had already swallowed parts of the castle into the ocean. 

The weather along the Algarve coast changes quickly and our sunny day was cut short as we were mesmerized by a fog bank that slowly blanketed the coast. We took this as our  signal to return to Lagos and back our bags for the next part of our journey to Maderia Island.

Till next time,

Craig & Donna

Portugal Road Trip Part 6: South Along Portugal’s Frontier Castles to Evora

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Let’s face it, sometimes the weather just sucks! It was so abysmal we were tempted to stay wrapped in our blankets and sip coffee, but our travel plans dictated otherwise.  We try to avoid really long drives, but sometimes you just have to. Today was one of those days. Six hours of driving from Santa Maria de Feira across the country, west to east, to the Portuguese frontier. Stopping at Castelo Mendo then heading south to Sortelha Castle before reaching Castelo de Vide, where we would spend the next two nights. We had visited this region bordering Spain several years earlier, exploring Marvão, Monsanto and Castelo Branco, and found the quiet walled villages and hilltop castles intriguing and full of fascinating history.

Normally we like to use Google Maps’ “avoid tolls” filter, because tolls along with gasoline are excessively expensive in Europe. We’ve followed its suggested routes to some off-the-beaten-path discoveries; however, this time it doubled the length of the journey. So, we kept to the highways. In Lisbon we had asked the car rental agent about paying tolls which eventually boiled down to: you need to stop at any CTT Post Office, give the agent your car registration number and pay the tolls only for the dates you have rented the car. It was actually an easy and inexpensive process.

The intermittent rain had stopped, but a moody gray sky still hung over Castelo Mendo as we walked through the Portas da Vila, the ancient gate, guarded by two towers and two now well-eroded zoomorphic sculptures of wild boar, which are believed to date from an early Iron Age settlement. Solid two-story homes lined the way. The first floors, now shops closed for the off-season, were once used as barns for animals, while the upper levels were used as living space for the families. Our footsteps echoed down the hard stone alleys as we made our way to the hill where the castle once stood, we passed the communal oven, the pillory, and the portal to a foundling wheel (a turnstile where unwanted babies were anonymously placed. It was used until 1867.)

On the ruins of earlier Bronze Age and Roman fortresses a large castle, with six city gates and two rings of defensive walls and towers, was ordered built in 1229 by D. Sancho II. It must have been a sight to behold as the village was granted a charter to host an eight-day-long triannual fair. This was the first fair to be held on a regular basis in Portugal. The castle’s strategic importance was soon forgotten after the permanent border with Spain was established in 1297 with the Treaty of Alcanizes, and over time the immense walls were dismantled. The stones were carted away to build homes in the expanding and prosperous village. Now on the crest of the hill only the ruins of the citadel’s church remain standing.

We were navigating a switchback curve off of N324 which we had followed south from Castelo Mendo when we spotted the Castle of Sabugal high on knoll above the Coa River. Looking very impressive from a distance, we noted the castle for future travels. The weather too inclement to stop on the shoulder of the road to take a photo.

The storm had steadily worsened all afternoon. By the time we reached the Castelo de Sortelha it was raining “estava chovendo cães e gatos.” Fortunately, it was mid-week and every sane person was inside with their feet by the fire enjoying a glass of port. Except for this “madman,” which is how my loving wife occasionally refers to me.

I’ve always enjoyed weather and spent three years before retirement, as a mailman delivering mail in all sorts of weather. “Neither snow nor rain…” I was unfazed. Donna sat out this lunacy. But you never know if you’ll get a chance to come back! Tucking my camera deep under my coat, I ventured forth. I returned soaked. Really it was just an excuse for a double ration of Port that evening. To say the least, the photos are moody.

Fortunately, the door was quickly opened at A Burguesa Guesthouse and a friendly voice welcomed us with “Please come in, let me take your bags,” as we were ushered inside out of the rain. We know we’re getting older when the young receptionist at the guesthouse whisked our bags up the stairs two steps at a time. “Maybe I should start dying my grey?” “You might need to shave a few years off while you’re at it,” Donna replied jokingly with a smile. A few moments later the hostess returned with an umbrella and directions for parking our car which was blocking the narrow, deserted lane in front of the guesthouse.

“Follow the lane, anywhere around the plaza, the parking is free.” One of the things we’ve come to appreciate while driving through Portugal is that parking, outside of the larger cities, is relatively easy and free. Unlike Italy where you practically need to have a separate budget just to park the car. When I returned our hostess kindly offered to dry our coats for us, which we greatly appreciated. Originally a large family residence with a workspace on the lower level, A Burguesa was lovingly restored into a spacious inn featuring eight guest rooms, pool, terrace and views of the village’s castle.

Castelo Vide first came to our attention several years ago, when we were driving north from Marvao to Castelo Branco. Its red roofed, white stuccoed buildings and prominent castle covering a hillside looked so appealing we hoped to return. We did detour at the time to the Ermida de Nossa Senhora da Penha, a small chapel in a cork forest. Located high on a ridge opposite the village, it offered an outstanding view. If the weather is nice, it’s definitely worth a visit. Farther along there is still visible on this lane a section of old Roman road that crossed this region 2000 years ago.

Vide, as it was known before its castle was built, has been an important town since the Romans settled the area in 44 BC, when it was a vital stop on the trade route between Merida, Spain and the Atlantic coast. Eventually the Moors ruled the area from the 7th until 12th century. It wasn’t until 150 years after the Reconquista in 1310 that King Dom Dinis ordered a new castle built, and the growing town became Castelo Vide.

This castle is where King Dinis negotiated his marriage to his future queen, Isabel of Aragon. The castle still commands the hilltop today, though now the medieval fortress has been renovated into a museum and civic center. At the time we visited it showcased an interesting exhibit about Portugal’s Carnation Revolution in 1974, which ended a forty-year military dictatorship.

Seven hundred years ago the homes of the walled enclave that surrounded the castle keep represented a medieval who’s who of wealthy merchants influential enough to secure shelter behind the fortress walls. The intimate narrow passageways and ancient archways of this still inhabited enclave were intriguing to wander through.

On the slope below the castle, steep alleys spiderweb down the hillside. While it was a vigorous trek to the top, the descent was equally challenging, with the concern that if we lost our balance on the wet cobblestones, we would bounce downhill like soccer balls. I exaggerate only slightly. The ambiance of this neighborhood was equally interesting – flowers seemed to grow from solid rock in the crevasses between street and homes. On homes in this neighborhood, Gothic style granite casings still survived and framed many doors and windows. Some homes left doors ajar for family pets to wander in and out, or to share their parakeets’ songs with the neighbors.

We followed a lane across the slope to Sinagoga de Castelo de Vide, a residence before its use as a modest Jewish temple. It’s thought to be one of the oldest existing pre-expulsion synagogues in Portugal, that dates from the 13th century. It’s now a museum that chronicles Jewish life in the region. Vide’s Jewish Quarter expanded significantly after Spain expelled its Jewish citizens in 1492. While Portugal was more tolerant of their religion, they were still required to live apart and encouraged to convert to Christianity.

At the bottom of the Jewish Quarter, the Fonte da Vila, a marble sixteenth century Renaissance fountain, centers the village’s old market square. The mineral water flowing from it was renowned for allegedly curing a variety of ailments from diabetes to high blood pressure.

The narrow lanes of the old town eventually funnel into the Praça Dom Pedro V, a stately plaza featuring the town hall and Igreja Matriz Santa Maria da Devesa. These “newer” historic buildings and the homes on the surrounding wider streets date from the town’s prosperous 17th and 18th centuries.

While the interior of the town’s church is very modest, the old choir loft, balconies and bell towers have been converted into a simple museum displaying a wealth of ancient religious art and sculpture. If you have ever wondered what happens to the contents of all the small, abandoned parish churches you’ve driven past, here’s your answer. Well, hopefully they end up in a splendid museum like this one that has become the religious art repository for the region. A gem of a discovery and the perfect way to spend a wet afternoon for only 1€.

The next morning a favorable weather report promising sun encouraged us as we continued south to Evora. Only a few miles out from Castelo Vide we detoured for a quick stop at the Ponte Romana da Portagem. A modest four-arched stone bridge, built in the 1400s over an earlier Roman crossing, its tranquil location spanning the Sever River obscures a turbulent past. It was here that King John II of Portugal built a tower with a tollgate in front of the bridge to collect a tax from the Jewish people expelled from Spain. A small refugee camp grew along the riverbank for those who couldn’t afford the tax. It’s believed 15,000 Jewish refugees eventually crossed the bridge.

The high arches of an ancient aqueduct, the Aqueduto da Água de Prata, spanned our route into Evora. This was a critical infrastructure project in the 1500s when King John III ordered it built to relieve the near constant drought conditions of the city that was quickly becoming a center of commerce and education in the Alentejo region, with the establishment of the Colégio del Espiritú Santo, University of Evora, in 1557. Of Lisbon’s Tower of Belém fame, military architect Francisco de Arruda was chosen to design the aqueduct. The mammoth project stretched a formidable 11 miles from the Divor River through a series of tunnels and over elevated arches, some 85 feet tall, spanning valleys and plains, before bubbling forth in the public fountains across Evora. Seems “location, location, location,” has been a housing mantra for centuries and as available land within the walled city disappeared, homes and stores were built under the aqueduct’s arches.

We knew when we planned this trip that parking in Evora would be an issue, but we were fortunate to find The Noble House which had a limited number of parking spaces available for 10€ a day. It wasn’t going to break our budget and it was well worth the convenience for two nights. The 24-room boutique hotel, as its name suggests, was in the 1400s an aristocrat’s family home. The hotel has been meticulously renovated to a historical standard that kept many of the building’s original stone arches, azulejos tiles and vaulted brick ceilings in place. For the level of comfort provided, and the convenient location, it was a tremendous value. During the shoulder season rooms are often available for under 100€ per night, breakfast included.

Wandering through the ancient city, we were charmed by its ambience, and the way in which archaic architectural styles harmoniously blended. At the city’s center, Roman first century ruins of the Temple of Diana share the acropolis with the 14th century gothic Catedral de Évora, the largest medieval church in Portugal.

We climbed to the cathedral’s roof, the highest point in Evora, for brilliant panoramas of the city.

The cloister attached to the cathedral now houses a museum exhibiting the church’s ecclesiastical treasures, displayed in spaces that were once monks’ cells.

The Miradouro do Jardim Diana at the other end of the acropolis was a fine spot for a café break and also people watching.

Wine tastings featuring Alentejo vintages produced in the region surrounding Evora are a popular activity within the city. It’s not really our thing, but on the spur of the moment we stopped in the Ervideira Wine Shop, made a reservation, and returned later for a private wine tasting. Our knowledgeable host walked us through a tasting of five delightful Ervideira vintages. It was a very enjoyable experience and we purchased two bottles to accompany us to the Algarve.

Luckily, we were strolling along the arcade covered sidewalk that parallels Praça do Giraldo when the sky burst open with a sudden downpour. The timing was perfect as we had stopped in front of the Cafe Arcada, which was packed with locals eager to take part in its sumptuous lunch buffet. It’s definitely worth checking out and very budget friendly.

Walk a little then café is the philosophy we follow when exploring a city. With that in mind we continued the next morning to wander our way slowly towards the museum of the Igreja e Mosteiro de São Francisco and next to it – cue creepy music – the Capela dos Ossos, Evora’s Chapel of Bones.

“Nos ossos que aqui estamos pelos vossos esperamos.” It’s hoped this odd welcoming inscription, translated as “We bones that are here, for your bones we wait,” above the entrance to the ossuary will lead visitors to contemplate the ephemeral nature of life. Attached to the Mosteiro de São Francisco, the bones chapel was built by three Franciscan monks in the late 1400s as a way to respectfully reintern 5000 dead that were being exhumed from Evora’s overflowing cemeteries to make room for the newly departed. A wedding service was in progress at the Iglesia de São Francisco when we exited. Something old, something new. Life goes on.

Afterwards, we crossed to the municipal market and browsed amongst the vendors for some fruit, cheese, sausage and of course irresistible Portuguese olives for a picnic lunch in the Jardim Público de Évora, only a short walk away.

Heading back into the center of the historic district we passed the Igreja da Graça. This 16th century church has a unique façade that features four, very large-muscled Atlas figures sitting on the corners of the roof. We assumed the interior would be equally as interesting, but it’s not open to visits as it is currently used as a chapel for the Portuguese Armed Forces.

Back at the acropolis, we toured the Museum Frei Manuel do Cenáculo, named for the 18th century monk/archeologist who later became archbishop of Evora. It’s an eclectic collection featuring Roman and Visgoth antiquities gathered by Cenáculo, period furniture, and four centuries of ecclesiastical art from extinct churches of the region. It was a fascinating exhibit.

The weather was finally improving. We were ready to work on our tans. Tomorrow the Algarve.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

This website, The Historical Villages of the Portuguese Frontier might whet your curiosity to explore the region.

Portugal Road Trip – Part 5: Braga, Vila do Conde & Santa Maria de Feira

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My wife and I occasionally discuss the destinations we’ve enjoyed the most and which we’d enthusiastically like to return to. We can truly say we’ve enjoyed every place we’ve chosen so far, but aside from Italy, the land of Donna’s people, being a must, Portugal and Guatemala top the list. They are both wonderfully interesting destinations with fascinating locations and cultural events to experience. With budgeting an important consideration for our travels, both Portugal and Guatemala are pocket friendly destinations. But, with the Euro currently at a favorable exchange rate, Portugal is a tremendous bargain. Throw in the fact that the weather, cities, beaches, and countryside are beautiful, along with a welcoming environment, great food and wine, well we should really emigrate there.  Alas, we’ve never really wanted to be fulltime expats. We’ve opted instead for a return visit to this splendidly diverse country when an airfare deal appeared on our travel alerts.

The city of Braga first popped onto our radar while we chatted with a PSP officer at a Tourism Police Station in Lisbon several years ago as we filed a stolen a passport and wallet report. Conversing as he speedily typed away, asking how we were enjoying Portugal. “What are your plans after Lisbon?” “Drive north to Porto for several days,” we responded. “Ah! Nobody goes above Porto. It’s as if the country stops there. The Minho region of northern Portugal is beautiful with mountains and trees, very different than south of the country and the food is better,” he joked and smiled. “You should visit Braga.” The idea stuck. Later suggestions gleaned from the blog Beyond Lisbon, written by Cátia, who espouses the lesser-known destinations, traditions and delightful quirkiness of her country, helped inspire our route through northern Portugal. Armarante, Guimaraes, Braga then farther north to Lindoso, a stone’s throw from the border with Spain, before returning to the coast above Porto. Two days later our friendly policeman emailed to notified us that the passport and wallet had been recovered. Minus the cash, of course, but we were relieved.

The rain had finally stopped, and the sun was beginning to break through by the time we reached Braga, encouraging us to make a short foray into the centro histórico before ending the day at Bom Jesus do Monte. Braga’s main garden, the Jardim de Santa Bárbara, was surprisingly only added to historic city’s landscape in the 1950’s. A relatively modern intervention, it benefits from its location adjacent to the crenellated walls of Archiepiscopal Palace of Braga, that dates from the 14th century.  Four stone arches are the only reminders of a larger structure with a library containing many historical documents that was lost in an 1866 fire.

Important since its founding in 16 BC, as Bracara Augusta, where five Roman roads converged, Braga today is Portugal’s fourth largest city and a vital metropolis for commerce and education. The city has had a complex relationship with country since 1112 when Count D. Henrique and Countess D. Teresa donated the city to the Catholic Church, creating an ecclesiastical fiefdom that lasted until the 1700s. 

In 1128 the city/church was given the privilege to mint its own coinage as reward for supporting D. Afonso Henriques’ revolution against his mother, the Countess D. Teresa, for Portugal’s independence from Spain. Local wars occasionally erupted between Dukes and various Archbishops over the following centuries.

Count D. Henrique’s and Countess D. Teresa’s tombs are in the Braga Cathedral. The first cathedral built in Portugal, it was consecrated in 1089, inspiring the Portuguese expression “older than the Sé de Braga.” A courtyard scattered with centuries old architectural remnants funneled us into the Cloister of Santo Amaro, which now serves as a museum that displays the church’s vast treasury. The church’s Romanesque and Baroque styles coexist seamlessly after centuries of renovation. The interior is very transfixing with Baroque gilding and mirrored twin organs that seem to float above the central nave. 

It was approaching sunset when we arrived at Bom Jesus do Monte. The neoclassical church with its famous baroque staircase has become an iconic symbol of Braca, since its completion in 1811. Some pilgrims call it the sacred way, others the stairway to heaven. The devout will climb its 573 stairs to the sanctuary at the top on their knees. Each landing features a fountain and allegorical sculptures.

Our timing was perfect. Parking was easily available at the summit, the bus tours all gone for the day. Only a handful of folks remained, enjoying the beauty and tranquility as the sun set.

A north south transition day for us, we set off early to our first stop, the coastal town of Vila do Conde, on the Atlantic Ocean, just above Porto. As if by magic a tall stone aqueduct suddenly appeared before us, and it paralleled our route for quite a distance into Vila do Conde. We mistakenly assumed it was of Roman construction. We learned later that the 999 arches were built in the 16th and early 17th centuries to supply water to the Santa Clara monastery from a hilltop spring in Terroso, three miles away. Though the aqueduct could have benefitted from some Roman engineering after the first section was abandoned because the water flowed the wrong way. Later 46 arches collapsed during a storm.

One of the largest and wealthiest convents in Portugal, the Santa Clara monastery housed 100 nuns. It was founded in 1318 by Afonso Sanches, son of King Dinis and brother to King Afonso IV the Brave. The convent still commands a prominent hill above the city and is undergoing extensive restoration to become a Lince Hotel & Spa.

We were delighted to see the ocean again. Portugal’s lovely and easily accessible coastline is one of the reasons we enjoy the country so much. The town is graced with two beaches, Praia Azul and Praia da Senhora da Guia. Both are only a twenty-minute walk from the center of the town. But it was too cold and windy to enjoy the beach, so we walked along a riverfront park towards the old town. An ocean port city, Vila do Conde’s prosperity came from its shipbuilding industries during the Age of Discoveries.

Farther along we rested at a café across from the Praça da Republica, a beautiful park with brilliant flowers still blooming in October. Following the streets inland we explored the narrow lanes around the Igreja Matriz de São João Baptista which centers a plaza atop a small knoll in the middle of the historic district.

It’s a popular resting spot for pilgrims trekking the coastal camino route from Porto or Lisbon to Santiago de Compostela, Spain. From here we spotted the final length of aqueduct that terminated at the convent. We decided to investigate. 

The aqueduct towers over homes in this neighborhood located on the slope before the convent. Beyond them the crenelated walls of the convent’s Gothic church reflect the time it was built in the 1300s when Viking raids were a recent memory and Spanish invasion was a constant threat. The view of the red roofed city and riverfront from the miradouro next to the convent was spectacular.

Years ago we used to keep magazine and newspaper articles filed away as research for future travels. That slowly evolved to email folders with links to stories and computer bookmarks for favorite travel websites. Now Google Maps and Instagram feeds spark interest for places to visit.  That’s how the Igreja Matriz de Santa Maria de Válega with its colorful tiled exterior wall came to our attention. The church’s unique beauty earning it the nickname “the Sistine Chapel of Portugal.” A half-hour south of Porto, the church is located at the crossroads of Válega, a small rural farming community.

The church was not always this stately. Its history starts in 1150, when a wealthy family built a small private chapel above the ruins of an earlier temple. From 1288 to 1583 it was part of the Monastery of São Pedro de Ferreira.  In 1756, the Diocese of Porto started renovations and building expansions that would last over 100 years. Surprisingly, the tile façade and interior were relatively modern alterations that were installed in 1959, along with a ceiling crafted from exotic Brazilian woods. The exquisite larger-than-life tiles depict stories from the life of the Virgin Mary and other biblical scenes. They were crafted by the Aleluia Cerâmicas of Aveiro, a local company that still creates unique tiles for customers around the world. 

Although it’s an off the beaten path destination, it’s worth the effort to see this truly unique church. If it helps to influence your decision, Flor De Valega is a mouthwatering pastry shop a short walk away. You won’t be disappointed!

Our last stop of the day would be the Castle of Santa Maria de Feira, only twenty minutes away, before spending the night in the town below it. We arrived forty-five minutes before closing. How disappointing, because the castle looked intriguing and it was beginning to rain harder. A shortened visit would have to do. The line at the ticket counter wasn’t advancing as the lone ticket agent was busy selling souvenirs to a tour group that was just finishing a visit. Kindly, a security guard waved us along and we agreed to return in a certain amount of time and pay on the way out. The castle was fascinating.

The castle sits on the apex of a now wooded hill, in a beautiful park, though back in the Middle Ages the hillside was devoid of trees, giving the soldiers in the fort a better view of any approaching enemy.  This was the frontier, a war zone between Christian Spain, later Christian Portugal and the Moors. Twice in 1100 the castle was sacked by the Moors and then liberated by Portuguese forces. This borderland saw continual conflict until the Arabs were driven decisively from Coimbra, only sixty miles away, in 1139.  Large medieval trade fairs held next to the castle earned the village the distinction of being named Santa Maria de Feira. In 1448, King D. Afonso V gave the battle-worn castle to Fernão Pereira on condition that he repair the fortifications. “Hey Fernão, do I have a deal for you.” His modifications of thickened walls, a barbican, spired towers and a large keep with fireplaces and terrace still stand, and are what visitors to the castle see today. After a fire in 1722 the castle was abandoned and left to ruin. In 1839 it was bought by a private citizen at public auction. Serious rebuilding began in the early 1900s and it was reopened to the public in 1950.

To our surprise, the gate of the barbican was locked with a heavy chain when we tried to leave. Our hearts skipped for a moment when we thought we’d be sleeping overnight on the cold stone floor of the castle’s keep. The anxiety was relieved a few moments later when the guard returned from making his final inspection to ensure nobody gets locked in. Reminding him we still had to pay he smiled and waved us away, happy to end his day a little early and get out of the rain. Every August the town and castle host a ten-day Renaissance festival called Viagem Medieval that is regarded as one of the best reenactment events in Europe.

We hadn’t stayed in a hostel in years, but our private and modern room with ensuite bath at the boutique Hostel da Praça, in the historic center, was a bargain at €50. Parking was free at the municipal lot a short walk away.  As we walked across town to dinner that rainy night, the reflections from the old streetlights onto the cobblestones was evocative of the Middle Ages when the town’s nightwatchman lit torches hanging from sconces along the street.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Portugal Road Trip – Part 4: North to Amarante (They’re Obsessed), Guimares & Soajo

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Cresting the ridgeline that overlooks Mesão Frio, we left the vineyard-covered slopes of the Douro Valley behind us and headed to Armarante on roads lined with forests and fields. Crossing the bridge over the Tâmega River we viewed a beautiful scene reminiscent of a Romanesque cityscape painted by a 16th century Dutch master, uniquely different from the other Portuguese towns we had visited so far, the ambiance and architecture more northern European than Iberian. Surprisingly for Portugal, this historic town, one of the oldest in the north of the country was never centered around a castle, even though the site has been continually inhabited since its founding in the 4th century BC.

Colorful, whimsical pedal boats were beached on the riverbank, waiting for customers, as we walked along the path that followed the river into town. It ended in a parking lot full of craft vendors, at the foot of a grand triple-arched stone bridge that spanned the river. Here in 1809 the brave citizenry barricaded the bridge and repelled Napoleon’s Army for fourteen days during the Peninsular War, before their village was looted and razed. With a bag of freshly roasted chestnuts in hand, we strolled through the craft fair and came upon a grandmotherly woman with a table full of doces fálicos (literally “phallic sweets”) for sale. Bolos de São Gonçalo, Saint Gonçalo cakes were created and named after a beloved 13th century hermit, and the town’s patron saint, who slept in a forest cave for many years. Yep, boldly-sized penis-shaped baked goods! Best to just allow your imagination to run wild here and you’ll visualize them perfectly. It’s thought that this tradition originated from a pagan fertility ritual and was syncretized by the church to encourage more folks to follow Christianity. It’s nice to think some early church leaders had a good sense of humor.

I digress here, but it’s my blog and I’m occasionally irreverent. What’s the back story for such cherished tradition? While he bathed in a stream, was he happened upon by a group of women foraging for firewood? His manhood was suddenly legendary, the talk of the village. “I hear the hermit has a pretty good package.” “Yes, I saw him. He’s hung like a horse.” “Someone else said it hung to his knees!” And so, legends begin and grow. Did mothers, aunts and neighbors make idols of his manhood to encourage young newlyweds who couldn’t conceive quickly? Perhaps some women made a pilgrimage to his cave in the middle of the night in the face of their husbands’ inadequacy, thus ensuring the birth of an heir. What tales do mothers tell their daughters as they stand at their kitchen tables kneading the balls of dough? Could Amarante have been the inspiration for Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales?

At the foot of the bridge stands the grand Igreja de São Gonçalo. Yes, as if naming a pastry after him wasn’t enough, he’s also celebrated on January 10th, plus there’s a June festival in his honor. Will the sacrilege ever stop, we wondered with a smile.  Unfortunately, a military dictatorship came to rule Portugal in 1926. Not nearly as liberal as the early church leaders in Amarante, and definitely insecure in their masculinity, they outlawed the pastries and festival as “obscene and against public morals.” Like resistance fighters, the practice went underground and Bolos de São Gonçalo were made and exchanged behind bolted doors, in order to hide from the dreaded pastry police! Wait, I just make that up! The tradition was allowed again after the last dictatorship fell during the Carnation Revolution in 1974, which eventually led to Portugal becoming a democracy again. The June São Gonçalo Festival is now one of the most popular events in Portugal.

Dating from the mid-1500s, the interior of the church is known for its gilded pulpits and baroque altar. It also features an amazing organ held aloft by sculptures of fish-tailed giants. São Gonçalo’s tomb stands in a side chapel. His stone features have been rubbed smooth over the centuries by folks hopeful for love and marriage. The cloisters attached to the church have been renovated into the Museu Municipal Amadeo de Souza-Cardoso, which is dedicated to the works of many famous artists and writers born in Amarante.

Included amidst the artworks on exhibit are the “The Devils of Amarante,” two near life size, carved wooden statues of he and she devils, with exaggerated sexual features. They are thought to be of Nubian or Far East origin and gifted to the monks of the convent by a sailor or merchant returning from a Portuguese colony sometime in the 1600s. These beloved mafarricos, tricksters, were used by the monks to frighten their congregation before confession. To the horror of the monks, French soldiers dressed the devils in religious vestments and paraded them through the streets before putting the statues and the town to the torch in 1809.  The distraught friars quickly tasked a local craftsman to replace them. This troubled pair was then later ordered expelled from the walls of such a sacred institution by King D. Pedro V, The Hopeful, when he visited sometime in the mid-1800s. They were hidden away until 1870, when the Archbishop of Braga, José Joaquim de Moura, who thoroughly lacked a sense of humor, ordered them burned again! The Prior of the Convent didn’t have the heart to destroy this cherished pair, but ordered the male statue be castrated. A local wood sculptor was tasked with reshaping the she-devil to be less offensive. Somehow Alberto Sandeman, of port wine fame, discovered them and shipped them to London to promote his business. Outraged that their mafarricos were sold and their culture misappropriated, the citizens of Amarante waged a decades long campaign to have them returned. Finally, after much public anguish and through the intercession of the Portuguese Minister of Foreign Affairs, their return was celebrated with a parade through the streets and the crowd singing “Aí vem os Diabos!”, “Here come the Devils!” They are still celebrated every August 24th.

Crossing the narrow bridge, we were surprised that cars are still allowed to use it. We were in search of a café with tables overlooking the river. The cobbled lane seemed to be lined with every other shop window displaying various sizes of doces fálicos. Cocks, dicks, peckers, peters, schlongs, willies and weinies, from three feet long to bags of full of thumb sized ones for wedding shower gifts, and every size in between were proudly displayed, front and center. Does size really matter? Seems this quaint village is possessed and has been wrestling with this archaic question for centuries. Why is this religious monk associated with having a big one? Really, there must be something in the drinking water.

After our adventurous morning in Amarante, the afternoon in Guimarães seemed tame by comparison. The day was still mild, but the sky had greyed by the time we reached the Castelo de Guimarães. An impressive shield-shaped castle with eight towers and a massive keep at its center, it crowns a small hill. It was built in the mid-900s on the orders of Countess D. Mumadona Dias to protect the nearby town and monastery from Viking raids, which did torment northern Portugal in the 10th century, and Moors who were contesting the area. In 1095, when Portugal was still part of Spain, the King of León and Castile gave his daughter D. Teresa in marriage to the French nobleman, Henry of Burgundy, as a reward for his heroic efforts to drive the Moors from Northern Spain. The castle and lands extending to Porto were part of her wedding dowry. It is believed Teresa gave birth to Afonso Henriques in the castle. An advocate for Portuguese independence, he would later crown himself the first King of Portugal in 1139, establishing Guimarães as Portugal’s first capital, after defeating his mother who allied herself with the King of León and Castile, her father.

The Igreja de São Miguel do Castelo is set a short walk down the hill from the castle’s entrance. A rather austere medieval church, its floor is created of gravestones of ancient nobility. Their carved stone features have slowly been worn away over centuries by the feet of the faithful. It is also believed that Afonso Henriques was baptized here.

Farther down the hill stands the 15th century Paço dos Duques, Ducal Palace, with an exquisitely crafted cathedral ship’s hull ceiling. The former royal residence is full of exquisite renaissance era artworks, castle furnishings, and priceless items from the Far East. Large Flemish tapestries celebrating military victories hang on the walls. The collection represents the vast wealth flowing into the country from its far-flung colonies during the age of exploration. Portugal was at the time a superpower.

The Trovador City Guest House was our home for the next two nights. Set on a small square across from the historic district, it occupies three historic buildings which have been keenly modernized. For €43 a night in October it was a tremendous value, and we were able to use one of the hotel’s parking spaces on the square for free.

After dropping our bags in the room, we walked along cobbled lanes that twisted about through the old town. Narrow centuries-old buildings, many three or four stories tall with colorful Azulejo tile facades and shallow wrought iron balconies, lined our way. Our destination was the Padrão do Salado, a 14th century monument, then on to Largo da Oliveira in the Centro Histórico. It commemorates the Battle of Salado in 1340, when combined Spanish and Portuguese armies defeated a larger Muslim force in southern Spain. It’s an arched rectangular structure open on four sides. A stone roof shelters a tall cross with the Portuguese Coat of Arms at the base. 

Adjacent to it stands the Igreja de Nossa Senhora da Oliveira. In 949, the church was built as part of a Benedictine monastery financed by Mumadona Dias, the same Countess responsible for Guimarães Castle. She’s an interesting character in her own right. Refusing to remarry after her husband Count Hermenegildo González died, she ruled alone an area from the Minho River to Coimbra, which would eventually become the foundation of Portugal. Suddenly the square erupted into a cacophony of music, when a group of folk singers joined a group of accordion players and burst forth with song. We grabbed an open table on the plaza, ordered beers, and tapped along.

The next morning, we headed to see the espigueiros, stone granaries, of Soajo and Lindoso. These really are off the beaten track destinations in the far north of Portugal near the border with Spain. It’s a remote mountainous region that includes the Parque Nacional Peneda-Gerês, an area where wolves still roam. The sunny days we had at the start of our trip slowly evolved into rain showers, and then downpours. I hesitate to say unfortunately because we’ve been quite lucky over the years concerning adverse weather. It did slow us down a bit, and I do prefer blue skies in my photos, but moody works too. Oh, and there was that funky windshield wiper on our rent-a-wreck!

The vineyards that we became so accustomed to earlier in our trip disappeared in this corner of the Minho region. Thick forests that grew to the road’s edge were occasionally interrupted by verdant pasture lands. Turning off the N203 we followed the sign for Soajo down a narrow road that crossed the Limia River. Three loose horses grazed along the road’s edge, oblivious to our passing, their pasture and owner out of sight. Farther along, a large bull eyed us from his enclosure. Signs for hiking trails to two still-standing, ancient stone bridges, the Ponte Medieval de Ermelo and Ponte Romana, attest to the long history of the area. We parked in the municipal lot.

The unique stone granaries are perched dramatically atop a rocky outcrop behind the village’s school. From a distance the twenty-four stately stone structures, elevated several feet off the ground, could be confused for ancient sarcophagi of long dead Kings and Queens. The unique structures, now textured with lichen, were built to keep vermin away from farmers’ harvested crops. Evidently effective, several were still being used. Though they appear much older, the espigueiros were constructed in the 18th and 19th centuries.

The rain came down harder as we sought warmth and hot coffee at Seara Nova, the only café open mid-week during the slow season. “Ah, he’d like an Americano,” my request broadcast across the café with a smile to her pal stationed at the espresso machine. “As much as I try to convince him otherwise, he always does,” my wife apologized as she ordered a cappuccino. It’s not that I don’t enjoy an espresso, all the coffees in Portugal have been great, but they just don’t have enough liquid in them to satisfy my java cravings. And like the Brits with a proper cup of tea, I’m inspiring the uninitiated in how to serve a good cup of joe. Just top that cup of espresso off with hot water to the rim of the cup and its perfect. Smiles all around. I was not disappointed. Our two cafes and pastries came to less than €4. 

Warm again and relieved that the rain had stopped, we drove to Lindoso to see their espigueiros and adjacent castle. Here, about fifty granaries sit on a gentle slope that leads to the town’s castle. The castle’s proximity was an added bonus and we quickly scampered up the hill to investigate. It was built in the 13th century during the reign of Afonso III to defend Portugal’s northern frontier from Spanish invasion.

The border in fact is just a catapult shot away. It was renovated in the 1600s to include an outer star-shaped bastion defensive wall, with a moat and drawbridge, along with watchtowers and machicolations for pouring hot oil on any besiegers. Despite all those impressive defensive features, Spaniards captured it for a brief time. From its walls we watched a moody mist begin to fill the valley below.

We heard Braga calling.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Portugal Road Trip – Part 3: Everywhere a Miradouro – Into the Douro River Valley

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Portugal is blessed with wonderfully diverse landscapes, making it a challenge for photographers like us to actually make any forward progress in a timely manner toward our ultimate destination. As we were constantly tempted to divert and explore a photo opportunity.  Fortunately, after a time the backroads from Ucanha narrowed. Only teasing us with vistas quickly glimpsed, as if shuffling a deck of cards, between houses hugging the road that snaked down into the Douro River Valley.  Whetting our enthusiasm for the days ahead. To our surprise we occasionally passed snowflake signs warning of wintry conditions that sometimes encompass the region. Something we had difficulty reconciling with our sunny view of Portugal, especially since we were experiencing a splendidly warm stretch of fine October weather.

The gate to Casa Vale do Douro slowly swung open to reveal a steep long driveway, which abruptly ended atop the edge of a high retaining wall. It could have been used by Portugal’s Ski Jumping team for practice, if they had one. The view was glorious. Maneul, the charming owner, helped us with the bags to our room. Within minutes we were ensconced in chairs on our balcony. Savoring our glasses of wine and the view. One of the things we appreciate about vacationing in Portugal, during the shoulder seasons, is that it’s still possible to find marvelous accommodations for under €100 a night, that include breakfast. We’d be calling Casa Vale do Douro home for the next three nights.

Incredible scenery attracted us to the Douro region, and we were not dissappointed, especially with the views from our room which faced due east. Brilliant sunrises transitioned to the river valley slowly being filled with fog.

Each morning we watched mesmerized as this ghostly blanket slowly engulfed buildings, vineyards and eventually us as we stood on the balcony. By ten o’clock it had usually burnt off.

The small village of Mesão Frio was a short walk from our guesthouse and as luck would have it, market day. Being mid-October, it was a smaller affair than what we imagined takes place during the high season, but it was still interesting enough, with cheese, meat and vegetable purveyors, along with hardware tents and garden suppliers selling seedlings for fall planting. With a round of Portuguese cheese and jamon secured for a picnic lunch later it was time to enjoy our, “walk a little then café,” break. Afterwards we wandered from one end of the village to the other, along the village’s main lane bordered on one side with a wide plaza and lined with shade trees. At the far end stood the Church of São Nicolau.

Tradition believes that the church was ordered built by Queen d. Mafalda, wife of d. Afonso Henriques in the 12th century, but the thickness of the church’s walls hint that it was constructed in the 14th century. Eighteenth century remodeling left the Baroque and Rococo character that’s visible today.  Several ancient stone sarcophagi, trapezoidal in shape, dating from the Medieval era stood under a side portico.

Heading back through the village we entered the Igreja de Santa Cristina, its interior now modestly decorated after it was looted and destroyed by Napoleon’s army during the Peninsula War of the early 1800s. Leaving only one bell tower that still stands today. It’s attached cloister, dating from 1724, was originally dedicated to Franciscan friars until 1834 when all male religious orders were banned from Portugal and their properties confiscated by the state.

Leaving many original stone details in place the building has been wonderfully repurposed as municipal offices. The most interesting detail a “janelas de vinho” or wine window from which wine used to be sold. The Regional Tourism Board located in the cloister has produced a very comprehensive 54-page Douro Tourism Guide that is a great resource and available to download for free. Listing an astonishing 120 major viewpoints, along with wineries, festivals, lodging, restaurants, and activities throughout the valley. There’s enough wonderful information in guide to encourage multiple vacations into the area.

After coffee, we drove leisurely along the north side of the river, stopping frequently to take photos. Driving through Peso da Régua to Covelinhas, where we followed the sinuous road high up into the mountains.

Occasionally passing olive groves and fruit orchards, their novelty highlighted by being oddities in a sea of grapes, until we reached the Miradouro São Leonardo de Galafura. At an elevation of 2100 feet it’s one of the highest viewpoints overlooking the valley.

Hawks circled on the thermal updrafts below us. As far as we could see, waves of undulating vineyards covered the hillsides, their pattern like a stone thrown into a pond. The unbroken views from the miradouro seemed if we were flying.  

Highly recommended by our host we dined each evening in Mesão Frio alternately at Tasca do Zéquinha an intimate rustic eatery with a silhouette of a wine cask hanging above the front door. Inside was a small bar packed with regulars. With a smile one pointed us upstairs when he saw our dismay that it was standing room only on the street level. Upstairs we were pleasantly greeted in a small dining room of eight tables. We enjoyed lamb chops, a rare and outrageously expensive menu item in the states, but well priced here and delicious. Fully sated, we were pleasantly pleased with how inexpensive appetizers, a house wine, dinner, dessert, and coffee were. In the Douro Valley the wine choices are infinite, or fathomless and as much as we enjoy wine, we are not knowledgeable oenophiles and are content with most restaurant’s house wines. Which in our experiences have found to be very good. 

The next night we ate at Convívio. Honestly, I can’t remember what we ordered, but we thoroughly relished the meal and the house wine. Here the house wine was a bottle of Serro d Asno, which featured a humorous illustration of a donkey’s ass. I’m not sure if the waiter was secretly a radical protesting the invasion of tourists into the Douro Valley or expressing his discontent with something I did not say, ha ha, my mind wanders. The wine was very good. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to find it here in the states. For a change of pace we had dessert and coffee at Café Avenida, which features a tantalizing display case full of their divine homemade pastries. Staying open to 12AM, this quiet place is the ultimate experience for nightlife in Mesão Frio.

The waters of the Douro River rise in the mountains of central Spain, north of Madrid and flow of west for 557 miles before meeting the pounding waves of the Atlantic Ocean on the Portuguese coast at Porto. The famous region known for its production of Port, a fortified wine, encompasses 615,000 acres along 75 miles of river valley from the Spanish border to Mesão Frio.  

In September 1756 a Portuguese royal charter acknowledged the Douro River Valley as the exclusive region for the production of Port wine. Becoming the world’s first wine region to have a formal demarcation or DOC (Denominação de Origem Controlada).

Though renowned for its Port wines, today production is evenly divided with Douro table wines, which are gaining international recognition. Eighty different grape varietals, many native to Portugal, are cultivated in the region, but by far the most popular red grape varieties are Touriga Franca, Tinta Roriz, Tinta Barroca, Touriga Nacio, nal, Tinta Cao, and Tinta Amarela. While Rabigato, Viosinho, Malvasia Fina, Donzelinho, Gouveio, and Codega are the favored white varieties. Used alone to make full-bodied reds or delicate white wines they are also blended to create the beloved Port wines of the region.  Interestingly grapes growns for Port wine are planted on rocky schist areas while grapes grown for table wines favor a looser soil. The steep terrain of the narrow-terraced hills along the valley are no match for modern harvesting equipment, dictating that every September into early October the grapes are harvested by hand.

Small hamlets with parish churches of all different sizes are speckled across the landscape of the Douro Region. Picking one out on the map we headed to Cidadelhe for the Igreja de São Vicente. Built in the 1700s the stately baroque-style church is showing its age, with its textured graceful patina along with faded and peeling wood.

The backroads through the Douro Valley offered endless vistas of rolling hills and vineyards beginning to display their fall colors around every bend of the road. Fortunately, in October there were few cars or caravans on the roads and we able to stop often. With 119 official viewpoints in the region there’s and infinite number of photography worthy panoramas available just by pulling over onto the shoulder. The landscapes were endless. The fog intriguing.

We really didn’t have any solid plans for our time in the region. No must to this or that. Instead we chose, often remote miradouros on the map for our morning and afternoon destinations. The journey to reach them an integral part of the adventure.

We just brushed the surface of this alluring Douro Valley region. Hopefully, one day we’ll get a chance to return.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

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Portugal Road Trip – Part 2: For the Love of Guardrails

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To misquote RWE, “It’s the journey, but an interesting destination helps.” We left Tomar, destined for Piodão, one of the 27 Aldeias do Xisto, Schist villages, in the mountainous central part of Portugal. Only two and a half hours from Tomar, we rarely passed another car as we drove. Our route quickly transitioned to serpentine roads traversing rolling hills covered in eucalyptus and pine forest. Then the higher above the tree line we drove, an expansive vista of shrublands fielding heather, broom, carqueja and rosemary were revealed. Hair raising, twisting and turning roads would truthfully be a better description, made all the more unsettling because there seemed to have been a transportation department budget crisis, as in, they forgot to install guardrails on most of those mountainous roads! My wife’s knuckles were white from tightly grasping the “Oh Jesus” handle above her door. With all the gorgeous panoramas, they could have planned more miradouros for folks to safely enjoy the views from.

We are not novice mountain drivers, having taken many switchback roads to remote places on several continents, which has reinforced or belief in and appreciation for a nice sturdy guardrail when we see one.

This was also the day our moody rent-a-wreck of a car went psychotic, every warning light on the dashboard blinking violently in Portuguese, requiring us to pull over to check the vehicle. Reluctant to turn off the engine in such a remote area, we listened closely for any sounds of motor distress. The car sounded fine. We drove on. With a quick, blind left turn and an “Oh God!” we descended a steep single lane road on the far side of the village that eventually led us across terraced slopes to Casa da Padaria for the night.

With warm greetings and help with our bags Gorete, the innkeeper, showed us to our room. For many years, decades before its renovation, the inn served as the town’s bakery run by Gorete’s father in-law. She and her husband returned to the village and remodeled the original building into a small four-bedroom guesthouse. The bakery’s large brick oven still takes up one whole wall of the breakfast room, which also displays a huge dough trough and long wooden bread peels used to take the loaves out of the wood fired oven.

Schist, schist, schist, everywhere schist! Walls, roofs, cobbled lanes, terraces, everything in the village is built with this durable brown and grayish stone, from a distance giving it the appearance that it has grown organically from the earth of the box canyon that shelters cradles it.  Everyone’s blue doors and window frames are not the result of superstition to ward off demons or to bring good fortune, but a shop keeper buying many years’ worth of paint in only one color. It became tradition.  

Channeled narrow rivulets of cold mountain water run quickly between homes, under doorsteps and along the edges of walkways before cascading downhill into irrigation trenches for the terraced crops below the village.  Small fountains throughout the hamlet offer spring water for drinking and washing for some of the older homes that still might not have plumbing.   

Slowly exploring the village, we made our way to its central plaza for dinner at O Solar dos Pachecos and enjoyed delicious bowls of Moelas Guisadas a Portuguesa, stewed chicken gizzards. This dish might not be for everyone, but it is truly one of Portugal’s culinary treasures. The owner enthusiastically shared tidbits of information and pointed across the way to the only mailbox in this unique village for the 120 full-time residents left here. Pity the poor postman otherwise trying to figure out the twist, turns and stairways of the hamlet’s ancient lanes. Surely everyone gets to know one another this way with the mailbox strapped to a tree on the main square in front of the village’s only white-washed building, the church.  Before leaving he suggested we enjoy some of the hiking trails the area is known for with a short trek through the valley to Praia Fluvial de Foz d’Égua, a scenic spot with a suspension bridge over a stream that widens into a natural swimming hole. Later for coffee and dessert we watched part of a soccer game on the TV above the bar at O Fontinha.

Piodão owes its unadulterated charm to the fact that it was pretty much forgotten and slowly abandoned until the 1970’s when the donkey and horse trails leading to the village were replaced with roads carved into the isolating mountains of the Serra do Açor that surround it. It is located not far from Parque Natural da Serra da Estrela and continental Portugal’s highest peak, Torre at 6,539ft. Difficult terrain lured fugitives, seeking to escape justice, to the isolated villages of the area. Allegedly one of the assassins of D. Inês de Castro, the mistress of Pedro l, sought refuge here in the late 1300s. Other than that interesting historical footnote and mention in a 1529 census, folks got by on a subsistence economy of farming, grazing sheep and goats, along with wood and stone cutting for centuries.

Its rediscovery and revitalization in the 1980’s brought the isolated village built with the abundant local schist stone recognition as one of the “most Portuguese villages of Portugal,” with a Galo de Prata “silver rooster” award.  

Waking during the night to close the window against the mountain chill, I observed a full moon illuminating a single arched stone bridge over a babbling brook at the bottom of the valley. The mountain songbirds were loud enough to encourage an early wakening as the sun rose over the ridge behind the village. The next morning Gorete’s homemade jams, pastries and a neighbor’s artisanal cheese nourished us before we explored the village and moved on.

The drive to Praia Fluvial de Foz d’Égua was through forest thick with oak, chestnut and laurel cherry and arbutus trees. Arriving, we understood immediately why this beautiful area is such an out of the way tourist magnet. Traveling during the fall shoulder season, we were fortunate to experience the tranquility of this serene spot in solitude.

Continuing the next day, we headed north to Ucanha for its old Roman bridge with fortified tower that spans the Rio Varosa. In the off-season not as many restaurants are open, but we were fortunate to find Casa da Eira near the bridge still welcoming folks for a splendid meal.

The walk to it was down a lane bounded with high walls draped with bunches of grapes dangling beneath, the vines sporting brilliant fall foliage. Just before reaching the restaurant, we peeked through the broken shutters of a long-abandoned church, its wedding cake altar and walls stripped of any religious embellishments.

After lunch we strolled across the bridge and under its tower which served as a toll booth for travelers crossing the river and gateway to the vast land holdings of the Mosteiro de Santa Maria de Salzedas in the 1400s, and further on to the Portuguese frontier.  

The bridge we crossed is thought to have replaced an earlier Roman structure from the first century AD. Through the tower’s archway we followed the lane up to the village’s parish church, Igreja de S. João Evangelist, that dates from 17th century.

It was surprising to learn about the ancient Roman presence here in central Portugal, but we had already noticed signs for the old Roman route as we drove through the area and tried to find two ancient bridges nearby, the Ponte Românica de Vila Pouca de Salzedas and Ponte Romana without any success while on our way to Salzedas. In searching for them, we did however thoroughly enjoy an afternoon ride through tiny hamlets, vineyards, olive groves, and apple orchards, where the tastiest apples were plucked from a tree within reach of our car window.

Reaching Salzedas we parked and walked towards the monastery across a small bridge over a dry riverbed. Stopping across from the monastery to take a photo, we spotted the most unusual statue along the watercourse’s retaining wall: a carved stone sculpture of a naked man sitting with a huge serpent-head phallus bursting forth from between his legs. Its location across from the monastery was all the more bewildering, but we had to laugh. Odd, just really odd, some of the things you discover when you travel.

Shorter opening hours are one of the disadvantages of travel during the shoulder season as by the time we were done exploring the Mosteiro de Santa Maria de Salzedas the small cathedral next to it was closed. Having paid fully for our entry tickets, we were startled by the guard’s request request for coins. “Do you have any foreign coins? I don’t travel, it’s my hobby and I ask all the foreign visitors if they don’t mind sharing.”  Having collected foreign money ourselves we could relate to this desire to touch something of the outside world. “We have some somewhere in our suitcase. I’ll check before we go,” I replied. The attendant replied with a subtly disappointed, “okay.” We were sure he thought we were just giving an excuse as we climbed the stairs to the exhibition.

From its placement in 1155 near the Torno River, in keeping with the sect’s requirements that its buildings be near watercourses, this was one of the largest and wealthiest Cistercian monasteries in Portugal, having been gifted extensive land holdings, by a royal patron, with the express duty of exploiting the land for profit. A century later it was consecrated after the monastic complex was finished. Over the centuries it continued to be financed by various members of succeeding royal dynasties, perhaps seeking divine intervention or to influence the politics of the almighty Catholic church. Like all things old, it underwent several significant renovations during the 16th and 17th centuries. The addition of a second larger cloister in the 18th century left the façade of the monastery we saw today.

“Enough is enough, we’ve had enough,” could have been the chant of the Liberal government after their victory over the Absolutists at the end of the Portuguese Civil War, 1828 -1834, a war fought for basic human rights and to reverse centuries of disenfranchisement from autocratic monarchies and their allies, namely the Catholic church. Reforms started by the enlightened Marquês de Pombal in the mid-1700s to restrict the powers of old aristocratic families and the church with the expulsion of the Jesuits from the Portuguese Empire had stalled. In 1834 the new minister of justice, Joaquim António de Aguiar, enacted a law, The Extinction of the Religious Orders, requiring the dissolution of “all monasteries, convents, colleges, hospices and any other houses of the regular religious orders.” Their properties and moveable assets were to be nationalized and sold, the profits to be entered into the National Exchequer. Convents were allowed to stay open until the last nun died. Joaquim António de Aguiar earned the nickname, O Mata-Frades, “The Friar-Killer,” because of the anti-ecclesiastical spirit of this law. Over 500 monasteries were closed. Urban buildings were easily sold and repurposed, but many monasteries and convents in the rural areas were abandoned. Their religious art and iconography was redistributed to local parish churches, sold into private collections or “lost.” The Santa Maria de Salezadas Monastery sat abandoned and left to ruin for over 160 years until renovation work started in 2002 and culminated in the reopening of the cloisters in 2011 as a museum with displays of the monastery’s medieval and renaissance religious art and treasures recollected from afar.

With a wave and “thank you,” we left the monastery and headed to our car. “Wait, I’ve got to find those coins for you to take him.” Returning to the car with a smile on her face, Donna relayed that he was delighted that we remembered. A small connection.

It’s the journey. We headed to the Douro Valley. 

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Portugal Road Trip – Part 1: Searching for Templar Castles

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“It’s okay, you can just ignore that caution light on the dashboard. It never goes off.” “Do you have another car?” “No.” All rental cars appear equally perfect when you are making comparisons and a final selection from a website. Staying within our budget, we chose an off-airport car rental agency with good reviews, that picked us up at the arrivals terminal and sped us away to our awaiting wheels, for €12.50 a day.  The Fiat Panda assigned to us had been driven hard and put away wet, you might say. Reviewing the preexisting body blemishes with the rental agent resulted in a cartoon of the car that looked like it had been ambushed in a gangster movie and sprayed with machine-gun fire, including the roof. Nevertheless, the engine sounded fine, and our twelve-day journey began, driving in a large figure-eight, north to south route, around Portugal. Our first destination – Castelo de Almourol, before arriving in Tomar. But by the afternoon of day three we were referring to our car as the Portuguese version of the American rent-a-wreck concept. When driving through the mountains, on the way to a schist village, every warning light on the dashboard started blinking violently in Portuguese. If we had been flying an airplane, we would have donned parachutes and bailed out.  The engine sounded fine, so we flew on.

Not being sure what is open during the week in the off season, we headed for the Miradouro do Almourol, an overlook above the island that the castle commands. Located on the south side of the Tagus River, it’s not particularly easy to get to. But my wife and I enjoy the off the beaten track routes that take us through less traveled countryside. Crossing the Tagus River, we followed the N118 north into the Alentejo (beyond the Tagus) Region through flat farmlands and wine estates dating back to the 1700’s. The red wines of the area vinted with the Portuguese varietals Castelão, Trincadeira, and Touriga Nacional are acquiring international recognition now, as are the regions white wines made with Antão Vaz, Arinto, and Fernão Pires grapes.

The drive was slowed occasionally by tremendously large John Deere combines, the width of the entire road, as farmers drove them between different fields waiting to be harvested. Seasonal spring floods that replenish the soil have made this river plain an important area for cereal crops and wheat since the Roman times. Our walk a little then café philosophy quickly transformed into drive a little then café when we did our first U-turn of the trip as we passed a small place that had a tractor parked in front. Our espressos only €.70 each. It was nice to be back in Portugal.

The wetlands of the Tagus River valley are ideal for bird watchers looking for black-winged stilt, marsh harrier, purple heron, pratincole and Kentish plover. Occasionally we spotted storks atop centuries-old chimneys of abandoned homes, resting in new nests that were stacked like pancakes atop older ones before continuing their winter migration south to Africa. Quiet lanes, faded sun-bleached pastels, and centuries old weather-worn buildings dotted the landscape. Bullrings, Praça de Touros, still stand in Chamusca and Salvaterra de Magos, and the latter’s traffic circle has a large sculpture of a cavaleiro and bull to celebrate the tradition. Though interest in bullfighting has been waning since Queen Maria II of Portugal banned the spectacle in 1836 with the argument that it was “unbefitting for a civilised nation,” it regained popularity in the Alentejo region after the fights were reinstated in 1921, and the climatic killing of the bull was outlawed in 1928.

Before we reached the castle, we stopped for lunch along the riverfront in Arripiado at the ABC Bar Café. It was a tranquil spot with a boardwalk that had a view of the Tagus River and the small village of Tancos across the water. Small boats offer rides to Almourol Castle from the Arripiado riverbank here.

With its striking island location, just below the junction of the Zezere and Tagus rivers at Constância, Almourol Castle is one of the most picturesque medieval fortresses in Portugal.

Constância was once an important fishing village during the Middle Ages where it was said the rivers there were “two-thirds fish and one-third water.”

As with most things ancient on the Iberia Peninsula, the castle’s history started with an early tribe. The Lusitanians built a small fortress on the island as protection against the Romans in the first century B.C.E. Visgoths, Vandals, Alans and Moors followed until it was captured by the Portuguese during the Reconquista in 1129 and subsequently entrusted to the Knights Templar to rebuild for defense of the frontier border at the time.  It eventually lost its strategic relevance and was consequently abandoned. Various phases of reconstruction began in the mid-1900s. 

Train service to Tancos, Castelo de Almourol and the hilltop village of Constância is available from the Santa Apolónia Station in Lisbon. The trip takes about an hour and a half.   

We arrived in Tomar just as the late autumn sun was low in the sky and beginning to cast lengthening shadows on the forested slope that led to the jewel that crowns this quaint village.  We followed the winding cobbled lane to Castelo de Tomar and only got a brief glimpse of the castle through its outer gate as the heavy wooden door was closed for the day with an echoing clang. The castle combined seamlessly with the Convento de Cristo next to it and creates an immense structure that’s best observed from a distance to appreciate its scale. Admiring the expansive view from the miradouro in front of the castle, we made plans to return the next day via a tuk-tuk taxi, from the town square.

This beguiling medieval village with its narrow lanes and tranquil riverside location discreetly hides its outsized contribution to the history of Portugal.

It starts with those mysterious Knights Templar when in 1159 the first King of Portugal, D. Afonso Henriques, granted land to Gualdim Pais, the fourth Grand Master of the Knights Templar in Portugal as reward for their military prowess and religious zeal during the Portuguese wars for independence and the subsequent Reconquista. When the town was first founded, the population was so minuscule, most of the villagers lived behind the castle’s defensive walls.

In 1160 Gualdim Pais order the construction of a monastery and fortified citadel that would be known as the Convent of Christ, a combination of a fortress and a monastery, that is sometimes referred to as the Convent of Christ Castle. The convent’s most interesting feature is a round sanctuary with an ornate ceiling soaring over a central altar, its design said to be influenced by the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem.  Legend states that the knights attended mass on horseback here, the open circular design facilitating the horse’s easy entrance and exit. Famously in 1190, outnumbered Templars defeated a larger Muslim army after their six day siege of Castelo Tomar failed.

Founded in 1118 and slowly gaining recognition from their vowed mission to protect pilgrims journeying to the Holy Lands, the Knights received Papal endorsement in 1139. Pope Innocent II’s Papal Bull sanctioned the Templars as “an army of God,” and provided them special rights that included exemption from paying taxes, allowed them to build their own oratories, immunity from local laws, freedom to cross borders, and obedience only to the Pope. With this blessing Pope Innocent ll made the first papal monetary gift to the Templars. Now a church-endorsed charity, they began receiving land, money, businesses and young nobles from wealthy families who were enthusiastic to find glory in the crusades and willingly donated their assets in order to take the vows of poverty, chastity, piety, and obedience.

Today the Templars most likely would have been charged with running a racketeering enterprise which forced pilgrims and others to pay for protection services they have not requested. This protection was usually from the very people who were demanding the money in the first place.

Things were going well for the Templars across Europe until 1307 when King Philip lV, heavily indebted to the Templars from a war against England, lobbied the Holy Church to disband the Knights Templar as it was a state within a state with its own military, preached heresy and practiced idolatry.

The Templars’ fatal day (eerie music, please) was Friday, the 13th of October 1307. Early that morning all the Templars in France were arrested as enemies of God. Upon torture many falsely confessed and were burned at the stake.  A month later Pope Clement V, a relative of King Philip, decreed that the rest of the Catholic kingdoms in Europe should arrest the remaining Templars and seize their properties. All complied except Portugal!

King Dinis of Portugal did not believe the charges leveled against the Templars, remembering instead their service to a fledging country, and offered sanctuary to knights that had escaped capture.  He then persuaded Pope Clement to support the creation of a new organization, the Order of Christ, into which he transferred all the Templars’ wealth and holdings. The new Order’s mission was now the liberation of the Iberian Peninsular from the Moors and wars against Islam in Africa.

Same group with a new name, but to ensure that the deception of the Pope succeeded, the headquarters of the new order were established, almost in exile, 210 miles away in Castro Marim, a frontier town on the Guadiana River, that serves as the border with Spain.

One hundred years later Dom Henrique of Portugal, Duke of Viseu, better known as Prince Henry the Navigator, allowed the Templars/Order of Christ to return to their former seat of influence in Tomar.  Here they now helped Prince Henry the Navigator establish a medieval think tank: a research institute dedicated to developing navigational tools for a ship to determine its accurate position at sea, relying on the Arabic studies of astronomy, mathematics, trigonometry, which were farther advanced than European knowledge at the time.

The Order of Christ succeeded the Knights Templars as the country’s banker and financed building the fleets of ships needed at the beginning of Portugal’s nautical age of discovery. As rewards, fleets of caravels with white billowing sails boldly embellished with the distinctive red cross of the Order (perhaps the first attempt at global branding) carried explorers down the west coast of Africa and around the Cape of Good Hope into the Indian Ocean in 1487. Portugal’s age as an expanding empire had begun!

Wandering the cobbled lanes of the old town in mid-October, we seemed to have the whole village to ourselves. Later, as the day was perfect, we walked along the Nabao River, crossing a small footbridge in Parque do Mouchão. The view back toward the village was sublime with ducks slowly trailing ripples through the mirrored reflections of the buildings in the water.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Lodging: Casa dos Ofícios Hotel

Dining: Restaurant Beira Rio and Sabores ao Rubro

Havana, Cuba: Beautiful in neglect

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The amber glow of sunrise warmed the waterfront as our ship docked.  Its upper deck provided us a view of the port as if we were seagulls soaring above the first commuter ferries of the day crossing the harbor.  Along the water, buildings wore a tired facade of montage color and aged textures. Beautiful in neglect. These were our first impressions of Havana. The few buildings under renovation were easy to spot with their fresh coats of paint. The domes of the Russian Catedral Ortodoxa Nuestra Señora de Kazán, built to celebrate Soviet – Cuban friendship glistened in the sunrise, its onion shaped domes an odd juxtaposition, accented the balmy Caribbean skyline.  We’d be spending two full days in Havana.

By the time Nevada legalized gaming in 1931, Havana, once nicknamed “the Paris of the Caribbean” was already a well-established tropical get-away for gambling, especially if you lived in the wintry northern parts of the United States.  Havana’s balmy weather and swaying palms contrasted nicely against Las Vegas’ dusty strip in the desert where tumbleweeds blew across the sidewalks. In the 1950s, fifty dollars could purchase a three-day package tour to a Havana casino that included airfare, entertainment, food and hotel. Cruises to Havana from Miami were also possible aboard ships like the 725 passenger S.S. Florida for $46.00. For an additional $35.00 you could take your car along if you wanted to explore the “700 miles of Cuban highways,” a travel brochure from the time advertised. Cruise ships arriving at night were occasionally treated to displays of fireworks over the centuries old Castillo De Los Tres Reyes Del Morro and the highrise apartments along the Malecon as they entered the harbor. It was city of Jazz clubs, high rollers, zoot suits, large finned Cadillacs and mobsters. Headliners like Frank Sinatra, Dizzy Gillespie, Eartha Kitt, and Nat King Cole drew folks to the casinos controlled by New York, Chicago, and Miami crime syndicates.

Mafia payoffs to the rampantly corrupt regime of Cuban dictator Fulgencio Batista and his associates allowed their casinos, brothels and drug running operations to flourish unimpeded. As flashy as the casinos were, the sugar industry dominated ninety percent of the rural Cuban economy for decades and was the largest employer in the countryside until sugar prices collapsed.  That along with government policies that ignored its impoverished citizenry bred increased discontent as the disparity of wealth between the rural poor and the Havana elite grew intolerable. The jungled mountains of the islands’ interior sheltered Fidel Castro and his armed revolutionaries. 1959 was their year. Batista and his cronies fled to the Dominican Republic. Afterwards all homes, properties, businesses, and cars were nationalized.  An exodus of the Cuban middle class followed with approximately 1.4 million people heading to the United States to reestablish their lives.

While Europeans and Canadians have long traveled to Cuban government-run tourists’ resorts along the coast, we were visiting the island on a cruise during that first window of opportunity which opened to Americans between 2016 – 2019, before access was unfortunately tightened again.  Recently the travel restrictions to Cuba have once again been loosened.

Rush hour in Havana happens whenever the cruise ships disgorge their passengers onto the waterfront to walk into the city center, catch their bus tours or to snag a ride in one of those classic cars from the late 1950s. There are literally thousands of antique cars still on the roads in Cuba, jury-rigged to keep running and often repainted with house paint that reflects the bright ambience of the Caribbean. 

Depending on where you are in the disembarking queue these beautiful classics, especially the convertibles, might already be tooting around Havana with other tourists and you might have to opt for a coco taxi.  These entertaining rickshaw type taxis are covered in a bright yellow, fiberglass shell and have seating for three across the rear axle. When it rains, you are going to get soaked as we did when we got caught in a downpour. The return ride was definitely more comfortable after several Cuba Libre cocktails. 

Down the side streets of the city, it wasn’t unusual to see these vintage cars raised on cinderblocks, their hoods open as amateur mechanics tinkered away to keep their classic beauties running. There are about 60,000 old American cars still on the road in Cuba. Most date from the 1950s, but there are still Packards, Cadillacs, Dodges, Chevys, Studebakers and Fords from the 1940s and 30s that are still road worthy.  This is an amazing testament to the talent of Cuban mechanics that have been “MacGyvering” the repairs with makeshift parts since the revolution ended in 1959, when the U.S. trade embargo began and Cuba banned the import of American products. While some cars look to be in mint condition, often the interiors are taped together, door handles are missing, and the windows don’t roll up. Engines don’t last forever and it’s not uncommon to swap engines between the American makes and models. Sometimes even the motors from Russian Volgas and Ladas work their way under the hood of Fords and Chevys. Fiats and Peugeots were imported after the revolution but proved to be not as durable as the American models. 

With the nationalization of property in 1959 the nicer cars of the wealthy who fled were assigned to government officials, doctors, renown celebrities and famous athletes. Regulations prohibiting the ownership of cars were eventually changed to allow Cubans to freely purchase older cars brought to the island before the revolution. Often cars are family heirlooms that have been handed down from generation to generation, with fathers teaching sons the intricacies of keeping the cars running. It’s extremely rare to find new automobiles in Cuba as the government imposes very high taxes on car imports, rendering them highly unaffordable for the vast majority of Cubans.

The ingenuity of Cuban mechanics can surely teach us a thing or two about sustainability. Wonderfully many of these resourceful home mechanics have kept these automotive treasures alive and have created an income for their family by offering rides in their classic cars to tourists. “There are no junkyards in Cuba; everything is still driven.”

Flagging down a Cadillac convertible, we took a ride along the Malecon seafront before breakfast at a paladare recommended on TripAdvisor.  Paladares are small privately run restaurants, usually operated out of the chef’s home, that have been allowed to open as Cuba relaxes its ban on private enterprise in the country.  Typically, their menus change daily depending on what is available at the markets.

After breakfast, our original plan was to walk to Havana’s Central Park to join a tour of the city with a Guruwalk guide. Unfortunately, we arrived late and missed the group. Unfazed, we decided to wander on our own around the city.

Parque Central is the nucleus of a daily classic car show with the old cars neatly lined up for tourists to choose which nostalgic Ford or Chevy they want to cruise around the city in.  Length of the trip and price can be bargained for with each driver.

Across from the park, sparkling from the completion of a recent renovation, the ornate baroque façade of the Gran Teatro de La Havana drew our attention. Built in 1838, it’s a cavernous structure that can seat 1,500 people and is home to the Cuban National Ballet Company.  President Obama addressed the Cuban people from its stage in 2016 and the biennial International Ballet Festival of Havana is hosted here.

While many hotels and historic public buildings immediately surrounding Havana’s Central Park have been pristinely renovated, you need only to walk a half block down any side street and it’s obvious that the maintenance of the city has been neglected for decades. With many of the buildings in central Havana dating from the 1800’s, most are severely showing their age. Signs of structural neglect were endemic.

This quote I found sums up concisely the housing situation. “In Cuba, everything belongs to everyone and no-one at the same time and if a building is ‘collectively-owned’, it’s understood that the State is the one responsible, but the government doesn’t have the resources for maintenance.”

We worked our way towards Real Fábrica de Tabaco Partagas, a historic cigar shop and factory dating to 1845, located behind the Capitolio Nacional de Cuba, a near replica of the United States’ capital building, only larger and with a higher dome. A tour of the cigar factory, where 500 people sort, grade and roll tobacco leaves into world famous habanos, cigars, was not available the day we visited, but we were able to watch a cigar rolling demonstration.

Asking for a recommendation for a place to eat enroute back to the harbor the salesman at the cigar shop suggested Tablao de Pancho, Grupo El Guajirito. Along the way a pleasant young woman, sensing we might be lost, spoke to us in excellent English and offered to guide us to the restaurant. She declined a tip for her assistance, so we asked her to join us for lunch instead. She quietly saved half her meal to take home to her child, because her ration card did not provide for enough food.

Life and business are conducted on the streets of the neighborhood with most doorways and shallow balconies harboring tenants trying to stay cool. A mattress maker refurbished rusted bedsprings on the sidewalk. Vegetable cart vendors pushed their wagons around the blocks. The scarcity of some the smallest luxuries and basic necessities is visible and there was a sense of waiting, but what for was difficult to determine. The hardships of life that the residents of the city endure under a failed socialist revolution are still very much in evidence in the forgotten, gritty side streets of the capital.

The cigar chomping aficionado in our group was determined to purchase the legal limit of Cuban habanas that were permissible to bring back to the states at the time, so three of us crammed into a coco taxi, a not particularly macho ride to cruise in along the Malecon.

Our destination was the Hotel Nacional de Cuba for a smoke and a glass of rum. A historic 1930s hotel and casino, before the revolution it attracted American celebrities like Erroll Flynn, Gary Cooper, Rita Hayworth, Fred Astaire, Ava Gardner, Marlon Brando, and Walt Disney. Now the hotel annually hosts the Festival de Cine Nuevo Iberoamericano and claims Michael Keaton, Francis Ford Coppola, Leonardo DiCaprio, and Steven Spielberg as past attendees.

Later that afternoon, behind the 1500s era Castillo de la Real Fuerza, a star shaped fortress that protected the colonial harbor, we wandered through the Old Havana district, still lively since the days when treasure laden Spanish galleons from the New World stopped in Havana before voyaging back to Spain.

Latin music filled Obispo Street and Calle O’Reilly, the two main boulevards, the later named to honor Alejandro O’Reilly, an Irish born soldier who fought for Spain during the British siege of Havana in 1762. This neighborhood is alive with street buskers and has an entrepreneurial spirit that’s visible in many the restaurants, galleries and shops that line the sidewalks here.

Our ship listed heavily as gale force winds churned the sea as we left the shelter of the harbor and passed the solid stone walls of the Castillo De Los Tres Reyes Del Morro.

Across the water large waves crashed against the seawall that protects the Malecon from collapsing into the sea.

It’s all too easy to romanticize poverty in an exotic destination that’s veiled by swaying palm trees and a pristine Caribbean sky.  The people of Cuba deserve better from their government. Watching the skyline of Havana fade in the twilight we wondered if Cuba’s sea change was coming.

Till next time,

Craig & Donna

Cienfuegos, Cuba – A Caribbean Time Capsule 

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The sun was still below the horizon as men rowed small wooden fishing boats, laden with nets and poles, against the waves as we entered the narrow channel that would eventually widen into the Bahia de Cienfuegos, Cienfuegos Bay. Not much appears to have changed since the old man battled his Marlin in Hemingway’s 1951 novella. Farther along, listing boats were tied to beaten docks in front of weathered homes, their pastel colors muted in the predawn. They faced the inlet under the battlements of Castillo de Jagua, a stone fortress that has guarded this stretch of water leading to the bay since 1745.

The bay was encountered by Christopher Columbus while on his second voyage to the new world in 1494 and noted as a spectacular natural harbor, located at the end of a long narrow inlet, a perfect sheltered anchorage to weather the gales and hurricanes that blow across the Caribbean. However, closer to the gold of the new world, Havanna, on Cuba’s north coast, became the island’s dominant harbor and city. Mostly, Cienfuegos Bay was a forgotten backwater, without a permanent settlement, on the south coast of Cuba, a perfect location for the notorious British pirates Francis Drake and Henry Morgan to launch their raids on the Spanish Main and plunder the treasure fleets that voyaged from Havanna back to Seville, until the fortress ruined a good pirating gig.

The area grew slowly until the early 1800’s when an influx of French migrants fleeing the slave revolt in Haiti founded the city in 1819. Flattened during an 1825 hurricane, the city was rebuilt with a modern cosmopolitan grid pattern. The fertile region surrounding Cienfuegos supported prosperous tobacco, coffee and sugar plantations and continued to attract French immigrants from Louisiana, Bordeaux and Quebec. By the mid-1800s, a railway funneled goods from across the region to the port for export, and a steamship line connected Cienfuegos to Charleston and New York City. The city’s prosperity was reflected in its stately mansions, elegant civic architecture, wide boulevards and parks reminiscent of New Orleans and Paris, earning it the nickname “La Perla del Sur,” the Pearl of the South.

The Cuba of the 2020s still looks very much like it did during Hemingway’s life, as if it was stuck in time, a perpetual movie set. This is a result of the political decisions made during the 50-year reign of the country’s communist dictator, Fidel Castro, who ruled from the revolution in 1959 until 2008, and other communist leaders since then.  Consequently, the United States imposed and still maintains a trade embargo against the Cuban government that visually appears to have frozen the country in the 1960s.

Europeans and Canadians have long traveled to the government-run tourist resorts along the pristine coast. Previously, an inland tourism infrastructure didn’t exist, but with the introduction of the internet to the country and encouraging private enterprise reforms things are slowly beginning to change. We were visiting Cuba on a cruise during that first window of opportunity that was open to Americans between 2016 – 2019, before access was unfortunately tightened again.  Recently the travel restrictions to Cuba have been loosened again.

Across from the pier a horse drawn cart with several wooden benches, car tires for wheels and a sun bleached canopy stood idle. It wasn’t meant for the tourist trade, but instead was the cheapest mode of transportation for local folks to use to move about town. And it was our introduction to how self-reliant Cubans are and how slowly change happens in Cuba. Then we noticed the cars.

Earlier an email confirmed our rendezvous, “Ten is good. Meet at the statue of Benny Moré, a beloved Cuban singer, songwriter and band leader, at the intersection of Paseo El Prado and the pedestrian only San Fernando. Ciao.”

We had decided to skip any ship organized tours of Cienfuegos and instead opted for a tour of the city with a Guruwalk guide we found online.

With introductions made, our small group of four followed our guide through Cienfuegos as they pointed out various sites and their significance. Other stops included the government shoe store where the limited styles were only available in black, and a government bodega.

Here food is acquired with the use of La Libreta, a government issued ration book used to tally your monthly allocation. allowance or allotment Typically the monthly allowance per person is 5 eggs, 1 liter of cooking oil, 1 pound of spaghetti, 3 pounds of refined or white sugar, 3 pounds of unrefined or dark sugar, 6 pounds of white rice, 20 ounces of black beans, 2 packets of “mixed coffee”, daily bread (dinner rolls). Fresh produce not available at the government bodegas is sold at state sponsored farmers markets.

Stopping at a large print shop, we watched the printer set lead type by hand as he assembled each word and sentence for the document he was preparing from a large tray of metal vowels, consonants and punctuation marks. There were not any computers, laser printers or copy machines in sight, only the shop’s heavy German Heidelberg printing presses, which have been meticulously maintained since 1959.

From the top of Hotel La Union, the highest point in the city’s center, we surveyed Cienfuegos, today a sprawling city of 150,000. 

“So, you’ve noticed the old cars on the street?” Our guide turned the talk at lunch away from any political questions we were eager to ask about life in a communist country.

There are about 60,000 old American cars still on the road in Cuba. Most date from the 1950s, but there are still Consuls, Packards, Cadillacs, Dodges, Chevys, Studebakers and Fords from the 1940s and 30s that are still road worthy.  This is an amazing testament to the talent of Cuban mechanics that have been “MacGyvering” the repairs with makeshift parts since the revolution ended in 1959, when the U.S. trade embargo began, and Cuba banned the import of American products. While some cars look to be in mint condition, often the interiors are taped together, door handles are missing, and the windows don’t roll up.

Engines don’t last forever and its not uncommon to swap engines between the American makes and models. Sometimes even the motors from Russian Volgas and Ladas work their way under the hood of Fords and Chevys. Fiats and Peugeots were imported after the revolution but proved to be not as durable as the American models.  With the nationalization of property in 1959 the nicer cars of the wealthy who fled were assigned to government officials, doctors, renown celebrities and famous athletes. Regulations prohibiting the ownership of cars was eventually changed to allow Cubans to freely purchase older cars brought to the island before the revolution. Since then, often cars are family heirlooms that have been handed down from generation to generation. Fathers teaching sons the intricacies of keeping the cars running. It’s extremely rare to find late model cars on the roads as the government imposes very high taxes on new car imports, making them highly unaffordable for the majority of Cubans.

“There are no junkyards in Cuba, everything is still driven.” The ingenuity of Cuban mechanics can surely teach us a thing or two about sustainability. Wonderfully many of these resourceful home mechanics have kept these automotive treasures alive and have created an income for their family by offering rides in their classic cars to tourists.

After lunch we watched dancers rehearse in an old colonial building now used as a community center, and we stopped in several art galleries along the park that featured many talented Cuban artists.  With the government tightly controlling the economy along with the print and electronic media in the country, creative self-expression through art, dance and music are treasured venues as long as the views expressed don’t “run counter to the objectives of the socialist society.”

While the center of the city is well maintained, and many of the old mansions and civic edifices recently renovated. The homes and buildings along the side streets show decades of neglect from a failed socialist system.

Pride in ownership is a difficult concept in Cuba, and since wages are so very low, buying paint is the last thing anyone is thinking about. Low wages necessitate most families to spend any extra funds at the free markets to buy the goods that aren’t covered with the La Libreta rations card.

This quote I found sums up concisely the housing situation. “In Cuba, everything belongs to everyone and no-one at the same time and if a building is “collectively-owned”, it’s understood that the State is the one responsible, but the goverment can’t afford the maintenance.”

Down the side streets, past glories are now sadly intriguing in their neglect, the homes and buildings wearing a texture carved from storms and hot unrelenting sunshine, revealing ancient layers of paint that gives the neighborhoods a weathered patina, a faded elegance.

Till next time,

Craig & Donna

Seville Part 5 – Road trip to Olvera & Setenil de las Bodegas

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The countryside on the way to Olvera was more verdant than the earth toned landscape we traversed on our way to Zahara de la Sierra at the beginning of our road trip.  Now the hillsides were a mosaic of greens, light and soft, dark and vibrant, signaling the arrival of spring. 

As the road curved, Olvera’s Castle and the belltowers of the town’s church broke the horizon. We are never quite sure where to park in small villages.  Worried about getting fined for a parking violation, we always opt to play it safe and find a car lot.  But the parking in Olvera was at the bottom of a steep incline below the historic castle and we just didn’t have the oomph that morning to walk from there uphill and then continue higher to the top of the tower.  With some persistence we navigated the town’s labyrinth of narrow one-way lanes into the Plaza de la Iglesia. At the apex of the village, the plaza straddles the area between Olvera’s citadel and the town’s majestic church, Our Lady of the Incarnation Parish.  Since it was still the off-season, we were in luck and found the last, barely viable parking spot on the plaza. It was a narrow space that required the driver’s side door to be parked tightly against a wall. Fortunately, I’m still limber enough to climb over the car’s center console and stick shift, with a limited amount of grunting and moaning.

The view from the mirador at the edge of the plaza was wonderful.  Incredibly, the views across the village continued to get better and better as we climbed the different levels to the top of the Castillo de Olvera, perched atop a rocky outcrop at an altitude of 2000 feet. The climax was a spectacular view of the cathedral and panorama of whitewashed homes with red tiled roofs backed by a shimmering sea of silver green foiliage. Outside the village, the surrounding olive groves harbor nearly two million trees.

Constructed in the 12th century, the castle was part of a line of signal towers along the Moorish frontier in southern Spain. The castle was expanded in the 14th century when it was captured by King Alfonso XI during the Reconquista. The castilo is one of five in proximity to each other on The Castles Route, Witnesses of the Spanish Reconquest through the Moorish Strip, a no-man’s land that separated the ancient Christian Andalusia frontier from the Arab Kingdom of Granada. The other castles on the circuit are Castillo de las Aguzaderas, Castillo de Cote, Castillo de Morón de la Frontera, and the Castillo del Hierro.

With its size and architectural presence, Our Lady of the Incarnation Parish looks more like a cathedral than just a church. The neoclassical church was started in 1823 on the foundation of an earlier dismantled, gothic- mudéjar style church and dramatically counterbalances the castle on ridge above the village.  Ordered built by The Dukes of Osuna, the feudal lords over Olvera, the vaulted interior is lined with marble imported from Italy and has many interesting religious icons. To fulfill this extravagance the Dukes diverted the town’s taxes, away from improving the village, to pay for it.  They were the last feudal lords over Olvera and declared bankruptcy in 1843 when the church was completed. Then fled, never to be seen again.

A cloudless morning in Olvera turned overcast by the time we arrived in Setenil de las Bodegas only thirty minutes later. While considered a pueblo blanco, it’s totally different from Olvera and Zahara de la Sierra where the homes ascend the steep slopes under their town’s hilltop fortress.  In Setenil de las Bodegas, whitewashed homes front caves under large stone overhangs which line both sides of a gorge, created eons ago from the erosion caused by the swift moving water.

The homes along the gorge use the mammoth natural stone ledge as their roofs. The once raging Rio Trejo is now a quiet stream in the narrow gorge, which widens into a shallow ravine where an ancient Moorish castle still guards the approach to the village.  When the Romans colonized the area two thousand years ago folks had already been dwelling in the natural caves along the gorge for several millennia. Over the centuries the cave fronts were enclosed to create the unique village that still survives.

Before touring the village, we checked into the Hotel El Almendra to drop our bags, just oustside the historic district, with the intent of driving back and finding parking closer to the gorge.  We were just about to pull out of the hotel parking lot when a group of police cars with lights flashing and sirens wailing roared past. A slower patrol car parked and blocked the hotel driveway. Folks were beginning to gather on the sidewalk. We had no idea why until a motorcycle carrying a cameraman facing backward led the first wave of bicycle racers that were a blur of pedaling color as they sped by. A continual surge of racers crested the knoll of the road and coursed downhill towards the village. The race was one leg of the annual Vuelta a Andalucia – Ruta del Sol. A five-day, 500 mile cross-country cycling event that summits 17 mountain passes in the region and attracts 600 riders. Leaving the car at the hotel, we decided to walk the half mile into the village.

By the time we reached Cuevas del Sol, Caves of the Sun, the narrow one-way road through the gorge lined with small taverns and inns, the sun was brightly shining again.  Even though the road is open to cars, it was filled with folks walking and was almost pinched closed by tables from the restaurants narrowing its width.  We found a table and enjoyed both the lunch and the warmth of the February sun.

Afterwards we walked the length of the lane through the deep chasm until a set of stairs led to the Mirador del Carmen and the small 18th century chapel Ermita de Ntra. Sra. Del Carmen.  The view from the overlook encompassed a sweeping vista of the valley filled with whitewashed pueblos stacked atop one another filling the valley to its rim. 

The Nazari Castle, the town’s 12th century Moorish fortress, still stands vigilantly on the edge of the valley, the invaders now camera-wielding tourists.  Across from it the Gothic style Church of Our Lady of the Incarnation, itself an imposing fortress-like structure, was ordered built by the Spanish Crown. It was constructed in 1505, above the town’s previous mosque, to celebrate the liberation of the village from centuries of Arab rule.  We walked back to our hotel along a lane above the gorge lined with newer buildings. 

Heading back to Seville before sunrise the next morning we stopped high above the village on the road that followed the ridge opposite the Cuevas del Sol, in one last attempt to capture the iconic pueblos of the village as dawn cast its first rays of light across the gorge.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

PS. Our 226-mile weekend roundtrip from Seville only used slightly more than a half tank of gasoline.

Seville Part 4 – The Pueblos Blancos – Olvera & Setenil de las Bodegas

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The countryside on the way to Olvera was more verdant than the earth toned landscape we traversed on our way to Zahara de la Sierra at the beginning of our road trip.  Now the hillsides were a mosaic of greens, light and soft, dark and vibrant, signaling the arrival of spring. 

As the road curved, Olvera’s Castle and the belltowers of the town’s church broke the horizon. We are never quite sure where to park in small villages.  Worried about getting fined for a parking violation, we always opt to play it safe and find a car lot.  But the parking in Olvera was at the bottom of a steep incline below the historic castle and we just didn’t have the oomph that morning to walk from there uphill and then continue higher to the top of the tower.  With some persistence we navigated the town’s labyrinth of narrow one-way lanes into the Plaza de la Iglesia. At the apex of the village, the plaza straddles the area between Olvera’s citadel and the town’s majestic church, Our Lady of the Incarnation Parish.  Since it was still the off-season, we were in luck and found the last, barely viable parking spot on the plaza. It was a narrow space that required the driver’s side door to be parked tightly against a wall. Fortunately, I’m still limber enough to climb over the car’s center console and stick shift, with a limited amount of grunting and moaning.

The view from the mirador at the edge of the plaza was wonderful.  Incredibly, the views across the village continued to get better and better as we climbed the different levels to the top of the Castillo de Olvera, perched atop a rocky outcrop at an altitude of 2000 feet. The climax was a spectacular view of the cathedral and panorama of whitewashed homes with red tiled roofs backed by a shimmering sea of silver green foiliage. Outside the village, the surrounding olive groves harbor nearly two million trees.

Constructed in the 12th century, the castle was part of a line of signal towers along the Moorish frontier in southern Spain. The castle was expanded in the 14th century when it was captured by King Alfonso XI during the Reconquista. The castilo is one of five in proximity to each other on The Castles Route, Witnesses of the Spanish Reconquest through the Moorish Strip, a no-man’s land that separated the ancient Christian Andalusia frontier from the Arab Kingdom of Granada. The other castles on the circuit are Castillo de las Aguzaderas, Castillo de Cote, Castillo de Morón de la Frontera, and the Castillo del Hierro.

With its size and architectural presence, Our Lady of the Incarnation Parish looks more like a cathedral than just a church. The neoclassical church was started in 1823 on the foundation of an earlier dismantled, gothic- mudéjar style church and dramatically counterbalances the castle on ridge above the village.  Ordered built by The Dukes of Osuna, the feudal lords over Olvera, the vaulted interior is lined with marble imported from Italy and has many interesting religious icons. To fulfill this extravagance the Dukes diverted the town’s taxes, away from improving the village, to pay for it.  They were the last feudal lords over Olvera and declared bankruptcy in 1843 when the church was completed. Then fled, never to be seen again.

A cloudless morning in Olvera turned overcast by the time we arrived in Setenil de las Bodegas only thirty minutes later. While considered a pueblo blanco, it’s totally different from Olvera and Zahara de la Sierra where the homes ascend the steep slopes under their town’s hilltop fortress.  In Setenil de las Bodegas, whitewashed homes front caves under large stone overhangs which line both sides of a gorge, created eons ago from the erosion caused by the swift moving water.

The homes along the gorge use the mammoth natural stone ledge as their roofs. The once raging Rio Trejo is now a quiet stream in the narrow gorge, which widens into a shallow ravine where an ancient Moorish castle still guards the approach to the village.  When the Romans colonized the area two thousand years ago folks had already been dwelling in the natural caves along the gorge for several millennia. Over the centuries the cave fronts were enclosed to create the unique village that still survives.

Before touring the village, we checked into the Hotel El Almendra to drop our bags, just oustside the historic district, with the intent of driving back and finding parking closer to the gorge.  We were just about to pull out of the hotel parking lot when a group of police cars with lights flashing and sirens wailing roared past. A slower patrol car parked and blocked the hotel driveway. Folks were beginning to gather on the sidewalk. We had no idea why until a motorcycle carrying a cameraman facing backward led the first wave of bicycle racers that were a blur of pedaling color as they sped by. A continual surge of racers crested the knoll of the road and coursed downhill towards the village. The race was one leg of the annual Vuelta a Andalucia – Ruta del Sol. A five-day, 500 mile cross-country cycling event that summits 17 mountain passes in the region and attracts 600 riders. Leaving the car at the hotel, we decided to walk the half mile into the village.

By the time we reached Cuevas del Sol, Caves of the Sun, the narrow one-way road through the gorge lined with small taverns and inns, the sun was brightly shining again.  Even though the road is open to cars, it was filled with folks walking and was almost pinched closed by tables from the restaurants narrowing its width.  We found a table and enjoyed both the lunch and the warmth of the February sun.

Afterwards we walked the length of the lane through the deep chasm until a set of stairs led to the Mirador del Carmen and the small 18th century chapel Ermita de Ntra. Sra. Del Carmen.  The view from the overlook encompassed a sweeping vista of the valley filled with whitewashed pueblos stacked atop one another filling the valley to its rim. 

The Nazari Castle, the town’s 12th century Moorish fortress, still stands vigilantly on the edge of the valley, the invaders now camera-wielding tourists.  Across from it the Gothic style Church of Our Lady of the Incarnation, itself an imposing fortress-like structure, was ordered built by the Spanish Crown. It was constructed in 1505, above the town’s previous mosque, to celebrate the liberation of the village from centuries of Arab rule.  We walked back to our hotel along a lane above the gorge lined with newer buildings. 

Heading back to Seville before sunrise the next morning we stopped high above the village on the road that followed the ridge opposite the Cuevas del Sol, in one last attempt to capture the iconic pueblos of the village as dawn cast its first rays of light across the gorge.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

PS. Our 226-mile weekend roundtrip from Seville only used slightly more than a half tank of gasoline.

Cordoba & Granada – Location, Location, Location

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The view from the train window was a blur of greenery, a vast landscape of undulating hills dotted sporadically with small villages and the remnants of ancient fortresses crowning the hilltops, set amidst a sea of olive trees, that seemed to spread from the wake of the speeding train to the horizon. Seventy million olive trees, 24 different varieties, covering over three million acres in Andalusia produce 900,000 tons of olive oil and 380,000 tons of table olives annually. No wonder we’ve been enjoying Spain so much – the olives are so good!

We were nearing the end of our stay in Seville, but there were still destinations outside the city we wanted to explore before we departed Spain. Being so close to the ancient Moorish cities of Cordoba and Granada, how could we not visit? Plans were made to catch an early train from Seville and spend the day exploring the major sites in Cordoba, before continuing to an Airbnb rental in Granada for three days. There were always debates about budgeting, wanting to do it all and affording it are issues we continually faced during our two-year journey, fortunately the highly discounted rate we received for booking an apartment in Seville during the shoulder season made this side trip financially reasonable.

It was 152 BC when Pliny the Realtor, standing on the bank of the Guadalquivir River, toga blowing in the wind, turned to General Claudio Marcelo, the founder of Roman Cordoba, and with the swoop of his arm across the grand vista before them proclaimed future realtors’ favorite adage, “location, location, location!”

Situated along the last navigable section of the river, Granada prospered as a river port, exporting grain, wine and olives down the river to the Atlantic Ocean, where the goods were then sailed around the Rock of Gibralta into the Mediterranean Sea, eventually reaching ancient Rome. In the 1st century BC Roman engineers built a graceful, sixteen arch stone bridge that spanned 820ft across the Guadalquivir River and has been in continual use, with renovations of course, for two-thousand years.

The city continued to flourish for centuries under Visigoth rule and later Muslim conquest. In the year 1000 the city was estimated to have an enlightened and tolerant population of 450,000 Muslims, Christians and Jews, surpassing Constantinople, making it the largest city in Europe. The intellectuals of the city were renown throughout Europe for their contributions to the advancement of astronomy, medicine, philosophy, and mathematics.

Cordoba slowly lost its significance as a riverport trading center after the reconquest when the waterway eventually silted up and navigation to the city became impossible. By the 1700s its prosperity had diminished, and its population reduced to only 20,000.

Our first stop was Córdoba’s Alcazar de los Reyes Cristianos, Castle of the Christian Kings, a royal residence and fortress built in the Mudéjar-style on the site of a former Muslim Fortress. While the castle is interesting, the exquisite formal gardens were a splendid oasis, wonderfully colorful even in early March. Here Christopher Columbus initiated his negotiations with Isabella I of Castile and Ferdinand II of Aragon to finance his voyage of discovery in 1492.

The city’s most famous landmark, the Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba, was a short walk from the Alcazar. It’s an enormous structure occupying the equivalent of a New York City office block, part of which features an enclosed courtyard with a central fountain surrounded by an orange grove. The worn exterior was fascinating with its elaborate brickwork, and Moorish arches around the windows. The ancient doors into the space are offset by horseshoe shaped arches, a design influence copied from Visigoth architecture. Construction of the Great Mosque of Cordoba started in 786 AD and lasted for three-centuries as it was continually expanded.

Using 850 recycled Roman columns, topped with two tiers of arches, the Great Mosque of Cordoba’s prayer hall is a dazzling space with rows and isles of geometrically precise columns that seem to recede to infinity, in every direction. It was one of the largest mosques in the Muslim world when it was built.

Fortunately, in 1236 when Ferdinand III, king of Castile and León, captured the city, he was enamored with the mosque’s magnificent architecture, and he chose to leave it totally intact including the mihrab, an elaborate prayer niche in a wall that faces Mecca.

For a time, Muslims and Christians were allowed to pray in the same space. This lasted to 1499 when Muslims were expelled or forced to convert if they wished to stay in Spain. The original mosque remained unchanged until the mid-1500s when a towering high altar and choir loft were built in the center and numerous side altars were added along the exterior walls. The old minaret was finally incased within a magnificent, squared belltower.

Afterwards we wandered through the narrow alleys adjacent to the cathedral, peeking into verdant courtyards that looked so lovely we were tempted to invite ourselves in, but did not.  The only thing missing were flowers in bloom. The sun was not yet high enough in the March sky to warm the cold stones and prompt the first blossoms of spring.

Later that evening upon our arrival in Granada we took an Uber from the train station to our rental in the Albaicín district, on Cta. de Alhacaba, a steep cobbled lane just down from Plaza Larga. It was an attractively gentrified apartment in an older traditional Spanish home, with a center courtyard, that had been divided into several units. Looking out from our window the next morning, we could see on a ridge above us the ruins of an extensive fortress wall, built during the 11th century Zirid kingdom.

Getting our day underway, we walked uphill to Plaza Larga and ventured into the traditional colmados, a small grocery store where you tell the shop clerk everything you need and they pull it from the shelf behind the counter for you. Our Spanish was minimally up to the task.

A few steps from the shop a limited section of the citadel wall containing the Arco de las Pesas has been renovated. Known as the Arch of Weights, this was an important entrance into the city where merchants had their goods weighed and taxed. Its distinctive zigzag tunnel was designed to slow and throw off balance any attacking enemy who had breached its door. The passageway’s vaulted ceiling now provides perfect acoustics for buskers. Crossing through we headed toward the Mirador de San Nicolás.

There are several overlooks on Albaicín hill, but the view of the Alhambra from San Nicolás Plaza was sublime. We stopped here several times as we explored this hilltop across the valley from the Alhambra. We enjoyed lunch and sangria on the terrace at El Huerto de Juan Ranas or dangled our legs over the edge of the mirador as the sun arced across the sky.

We watched the play of light change the shadows and the intensity of the red walls from which al-qal’a al-hamra, in Arabic the red fortress, takes its name.  The palace is dramatically situated on a hill, with the snow-covered Sierra Nevada Mountain Range and Mt. Mulhacén, the Iberian peninsula’s highest peak in the background.

For centuries since the Muslim time, continuing into the 1950s, muleteers ran mule trains laden with fresh produce, fish, and merchandise from the coast up over the Sierra Mountains along a vast network of trails to Granada.  Much of this 8-12 hour journey was done at night to take advantage of the cooler evening temperatures to ensure the quick arrival of perishable food.  The mountains also provided sanctuary to the maquis, resistance fighters, in the 1940s and 50s who opposed the dictatorship of General Franco after the Spanish Civil War.

The historic Albaicín district is extremely hilly, think San Francisco hilly, a severe contrast compared to the flatness of Seville and Cordoba, but the labyrinth of narrow alleys that twist up and down the ancient hillside was intriguing. The Palacio de Dar al-Horra, “Home of the Honest Lady”- the mother of the last Emir of Granada, was an interesting example of 14th century Moorish domestic architecture, with its intricate Alfarje, carved wood ceilings, verandas, and courtyard.

Nearby we accidentally stumbled upon the 16th century Royal Convent of Saint Isabel and entered the courtyard in hope that its church was open. Unfortunately it wasn’t, but as we wandered we discovered the “cookie door.”  Actually, it is a cabinet built into the wall of the convent with a door on each side that separates the cloistered nuns from the public. Ring the bell above the door, speak your order when someone answers and place your money in the cabinet and close the door.  You will hear the other door open and then close when your dulces have been placed inside.  It’s a sweet centuries old tradition which helps the nuns support their convent. 

We were enjoying our stroll through the whitewashed alleys as we headed down the hillside toward Plaza Nueva, when “Splat Splat!” Honestly it felt like we had been shat upon by a flock of tourist hating birds. Something akin to the Spanish version of the Hitchcock movie classic. And the smell was awful! We don’t remember exactly what was said, but quickly a well-dressed middle-aged couple guided us into an empty plaza and pulled a huge roll of paper towels out of their bag and proceeded to “help,” clean the mess off our jackets as they patted us down and attempted to pickpocket us. I wish I had been quick witted enough to yell, I KNOW KARATE!, with an intimidating scowl. At least my wife would have burst into laughter and perhaps that would have broken their concentration. It was over in a flash and they vanished.  Fortunately, we keep all our valuables under our clothing, not in any exterior pockets.  Rattled, we continued on. A beautiful city, good tapas and sangria helped our mood rebound.  Later that evening when I was reviewing the photos taken during the day, I spotted them in the lower corner of a picture taken moments before that encounter.

Bar los Diamantes and La Gran Taberna, located next to each other on Plaza Nueva, were excellent places to dine, and we tried them on separate days. At home in the states now we are making tapas inspired from dishes we tasted at both places.

Afterwards we walked along the thin ribbon of road that follows the Darro River through this section of the old town. It’s lined with numerous historical sites and bridges that cross the river; the ambience was wonderful.

After a long day we couldn’t muster the strength to walk the steep uphill back to our apartment and opted to use the local bus. The routes in the historic section use micro-buses to navigate the ancient parts of Granada and took us pretty close to where we needed to go.

Only a limited number of people are allowed to visit the Alhambra each day, so we made reservations for a group tour early the next morning. 

As we were leaving our rental the next morning, we couldn’t extract the key from the interior lock on the front door. We can’t recall how many doors we’ve unlocked during our travels, but this was a first! Apartment doors in Europe are intriguing, especially if they are in newly renovated buildings.  The trend seems to be to install a very sturdy door with numerous deadbolts that insert into the door frame with the turn of single key.  They appear to be designed to thwart any home invasions or resist the battering ram of a S.W.A.T team. The rental agent asked us to stay at the apartment until a locksmith arrived, without offering a time.  That was unacceptable and we asked them to have the door repaired by the end of the day.  We took the key to the courtyard with us and hoped for the best. 

The Alhambra is massive and originally served as a fortress for many centuries before Mohammed ben Al-Hamar, the first king of the Nasrid dynasty arrived in the 13th century and established it as his royal residence. Each subsequent Muslim ruler continued to add and beautifully renovate every interior surface lavishly adorned yesería, intricately carved or cast stucco featuring arabesque, geometric and calligraphic designs.  Later the Christian monarchs would introduce mudejar tiles and Romanesque, Gothic and Baroque techniques to various building sprees. 

The most significant Spanish contribution to the Alhambra was the Palace of Charles the V. It is an immense renaissance style building with a two tiered colonnaded balcony surrounding a circular courtyard at its center.

Construction started in 1527 and was continually interrupted over the next 430 years and was eventually abandoned until the government dedicated funds to finish it by 1957. Somehow this amazing amalgamation of diverse architectural styles at the Alhambra creates a unique and satisfying visual harmony.

We spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the Catedral de Granada Royal and next to it the Capilla Real de Granada. Both were built over the ruins of the Granada’s Grand Mosque in the old medina after the reconquest.  The cathedral features a towering white and gold interior and a stained-glass cupola above the high altar.

The Capilla Real de Granada is a burial chamber for the Catholic Monarchs Queen Isabella I and King Ferdinand and features their ornately carved marble tomb. Joanna of Castile, Queen of Castile and Aragon, and her husband Philip I “the Handsome” of Castile, are entombed next to them in an equally elaborate sarcophagus.  The Sacristy-Museum here also displays gilded church panels, along with renaissance paintings from Flemish, Italian and Spanish artist. The monarchs’ crowns and scepter are also on display. 

Across the lane the wonderful Moorish architecture of Palacio de la Madraza, a former Islamic school dating from the 1300s, has been well preserved.

To our relief the door lock was fixed when we returned to the apartment that evening. Though to our dismay the landlord left a bill for the locksmith’s services of 150€! Attached to the invoice was a note that said the locksmith could not find any fault with the door, that it was in perfect working, and we were responsible for the bill.  We did not agree that this was our “operating error” and questioned it.  Thinking it was a maintenance issue and ultimately the apartment owners’ responsibility. There was an exchange of text messages, with the rental agent demanding payment. We refused to pay. Things deteriorated – ancient ancestors and future generations to come were flavorfully cursed.  We left early the next morning to avoid any confrontation.

With a half day to fill before our train departed, we dragged our suitcase clickity clacking over the cobblestones of the historic center as we made our way to the Basilica de San Juan de Dios. Built in the 1700s, when a seemingly unending supply of gold and silver flowed back to Spain from their colonies in the Americas, the church is a temple not only to Christ, but a shrine to all things Baroque, with every surface ornately detailed, much of it gilded. The sacristy and the other rooms behind the altar hold a museum-like collection of artwork, precious religious objects, and gold adorned reliquary.

Across the street at Candelas Bocadilleria we sat at a table in the sun and enjoyed the best churrerias of our time in Spain.

Two blocks away and two centuries older, the Monasterio de San Jeronimo (1504) stands as the first great Renaissance style achievement of Spanish architect Diego de Siloe, who was trained in Italy. He followed this with the Grand Cathedral of Granada (1528.) This royal monastery was the first in Granada commissioned by Queen Isabella I and King Ferdinand after the conquest of the city. It’s a massive structure with a two-tiered cloister surrounding a large courtyard fully planted with orange trees. 

The monastery’s main chapel is cavernous with a barrel-vaulted ceiling that leads your eye to a towering gilded high altar, minutely detailed with religious iconography. The tomb of El Gran Capitan, Fernandez de Cordoba, lies in the chapel. A hero, he is credited with several reconquests across Andalucía, and after a ten-year campaign, the surrender of Granada from Boabil, Muhammad XII of Granada, the 22nd and last Moorish Sultan in Spain.

We barely scratched the surface of all the places to see in Granada. It’s a good excuse to plan a return, our own Reconquista, of this beautiful and fascinating region in the future.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Seville Part 4 – Convents, Cookies, and la Macarena

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Seville was a delight to explore by wandering, its cityscape a web of ancient alleys that with every twist and turn slowly revealed the heart of this very old city to us. While the historic center of the city is a relatively condensed area that orbits around the Cathedral of Seville, the Royal Alcázar and the bullring, every bario in the ancient metropolois was fascinating to wander through. Spanish maps of the city from the 16th century hint at what’s to be found. In the 12th century, expanding upon an older Roman defensive wall from the first century AD, Seville’s Moorish rulers totally enclosed the growing town with a new and larger fortified wall.

It started at the Torre del Oro and ran north along the Guadalquivir River until it turned and headed inland in a huge arc that reconnected back at the tower. The old city walls originally had fifteen gates allowing entry into the city and were named for their function. Coal was brought into the city through Puerta del Carbon, while olive oil merchants used Postigo del Aceite to bring their product to town.  Puerta de Jerez and Puerta de Cordoba were the gateways through which travelers from those towns entered Seville.  Puerta Real was built for the exclusive use of the Spanish royals. 

The walls stood until a modernization of the city in 1868 required all the gates except for three be demolished. Today only the Puerta de la Macarena, Puerta de Cordoba, and the Postigo del Aceite remain.  Several small sections of the crenellated wall still stand along the ring road, Ronda de Capuchinos, that now follows the ancient edge of the city. Other parts turn up randomly across the city, where they were incorporated into the walls of newer 19th century buildings.

Roughly following the ring road, we would zig and zag our way through the old neighborhoods of the city that were once shielded behind its ancient wall.  Starting in the old Jewish quarter, now Santa Cruz, we followed the wall topped with an aqueduct along Calle Aqua and peered through locked gates, spying the lush shaded courtyards of the traditional homes. Buildings along this calle that back to the Jardines de Murillo use the old defensive wall as part of their structure. Veering into the center of the old Juderia we found some of the narrowest lanes in Seville. The thinnest being Calle Reinoso which leads off Plaza Venerables and is affectionately nicknamed “Calle de los Besos,” the Street of Kisses to visualize how intimate the passageway potentially can be.

After the Moors were defeated in 1248 every mosque in Seville was converted to a church. A similar policy ensued in 1492 when King Ferdinand II of Aragon and Queen Isabella I of Castille issued the Alhambra Decree, expelling all of Spain’s Jewish population. But a century before the Spanish Inquisition began a rioting mob in 1391 was incited by the hateful rhetoric of a Christian Archdeacon, Ferdinand Martinez, blocked the exits from the Seville ghetto and set the Juderia ablaze. It was once a thriving community that hosted three large synagogues and twenty lesser ones.  Four thousand people died that March 15th. Survivors fled the city, or were forced to convert to Catholicism. The abandoned properties were redistributed by King Henry lll to Christian nobles. The Iglesia de Santa María la Blanca is a notable conversion of a synagogue built in the 13th century. Its stunningly ornate plaster work ceiling veils its tragic history.  A block away where Puerta de la Carne once stood, the street is now lined with umbrellaed tables in front of a mouthwatering assortment of eateries.

Blindfolded or throwing darts at the map, any direction you randomly choose in Seville reveals fascinating layers of history. We never passed the chance to explore a church if its doors were open. Admittedly that’s a huge number in Seville. And some visits are more rewarding than others, we learned upon entering the chapel of the Convento Santa María de Jesús.  The gilded 16th century baroque interior was beautiful. What we found just as intriguing (you get a little numb by the huge amount of gold-leaf in Seville,) though, was that the nuns, of the non-sequestered order of the Poor Clares, bake “Las Dulces,” cookies and pastries, in order to financially support themselves. They sell the tasty creations derived from centuries old, secret recipes from behind an iron barred window.

A half block away the Casa de Pilatos was a marvelous example of a 16th century Andalusian Palace that rivaled the workmanship of Real Alcazar.

It displays a unique juxtaposition of Mudéjar, Gothic, Renaissance and Romantic architectural styles that seamlessly blend into a kaleidoscope of color, shape and texture. 

There are also Roman and Greek antiquities on display that were collected by an early patriarch of the family when he served as Viceroy of Naples in the mid-1500s.  It has amazingly stayed in the same aristocratic family for 500 years and today the 20thDuchess of Medinacelli still has a private residence there.  Admission is free on Mondays after 3pm, but there can be a long queue.

Continuing down the street toward the main boulevard we found Sevilla Vinos a small shop that specializes in local Andalusian wines and sherries. You can purchase wine here by the bottle or you can bring your empty bottles back to be refilled from large casks like the local folks do.

Farther along, the Almazen café was the closest we could find to an internet café in Seville aside from Starbucks. But what’s the fun of that when you can find a neighborhood gem instead. Mostly, taking your laptop computer to work in a public space just isn’t done in Europe from our experience. It seems to break the cherished protocol of separating work from pleasure, a refreshing practice here.

Out on Calle Maria Auxilidora we walked along the ring road to the Jardines del Valle where a long stretch of fortress wall separates the park from the barrio behind it.  That Sunday a crowd had gathered on the sidewalk in front of the park to cheer on the runners in the annual Seville Marathon. 

Farther down the avenue the arched door of the Moorish influenced tower-gate Puerta de Cordoba stands attached to the Church of San Hermenegildo. A legend from the 6th century tells us Hermenegildo was a young Visgoth Prince, son of King Leovigildo who followed a branch of Christianity, Arianism, that did not believe in the holy trinity. Upon marrying a Frankish Catholic Princess, Hermenegildo converted to Catholicism against his father’s wishes. He was eventually imprisoned in the Cordoba tower-gate and beheaded there on Easter Day in 585AD when he refused holy communion from an Arian bishop.  The relic of his severed head was passed for centuries between numerous monasteries and convents on the Iberian Peninsula before finding its final resting spot at the Royal Monastery of San Lorenzo de El Escorial, near Madrid. He was canonized on the thousandth anniversary of his death. During the renaissance on the saint’s feast day, April 13th, the Brotherhood of San Hermenegildo would host jousts in front of the defensive wall that still stands next to the church. 

This is the longest stretch of ancient city wall still standing. It runs parallel to the ring road for seven blocks between the Church of San Hermenegildo and the monumental Arco de la Macarena, which stands next to the church of the same name. The last vestiges of a moat added in the 18th century are still visible here.  During the Spanish Civil War firing squads executed people against this arch. It’s believed this entrance was built by the Moors over one of the three original gates to the city constructed by Julius Caesar when he governed Andalusia in the first century AD.  The origin of the gate’s name is disputed with some historians speculating that it was named after a wealthy Roman property owner. Others think it bears the name of a Moor princess who lived next to the wall when the Arabs controlled the city. Popular belief is it was named in tribute to Macaria, daughter of Hercules, who is the mythological founder of Seville.

We stopped to see the Virgin of Hope, a venerated wooden statue draped in a gold embroidered robe covered with precious stones at Hermandad de la Macarena, and found her fascinating.  Entering the basilica is free, but there is a small fee to view, up close, the exquisite craftsmanship of the robe of the Virgen de la Esperanza de Macarena de Sevilla, (say that ten times fast!) from behind the altar.  The Virgin of Hope is the patroness of bullfighters and was famously re-dressed only once in a black robe to mourn the death, in 1920, of the famous Sevillano bullfighter, José Gómez Ortega, who was loved across Spain. 

To prevent looting of the icons during the Spanish Civil War, a caretaker secretly took the statue home and pretended he was caring for a bedridden sister. Later he pretended to be a stone mason and secreted the statue in the city cemetery within the ornate tomb of the bullfighter Ortega for several months to protect it.

Heading back into the city through the arch we eventually came to the ornately figured baroque façade of Iglesia San Luis de los Franceses.  This was a refreshing change from other baroque churches in Seville that hid their opulent interiors behind plain, almost barren exteriors that benefit from the phrase – “Don’t judge a church by its exterior.” This was clearly not the case with the Iglesia San Luis de los Franceses; it broadcast “notice me!” as if the exquisite stone figures were the 18th century mason’s version of a neon sign.  The church was built at the beginning of the 1700s for the Jesuits to use as a novitiate, but they were only able to use this elegant building for thirty years before the order was expelled from Spain and the rest of the Spanish empire.  Later it was used as a Franciscan seminary and convent, then factory, theatre, hospital for venerated priests and hospice. Eventually it was deconsecrated before being shuttered for many decades. After a ten-year renovation sponsored by the Provincial Council of Seville the still deconsecrated church is now a museum and local government office. Its four gilded baroque altars with their sixteen spiraling, solomonic columns that support the dome above are spectacular and in our opinion it’s one of the finest church interiors in the city.

Associating convents with cookies led to a little misadventure one afternoon. We entered the side door of the Convent of Santa Isabel, located next to the Iglesia de San Marcos, and met a nun talking with a parishioner.  Looks of confusion crossed everyone’s face and heads shook, no, when I asked in very poor Spanish “Los dulces por favor.”  A few moments after leaving empty handed, the gentleman the sister was conversing with called to us and to our surprise presented two simple sandwiches.  We suddenly realized we had approached the convent’s food bank and they thought we were asking for something to eat. We thanked him and made a donation which brought a huge smile to his face and ours.

In this part of the city there seemed to be a church or convent on every block, and we had surely far exceeded the number of visitations to religious institutions to keep thunder and lightning at bay. Just wandering through the neighborhoods without a particular destination in mind was very enjoyable and let us follow any whim spontaneously, whether it was a flash of light from the journeyman knife sharpener as he held the blade to his grinding stone attached to the back of his scooter, or music emanating from an alley as a marching band rehearsed, or the cacophony created by the brotherhoods practicing with their weighted floats prior to Holy Week.

The farther we were away from the historic center of Seville the fewer tourists we encountered and prices in the barrio eateries dropped considerably. Los Coloniales was one such tavern located on a corner across from Plaza Cristo de Burgos. At the beginning of March the days were sunny and warm in the afternoon so dining outside was delightful, though sometimes it required a wait.  Leaving our name with the hostess we waited in the shaded park across the street until she loudly bellowed, “Craig & Donna!” We felt like locals as we hurried over.  The tapas and the ambiance of the setting were very enjoyable.

One afternoon as we walked back to the apartment from a late lunch, luckily I noticed a single black and white flyer tacked high on a tall double-wide door, while Donna had stopped way down the block to take a photo.  Hundreds of years old, the door had a smaller single door built into which was open. I don’t recall seeing a placard on the wall identifying the building, but the flyer had a picture of a tray of cookies! By the time I turned around and got Donna’s attention the door had quietly been shut and locked to our disappointment. Finding it on a map we established that it was the Convento de Santa Inés. Allegedly they baked bolletos, little round cookie balls with sesame and honey-glazed pestiños – dough flavored with orange zest, aniseed, olive oil, and wine, then fried. Determined, we returned earlier several days later and stepped over the ancient threshold into a spartan courtyard with no sign of activity or arrows to follow. But in the far back corner under a small portico there was a plain wooden cabinet built into the wall surrounded by a fading spiritual fresco and Azulejo tiles.  Taped to its door was the price sheet for the available, “Las Dulces.” The cabinet is called a torno and when you open the door there is a lazy Susan style turntable that allows the cloistered nuns to receive your payment and provide your cookies while remaining unseen. Over the centuries, convent tornos were also sadly used to anonymously drop-off unwanted infants in hopes the child would have a better life. Three decades ago, there were forty cloistered convents in Seville, today only a dozen remains, hosting an ever dwindling number of nuns.  Not all of them bake “Las Dulces,” but knowing now we wish we had searched for the others that still do.

Dessert was celebrated, back on our apartment’s rooftop, with a glass of sherry and the cookies from the Convento de Santa Inés, as we sat with our backs to the laundry billowing gently on a warm Spring breeze and waited for the sun to set. This was unfortunately one of our last adventures in Seville before the city entered its first lockdown of the pandemic in March 2020 and all tourists were ordered to leave Spain. We were sitting on the steps of the pillar at Plaza del Triunfo late one afternoon, amazed by the emptiness of the square. There weren’t any horse-drawn carriages or lines of tourists waiting for entry into the cathedral or the Alcázar. Two policemen approached. “The city is closed, you must go home.” It was a shocking eviction notice.

We thoroughly enjoyed our immersion into the nuances of living in Seville and would definitely recommend the city for anyone considering a long-term stay. The city simultaneously manages to be intriguingly historic and contemporary. There were many different ways to enjoy the city and aside from the moderately high price of museum admissions, the cost of living in Seville and dining out was very reasonable.  We walked mostly, but on occasion used the rideshare Uber which operated very well across the city. The weather was splendid in February and March, with cool mornings warming into delightful sunny afternoons.

Make plans, enjoy your travels!

¡Hasta luego!

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Seville Part 3 – Walk a Little then Café

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Parts of this ancient city with its labyrinth of cobbled lanes feel more akin to a small village with an earth toned, sun drenched patina. Vibrant traditions and a youthful vitality along with numerous historic sites scattered across the city all contribute to make Seville a walker’s delight. There’s no correct way to explore the city. How you do it depends on the amount of time you have to indulge yourself in the history and atmosphere of this beautiful city. Strolling through the city is the finest way to discover its character. Immersing ourselves into the city for six weeks, we walked the familiar cobbled lanes multiple times with many variations and sporadic detours that we hope you find interesting.  Seville never ceased to charm us. 

The routes we favored most webbed out from behind the Cathedral of Seville’s Patio de los Naranjos on Calle de Placentines, around the corner from the Palacio Arzobispal on Plaza Virgen de los Reyes, and wandered through the Alfalfa, Centro and La Macarena districts.

An old-world fabric store bedecked with selections of gold embroidered trim, ribbons, and tassels hanging from worn wooden cabinets enticed us inside.  Further on the display window of a religious goods store fascinated us with its selection of all things sacred. Before crossing into the Plaza Jesus de la Pasion, the savory window display at Confiteria La Despensa De Palacio stopped us dead in our tracks. Lovingly run by generations of the Santaella family, the shop has been Seville’s premiere chocolatier and pastelería for over 250 years. The pastries were sumptuous!

Across the street the Plaza Jesus de la Pasion widens to reveal a wonderful example of 19th century Andalusian architecture. The far end of the square features a façade of red brick framing Azulejos tiles and Moroccan influenced, pointed arched windows.  The plaza also seems to be a favored place for a protest or political rally as we came across several, over the weeks we spent there.

At this point it’s possible to head one block over to visit the Iglesia Colegial del Divino Salvador, on the plaza of the same name. This is a very popular square with many restaurants and outdoor tables along with buskers providing entertainment.

The Iglesia Colegial del Divino Salvador is the second most important church in Seville after the main cathedral and features a monumental and intricately carved 18th century Baroque altar. The beautiful piece was created by the Andulasian altarpiece architect and sculptor Cayetano de Acosta, who contributed works to numerous churches across southern Spain.

Returning to Plaza Jesus de la Pasion, the far end of the square funnels into the very cosmopolitan C. Puente y Pellon. Lined with a wide variety of shops, we found the most interesting to be the Zapaterias, shoe cobblers, and the dress shops, their windows filled with colorfully clad mannequins displaying tight fitting and frilly dresses called traje de flamenco or traje de gitana, for the upcoming Seville Fair (La Feria De Abril).

Here we found what we regard as the best bread bakery in Seville, Crustum Panem Bridge and Pellón, https://www.crustum.es/ sandwiched between window displays featuring towering pyramids of tasty Bocadillo de jamón, the ultimate hoagie lunch para llevar, to carry away, for an inexpensive picnic. The bakery offered a wide assortment of breads and empanadas. Our favorite though was a very dense bread made with nuts, seeds, and dried fruit which they sold by the slice and weight.  We returned often.

A little further on the Setas de Sevilla loomed over us as we left the alley.  The Setas is a massive, multi-story, Lego-like freeform sculpture with a viewing deck atop it. Constructed entirely of wood, it nearly covers a full city block. It’s an iconic symbol of modern Seville that the locals lovingly call The Mushroom because of its shape. 

For over 150 years this plaza was the true center of the city for Sevillianos when 400 market stalls of the Mercado de la Encarnación occupied the land above the ruins of the medieval Convento de la Encarnación, from which the plaza took its name.  The market operated until 1973 when the building was demolished for structural reasons and the remaining ninety vendors were housed in temporary facilities for what was hoped to be three years.  Inaction by the city left the site closed for 31 years and the area around the plaza became blighted, until the local government sponsored an international design competition in 2004 for ideas to revitalize the plaza and return it to its former prominence. 

Jürgen Mayer, a German architect, won with a concept called Metropol Parasol, constructed with sustainable wood. At 490 feet long by 230 feet wide and just under 100 feet tall, it is the largest wooden structure in the world made with laminated Finnish pine. Its unique design features 3500 sections attached together with 16 million nuts and bolts. The interior of the Setas now hosts a daily market with 38 vendors offering fruits and vegetables, fish, meat, poultry, and cheese. The base of the monument and plaza is ringed with restaurants that have excellent outdoor seating in the shade of the mammoth structure. Inside by the market stalls are several traditional luncheonettes that offer inexpensive daily specials.

A detour to the Guadalquivir River and Triana can be easily made here by following Calle Imagen west. This walk took us past many older buildings with interesting architectural details, and the 14th century Iglesia de San Antonio Abad which hosts the Brotherhood of Silence, the oldest brotherhood in Seville.

A block away the aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans drew us into Elhombre Pez, where you can only purchase bags of whole or ground coffee beans. Their coffee beans are definitely worth the purchase if you have an apartment stay in the city.

The Seville Museum of Fine Arts, set in a former 17th century palace, is also in this direction and is an intriguing detour with its extensive collection of Spanish masterpieces.

Several blocks farther the Real Parroquia de Santa María Magdalena was an interesting discovery. Built in 1691, this Baroque church has a fascinating interior.  The small bar on the corner, Casa Murillo, was a reliable spot for café and lunch. Across the street Churreria San Pablo always seemed to have a line waiting for its sweet treats.

Calle Regina directly behind the Setas de Sevilla begins to funnel folks away from the bustling historic district and into a more residential area, though it’s still lined with a variety of shops and eateries. And if you share our belief that the food is always better and more affordable two blocks away from a popular tourist attraction, you will like this neighborhood. On this stretch Mr. Cake Sevilla with its artfully prepared and tasty offerings is a nice place to rest.

The Iglesia de San Juan de la Palma stands at the crossroad to our favorite tapas bar in Seville, the Bodega La Plazoleta. The gothic portal of the church is one of its few remaining original features. Compared to other churches in Seville its relatively small, but it features three interesting side chapels devoted to the Brotherhoods of Bitterness, the Virgin of the Head, and Our Lady of Montemayor.

The restaurant is on a small square, to the right of the church, that was far enough off the main path that it didn’t attract many tourists. Over our six-week stay in Seville this was our go to bodega for its excellent food, relaxing atmosphere and chocolate cake! The restored 15th century Palacio de las Dueñas is nearby, but let’s face it, it’s impossible to do everything and we needed to save some ideas for future visits to this wonderful city.

If you make a left at this crossroad, it’s a simple detour to the Alameda de Hércules. The origins of this large park date to 1574 and it is believed to be the oldest public garden with tree lined promenades in Europe.  The park takes its name from a statue of Hercules, the mythical founder of Seville, excavated from the ruins of a nearby ancient Roman wall.  This part of the city now has a younger hipster atmosphere and is known for its nightlife and club scene as well as its array of restaurants offering a variety of international cuisine. In this barrio the Basílica de Jesús del Gran Poder is an unusual church with its circular sanctuary which is surprisingly hidden within the church’s traditional façade.

Back at the crossroads: Thursdays are, as the name Mercadillo Histórico del Jueves suggests, the best day for this final leg of the walk. Legend says that this street market has been a feature of the city since the Moors ruled Seville.  Every Thursday several blocks of Calle Feria are closed to traffic, and it becomes a pedestrian mall lined with vendors now selling antiques and flea-market type items.  The market is a popular destination, and occasionally we felt like we were in a conga-line weaving through a sardine can.  We did find a small, folkloric style painting of Seville’s La Feria de Abril that just fit into our suitcase.

It was quite a walk from our apartment on Plaza de Doña Elvira, but our favorite local food market in Seville was the Mercado de la Feria, several blocks past the mercadillo histórico.  The market had a very authentic feel to it, being in a neighborhood that is far away from the tourist center of the city. It had a wonderful fish monger, cheese shop and fresh pasta maker. Accustomed to their neighborhood clientele, the vendors seemed surprised with our purchases which indicated that we actually cook for ourselves.  This is also a great destination for lunch as there are a number of small restaurants that ring the market.

Next to the market – It’s not always open, but if the door under the 13th century pointed Gothic arch of the Real Parroquia de Omnium Sanctorum is ajar, it’s worth stopping to investigate – is one of the oldest churches in Seville. It has gone through many incarnations over the centuries, most notably after a 1355 earthquake, and arson attack in 1936 during the Spanish Civil War.

At this point in the walk, you can choose to head back towards the Alameda de Hércules or continue on towards the towers of the Puente del Alamillo bridge, which you’ve probably already spotted, that spans the northern part of the Guadalquivir River. Head to the river. There is a wonderful pedestrian foot/bike path that follows the course of the river. This stretch of the river is also popular with anglers using traditional long poles and line gear to catch fish from its bank.

It is a long but pleasant walk south along the river back towards the bustle of Seville.  Mid span on the Puente del Cachorro is a great vantage point for photos of the historic Triana waterfront with kayakers and scullers enjoying the river.

If its late in the day and you want to catch a movie, the Centro Comercial Plaza de Armas is only two blocks inland from here, in the restored 19th century Old Cordoba Train Station.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Ronda Road Trip – The Pueblos Blancos or Blinded by the Light

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Needing a break from city life we rented a car at the Santa Justa train station and within minutes we were out of Seville heading south to Ronda, one of Andalucia’s many “Pueblos Blancos,” the white villages, so called because of their uniformly whitewashed houses.  Although it was less than two hours from Seville, it took us all day due to the number of planned stops and spontaneous detours we made.

Lime paint was introduced to the region when Rome controlled the Iberian peninsular. Its use was greatly expanded during the mid-1300’s when a bubonic plague pandemic swept through the Mediterranean countries.  Residents of villages were required yearly to cover the outside and the interiors of their homes and churches with a limewash, known for its natural anti-bacterial and insecticidal properties, in an effort to reduce the spread of disease. Community inspections were done, and folks were fined for noncompliance. This mandated conformity was eventually appreciated as an aesthetically pleasing look and a symbol of meticulous tidiness. Fortunately, the custom stayed and has become an iconic signature of southern Andalusia.

Cresting a low hill on the A-375, we spotted a small castle with crenellated walls and towers in a shallow valley not far from the road. Turning towards it we followed a dirt track through farmland not yet ploughed for the Spring planting to a small intersection where the castle stood next to a narrow, babbling brook.  The history of the Castillo de Las Aguzaderas isn’t really known, but it is thought to have been built in the 1300’s by the Moors as they retreated from advancing territorial gains made by the Spanish during the Reconquista. 

Of Spain’s 2500 castles this is the only one that does not sit atop the high ground of a hill or mountain to command the surrounding terrain, but according to its historical placard, stands in a hollow to protect the spring that emerges from the earth outside its wall. With no attendant and an open gate, we were free to scramble around the walls and climb stairs in a terrible state of disrepair to the top of the castle keep for views all around. In the distance an ancient stone watchtower, Torre del Bollo, dominated a hill.

From afar the whitewashed casas of Zahara de la Sierra brilliantly reflected the sunlight like polished marble.  The homes, stacked like building blocks, rose up the hillside until they met a sheer butte. A square tower crowned the butte’s summit.

We followed the long ring road that circles the mount through the village and decided to have lunch at Meson Oñate where we were drawn to the outdoor patio that overlooks the Zahara-El Gastor Reservoir and the rolling farmland that surrounds it. 

After lunch, to work off our delicous meal, we hiked to the Castillo de Zahara, which crowns the mountaintop above the village. It was a well paved steep path at the start, but soon the slope decreased to a manageable incline that zigzagged up the mountain.  For our effort we were rewarded with stunning bird’s eye views over the red tiled roofs of the village and to the distant lake below. A tower is all that is left of a larger Moorish castle from the 13th century that was built over the ruins of a small Roman settlement that once called the mountaintop home. Barely accessible, it provided a safe haven during times of trouble. The castle had a turbulent history with its control passing back and forth several times between the Moors and Spanish. Even French troops once commanded its summit through Napoleon’s conquest of Spain during the Peninsular War that raged in the early 1800’s.

With a last-minute decision to take a longer route to Ronda, we headed into the mountains outside of Zahara de la Sierra on CA-9104, a serpentine road with steep slopes that took us into the Sendero La Garganta Verde, a rugged and wild scenic area that is known for its population of Griffon vultures, and Monte Prieto.  The wind was insanely whipping around us when we parked the car at the Puerto de las Palomas (4500ft above sea level) mountain pass and walked to an observation deck in hope of viewing some vultures.  Griffons are large birds of prey that have wing spans up to nine feet across. We were fortunate to spot some, far off in the distance before we ran back to the car, chilled to the bone.

The sun sets early when you are on the eastern side of the steep Sierra del Pinar mountain range.  The last rays of sunlight still illuminated Grazalema as we drove into the village, but the temperature dropped along with the vanishing light of a February afternoon.

We sat in the plaza and had café across the sidewalk from an interesting statue of a bull being roped.  The statue commemorates the ancient practice of hunting wild bulls. The tradition continued through the Romans and Arabs and was Christianized by the church into the feast of the bull to celebrate the Virgen del Carmen. During the festival, three times a day, a bull is released to run through the village for an hour with the men chasing after, in hopes of roping it. The beginning and end of each bull’s run is announced with fireworks throughout the day.  Sections of an old Roman road that led up into the village are still visible from the mirador on the edge of town.

Enjoying the freedom and spontaneity a rental car offers is a big plus when developing itineraries. Finding convenient and affordable hotels that have free or inexpensive onsite parking was another whole issue.  It was dark by the time we reached Ronda and we were having difficulty finding the hotel’s parking. With one last call to the hotel receptionist the garage door to their secret lair, that was our parking space, was magically revealed to us on a back alley, under the Hotel Plaza de Toros. Only big enough for six cars, our tiny Fiat 500 easily fit in its tight confines.

The next morning revealed that the hotel was in an excellent location, just a block from the town’s famous bullring, Plaza de Toros de la Real Maestranza de Caballería de Ronda, built in 1784. Aside from bullfights it has been used as an armory and calvary training grounds by the Real Maestranza de Caballería de Ronda, a noble order of horsemen in the 18th and 19th centuries.

The promenade next to bullring is dedicated to famous literary talents who were enamored with the “Ciudad Sońada” or “Dreamed City,” as Ronda is also called. While Don Quixote didn’t tilt at any windmills in Ronda, his creator Miguel de Cervantes certainly drew inspiration from the area as he traveled between villages for his day job as Royal Tax Collector. Washington Irving found inspiration in the rugged landscape of southern Spain when he traveled through Ronda in 1828 prompting him to write, “There is something in the austere presence of this Spanish landscape that wounds the soul with a feeling close to the sublime.” He also romanticized the brigands, who some saw as Robin Hood figures that lived in the mountainous terrain surrounding Ronda, and Irving was disappointed in not encountering any on his journey through Andalusia, ignoring the poverty and repressive feudal system that forced many into a life of crime. Ernst Hemingway was drawn to the machismo and pageantry of bullfighting in Ronda, where the sword and red muleta cape were first introduced into the ring by the legendary matador Francisco Romero in 1726.  Orson Welles explained bullfighting as “an unjustifiable yet irresistible, three-act tragedy.” Wells was so fascinated with this quintessential Andalusian village that he chose to be buried here on the hacienda of a bullfighter friend – “A man does not belong to the place he was born in, but to the place he chooses to die.” Spanish poet, José Agustín Goytisolo summed it up best for us with, “We sighted Ronda. It was raised up in the mountains, like a natural extension of the landscape, and in the sunlight it seemed to me to be the most beautiful city in the world.”

The mirador beyond the park overlooked olive groves and spring fields still dormant.  Past them distant mountains faded into the horizon.  The path through the mirador led to the Puente Nuevo bridge that connects the younger old town to the ancient village across the steep sided El Tajo (The Deep Cut) gorge, carved out eons ago by the rushing waters of the Rio Guadalevín.  Finished in 1793 after 34 years of construction, the new bridge isn’t so new anymore, but it was an engineering feat when it was constructed across the shear 390ft deep chasm that divided the village. It replaced a poorly built 1735 bridge that tragically collapsed after only six years’ use, killing fifty people.

Ronda is a fabulous city for walking and as we continued across the bridge into La Ciudad, Ronda’s old-town quarter, we stopped in awe, to photograph the iconic whitewashed houses that are tenuously perched atop the walls of the gorge. Precarious to the point that if their front door slammed too hard the back of the house might fall into the gorge! 

We worked our way to Plaza Duquesa de Parcent in the center of the historic district for lunch. Passing architectural details from Ronda’s Moorish and Spanish past still evident on some of the ancient buildings.

In the off-season not all of the restaurants were open, but it was a beautiful day and we didn’t mind waiting for a table in the fascinating historical surroundings. A few minutes later we were seated at a table in the sun, caddy corner between the Convento de Clarisas de Santa Isabel de los Ángeles and the Convento De La Caridad, both built in the 16th century. The classic symmetry of Ronda’s Town Hall with its two-tier colonnade anchored the far side of the plaza.  

Adjacent to the town hall the Iglesia de Santa María la Mayor is the real draw to this side of the historic district.  With two rows of covered balconies next to an adjoining former minaret turned belltower, it’s a unique façade for a church and it’s built on the foundation of a 14th century mosque. Ronda and Granada were the last Moorish strongholds in Andalusia, and the mosque was ordered destroyed after Ronda surrendered in 1485. King Ferdinand and Queen Isabel immediately ordered that a Gothic church be built upon the spot. 

The balconies on the front were added during the reign of King Felipe II in the 1500s for the well-to-do and nobles of the city to watch maestranza tournaments in the plaza, before the Plaza de Toros de la Real Maestranza de Caballería de Ronda was built. A century later the church was partially destroyed in an earthquake and the rebuilding over the next two centuries embraced a mishmash of Gothic, Renaissance and Baroque styles that sends architectural purists into a frenzy of “how could they.” Though smaller than the churches in Seville, we found the Iglesia very refreshing with its lofty interior and fabulous religious art.

Just inside one of the side entrances, a worn stone stairwell led up to a walled catwalk that wrapped around the side and back of the building. The views from it over the red tiled roofs of the old quarter seemed not to have changed for centuries.

Later that evening we explored the new town and found Grabados Somera, Shallow Engravings, a wonderful workshop and gallery filled with etchings of matadors, senoritas and Ronda, all the creations of master printmaker engraver Pedro Somera Abad. Writing this now we regret not purchasing a print as a souvenir of our time in Spain.

We eventually came across La Casa de Jamon, a gourmet store and Iberian Ham bar that will leave any carnivorous epicure salivating. Here a leg of the best jamon to take back to your casa will dent your wallet an extravagant 600€.  We never realized those acorn fed porkers could command such a price. Along with jamon, they have locally sourced sausages, wine and cheese from the Andalusia region. We decided to order a charcuterie board for dinner and we were not dissappointed with the tasty assortment presented.

The next morning we walked through the Jardines De Cuenca along a walled path that traced the course of the Rio Guadalevín through El Tajo gorge far below. Across the chasm the hanging gardens of the old palatial homes that lined the cliff edge were redolent with color. The path through the park slowly descended to the Puente Viejo; built in 1616, it is the oldest stone bridge over the river.

Across the bridge the route split to go back into La Ciudad, the old town, through the Renaissance era Puerta de Carlos V, where taxes were once levied on the wares merchants brought into the city.  Or we could go downhill to the impressive arched ruins of the Baños Arabes, a 13th century Moorish bathhouse on the outskirts of the city, that provided heated water, an impressive feat 800 years ago.

Along the river that supplied water to the Arab baths, grist mills once stood just inside Ronda’s double ring of fortress walls that protected this side of La Ciudad.  The mills ground wheat harvested from the surrounding countryside. The stones of the outer wall were repurposed long ago. Now only remnants of the massive inner wall, the last line of defense before entering the city still stands, causing us to pause and imagine its former glory. Walking under the last vestiges of Ronda’s mighty defenses, we headed back.

It was lightly raining as we strolled along Carrera Espinel in search of an interesting place for dinner.  Most of the inside tables at the restaurants we passed were taken with diners escaping the damp evening chill.  But the aroma of savory clams drew us to an outside table at Restaurante Las Maravillas, where the waiter was attentive and refueled the tower heater next to our table to help keep us warm. The dinner and wine were delicious.

Plans to visit Olvera and Setenil de las Bodegas the next day were made over dessert and coffee. It had been a long satisfying day, our “walk a little then café” evolved to “walk a little more, then bed.”

Till next time, Craig & Donna

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Seville Part 2 – Walking Through History Under the Orange Trees

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One of the tenets of slow travel is the ability to revisit a place many times to savor the changes in its ambience. The Plaza de España in Parque de María Luisa was one such lively spot that we enjoyed and returned to several times. 

It is an iconic landmark for Seville with its eclectic mix of Baroque, Renaissance and Moorish architectural styles embellished with hand painted Mudéjar tiles created across the Guadalquivir River, in the Triana barrio.

Along with an expansive plaza, signature horseshoe colonnade, and boating moat, it has been a popular destination since it was constructed for the Ibero-American Exposition of 1929.  It, along with the Museum of Popular Arts and Traditions, and the Archeological Museum of Seville in Parque de María Luisa, are hubs of activity on the weekends when they fill with friends and families looking for more elbow room.

Several other architecturally interesting buildings were constructed in the park and along Paseo de la Delicias at this time to host exhibitions from countries that were formerly part of the Spanish Empire and which would later be used as consulate building. 

On the way to the park one morning, we stopped for café along the edge of Jardines de Murillo and unsuccessfully tried to order cappuccinos from a brusque waiter who replied, “No,” just no and without any further explanation turned and walked away. Confounded, we left.  This happened again several days later when we were early for a dermatologist appointment, for an overdue skin cancer screening at Hospital Fátima, a private hospital in Seville that facilitates multi-lingual medical tourism services for travelers. We used TripMedic to arrange our appointments.

We found the small café, Bar Puerto Chico, on the block behind the hospital. It was full of folks on the way to work, having the traditional Andalusian breakfast that consists of tostada, soft Mollette bread, perfectly toasted to a golden brown and drizzled with olive oil, a smear of crushed tomatoes and maybe a slice of jamon, along with coffee and zumo natural, fresh squeezed Spanish oranges.  “Dos capuchinos por favor.” The barman smiled this time when he responded with a “No,” but seemed to be delighted that two foreigners had found his establishment, when he explained that they only serve espresso or café con leche. In some local bars cappuccinos just aren’t done. Mystery solved.

Heading back into the city center, the sidewalk along Paseo de la Delicias eventually dips down, near the Escuela de Mareantes (School of Navigation) and widens to a scenic esplanade for bicyclists and walkers, that parallels the Guadalquivir River through Seville for several miles.

Speckled with buskers, sculptures, and benches, there are plenty of excuses to saunter slowly and savour the view. The river is popular with numerous kayaking and sculling clubs that launch miles upstream and then race down the river. 

The waterway on the weekends was always bustling, but even during the week there were a good number of paddlers and rowers on the water, from sunrise to sunset.

It’s also an historic stretch of river that was the Port of Seville, where galleons returning from the Spanish colonies in the Americas during the 16th and 17th centuries unloaded cargo and registered their treasure of gold and silver bullion at the Torre del Oro, tower of gold bullion.  The 118 ft tall tower dates from the 1100s and was part of the Moorish defensive wall that once encircled the entirety of ancient Seville and was the anchor point for a heavy chain that was stretched across to the Triana side of the river to control shipping.

Ferdinand Magellan launched the first circumnavigation of the world from this quay in 1519. For the 500th anniversary of this tremendous feat the city commissioned a full-size replica of his ship, the Nao Victoria, to be moored on the river.  A small vessel by today’s standards, it made us wonder how they ever succeeded in sailing around the world. 

Nearing sundown, the quay along the river fills with folks waiting to watch the sky erupt with color as the sun sets behind the bridge and Triana.

At the base of the bridge stands the lofty, wrought-iron and glass Mercado Lonja del Barranco, designed by Gustave Eiffel in 1883. It functioned as the city’s fish market for several decades before it was re-envisioned in 2014 as an upscale food hall with a contemporary, architecturally beautiful interior.  It’s definitely a fun foodie destination; it is a savory gauntlet of display cases offering the full spectrum of Spanish cuisine prepared by twenty different restautrants.  There is something delicous for everyone available here.

Aside from the completion of the Puente de Triana bridge in 1852, which replaced a well maintained 700 hundred year old Arab-designed pontoon bridge, it’s alleged that the Triana riverfront looks unchanged since Columbus recruited his sailors from the barrio.

While it still retains its authentic character, some wonderful alterations have been implemented, starting with the pedestrian only Calle San Jacinto that starts at the foot of the bridge on the Triana side. It is a lively stretch of outdoor cafes that offer an array of different cuisines.

The ruined dungeons of Castillo de San Jorge castle, located under the Mercado de Triana, are now a museum and Interpretation Center for the 300 year terror known as the Spanish Inquisition.  Nearby a short alley leading up from the river, the “Paseo de la Inquisición,” was the last walk of freedom for many before the prison door slammed behind them.

The mercado is a thriving, lively spot that draws locals for the seafood, meat, cheese and vegetable vendors, along with a slew of always busy restaurants.  We caught a lesson in buying fresh fish while waiting in line at a fish monger’s stand. “Always look at the inside color of the gills, they should be very bright,” is what we gathered as he showed several large whole fish to the customer in front of us as we waited to purchase a filet of tuna to cook back at our apartment.

One stall, which we dubbed the olive porn store, only sold decadent large olives garnished with all sorts of delicious extras.  Another booth offered artfully decorated puff pastries, which were as tasty as they were visually stunning. The mercado was a long walk from our apartment, but one of our favorite traditional markets to shop at, which we returned to several times during our six-week immersion in Seville.

We were on the Triana side of the river one late February morning and came across a crew of city workers with ladders and buckets harvesting all the softball size Seville oranges from the trees that were lining the street. The fruit was brought to the city by the Arabs in the 9th century and Seville now, unbelievably, has 46,000 bitter orange trees that produce close to six million tons of fruit annually. Most of it is sold to be used to make marmalade, but it is also an ingredient in Cointreau, Curacao, Grand Marnier and Triple Sec liquors. Oil from the bitter orange skin is used for cosmetics, pharmaceuticals, and soaps. Recently the city started using the unsold oranges in an innovative Biogas program, where the methane gas created by the decomposing oranges is used to make “clean electricity” to run a water purification plant.

Before continuing our day, we stopped for coffee at one of the cafes that line the riverfront on Calle Betis. From our previous experiences we believed it was impossible to get a bad cup of coffee in Europe. All of it is usually made to order on one of those fancy deluxe espresso machines that you see behind the bars. My wife is more the coffee connoisseur than me as I’ve been known to make a mug of coffee last all day. But that day we both had the worst cup of coffee ever and couldn’t drink it beyond our first sips. It must have been the last pot of drip coffee from the day before that was left on the burner overnight. It’s amazing how waiters can vanish; perhaps ours did from embarrassment, but this could explain the beginning of the inquisition. Bad coffee leading to misplaced aggression, we all know what happens without that caffeine.  Sympathetically the second waiter understood when we explained the situation and he didn’t request payment.

Triana was also famous for the ceramic workshops that painted and then fired in massive kilns the Azulejo and colorful Mudéjar style tiles that adorn many of the historic buildings in Seville.  Along with sailors, Triana has cultivated many famous flamenco dancers, guitarists and bullfighters. The most admired matador was Juan Belmonte who stood famously close to the bulls and was gored several times over a career that spanned 109 bullfights. His statue stands in the plaza across from the Triana Mercado and if you follow his gaze you’ll see Seville’s beloved bullring, Plaza de toros de la Real Maestranza de Caballería de Sevilla, often simply called the Maestranza, across the river. It has been holding corridas in the same ring since 1761. 

Many of the taverns surrounding the bullring are full of corrida memorabilia. Our favorite was Bar Baratillo on Calle Adriano which is also full of shops catering to the Andalusian equestrian tradition.  La Feria de Abril is a colorful weeklong festival that celebrates this Andalusian equestrian tradition with the women wearing traditional traje de gitana or faralaes (flamenco style dress), while the men wear a cordobes hat along with a fitted short jacket, riding trousers and riding boots, refered to as traje corto. Every midday during the festival a parade of carriages and riders, called the paseo de caballos, heads to the bullring to watch the best matadores on Seville’s bullfighting calendar perform. Bullfighting season in Seville starts at the end of Semana Santa, Holy Week, on Easter Day.

Farther behind the bullring the Hospital de la Caridad, founded by the Holy Charity brotherhood in the 1600s, still follows its mission to help the poor and infirm. Its beautiful baroque chapel is now a museum filled with art.

Also, in this neighborhood in Casa Morales, we found one of Seville’s oldest abacerías, a small grocery store with a small tavern in the back, on the corner of Garcia de Vinuesa and Castillejo that is still run by the same family since its opening in 1850. The bodeguita retains its original atmosphere with antique cabinetry in the store and tall, large earthen wine vats lining tavern’s walls. It’s definitely worth a stop here to try their traditional tapas or montaditos, small sandwiches.

Just off Calle Adriano one Saturday in the weeks prior to Semana Santa we came upon a Christian brotherhood training to carry their float for the holy week processional. With military marching precision, the muscular team turned the weighted float around a tight corner and continued down the block in synchronized step. 

We followed the marching band that accompanied them to a fundraiser for the brotherhood.  Very much like a church bake sale, the only difference was they surprisingly sold bottles of various liquors.

We smiled, bought one and saluted Seville’s spirit later that evening.

Salud! – Till next, Craig & Donna 

Seville Part 1 – Living in the Centro Historico

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Our host had given us instructions to make our way to the Jardines de Murillo, past the historic monument commemorating Columbus’ discovery of the new world and then cross the park entering the Santa Cruz barrio through an old gate, under an elaborate balcony. It’s believed this balcony was the inspiration for a scene in Rossini’s comedic opera, The Barber of Seville, where Lindoro and his band of troubadours played a serenade below the window of the stunning Rosina.  We’d pass through this relaxing park many times during our time in Seville while heading out to explore the city or shop at the closest Supermercados MAS. An excellent small grocery store with bakery, meat, cheese, and fish departments. We signed up for their shopper’s club card!

“Continue down Calle Agua,” so called for the ancient aqueduct that ran atop the high wall that parallels its length and supplied water to Royal Alcázar of Seville, a former Moorish palace before the reconquest of Seville in the 13th century by the Castilians. “It turns and becomes Calle Vida.” A few steps down the lane Calle Judería veered off, a reminder that this was once the old Jewish quarter when the Moors ruled the city and continued until 1492 when King Ferdinand II and Queen Isabella decreed that all Hebrews be expelled from Spain.

We continued straight as the high walls of the lane narrowed to a point where walking single file was required, and the clickety-clack of our suitcases reverberated off the shadowed stone walls. With a broad smile and “Hola!” a sample of freshly toasted snacks was enthusiastically offered to us by an energetic saleswoman. It appeared that her mission was to have every tourist who passed her station sample the tasty treats created at Sabor a Espana, the shop that anchored a corner on Plaza de Doña Elvira, our final destination. Centered with a tiled fountain and surrounded by fragrant Seville orange trees, the intimate plaza was an oasis of greenery amidst the ancient stones of the old town.

Our host was waiting as promised with keys and an orientation of the apartment which we would call home for the next six weeks. It was the smallest apartment we had rented during our travels, but it had wonderful rooftop access with a super view of the plaza below and the Royal Alcázar, which was close enough for Seville football star Jesus Navas to kick a soccer ball into, if he were so inclined.

We will be the first to admit that our travels have not been in an orderly systematic approach to working our way slowly around the world. Instead, we seemed to have adopted a hybrid pinballer approach for ricochet shots to select our destinations across the globe. We wanted a location that offered a warm winter but eliminated any coastal towns for concern that a February/March stay would be too cold or damp along the oceanfront. We opted for Seville, with a population of 700,000, as an affordable alternative to staying in Madrid or Barcelona. The city was the ideal choice for an extended stay with near perfect weather and loads of interesting things to do and see within minutes of our apartment in the center of the historic district. This would have been totally prohibitive with our budget if we had booked this during the high season, but traveling in Spain during the shoulder season was very budget friendly and allowed us to immerse ourselves into the city’s cycle of activity.

A wonderful daily ritual soon emerged, with greetings exchanged with the shop attendant as she swept the cobblestones every morning or was offering samples later in the day when we passed.  Of course, we shopped there; the sweet aroma was too enticing to resist and the snacks were delicious. “We’ll walk it off,” we laughed. Then there were the tapas! Two favorite spots were La Fresquita, a tiny standing room only bar, uniquely devoted to “all things Semana Santa.” This included the playing of classical church music and the occasional wave of a smoky incense-filled censer over the countertop.  The other was Las Teresas, an old school tavern decked with polished wood and whole legs of Jamon Iberico dangling above the bar. We walked everywhere in Seville; it was the perfect city to explore by foot. Every direction proved rewarding with interesting discoveries.

Small plazas held cafés. With their tables set in deep shade, they dotted the historic center and provided a quiet spot to just sit back and enjoy the old-world ambiance of this foreign city, with an intriguing mix of Moorish and Spanish architecture. Our “walk a little then café, then walk a little more,” approach allowed ample opportunities to enjoy the sunny days.

Minutes from our door an arched passage under dwellings in the old Jewish quarter opened onto the Patio de Banderas. It was once a courtyard for a tenth century Moorish palace. In the 1700s the buildings that lined it were used as an armory. Later the square was planted with orange trees and converted to a riding ring for the local gentry to use. At the far end another arched gate framed the La Giralda belltower of the Catedral de Sevilla as we exited onto the Plaza del Triunfo. Built in the twelfth century during the Almohades dynasty when the Andalusian region was still part of Muslim Spain, the tower was originally a minaret.

Its square design is based on the Moorish architecture of the Koutoubia Mosque in Marrakech. The interior does not have a traditional set of stairs for the muezzin to climb to the top for the call to prayer. Instead, it was built with a ramp wide enough for the muezzin to ride a donkey to the summit of its 167ft height. I imagine they would have had a high muezzin turnover rate if this accommodation wasn’t made to facilitate the five times a day call to prayer. After a sixteen-month siege that ended in November 1248, the Muslim forces in Seville surrendered and originally wanted to destroy the minaret before their forced relocation from the city, to prevent its repurposing for another religion. Upon hearing this ing Ferdinand III of Castile included in the terms of surrender a passage that threatened “they would all be put the sword” if the beautiful minaret were defiled in any way. In the sixteenth century a new top third was added with renaissance architectural influences that expanded its height to 337ft and included space for its array of 24 bells. Giralda, “she who turns,” is the name given to the weathervane atop the belltower, with the heroic female statue representing the triumph of Christianity. The exterior of the tower blends Islamic decorative relief sculpture, featuring floral forms, intricate geometric shapes and stylized calligraphy, with Gothic, Romanesque and Renaissance architecture. This is referred to as Mudéjar style and is prevalent in many of the historic buildings in Seville and throughout Andalusia. It is an enchanting blending of cultures and a signature of the region.

The lower part of the belltower and the Mudéjar style Puerta del Perdón gate into the Patio de los Naranjos courtyard filled with perfuming oranges is all that remains of the grand mosque that was repurposed as Seville’s first Christian cathedral after the reconquest. The old building stood until 1401 when construction started on the Catedral De Sevilla, https://www.catedraldesevilla.es/cultural-visit/ with the mission to illustrate the city’s emerging importance and wealth as a trading center on the last navigable stretch of the Guadalquivir River. The church elders offered the following inspirational instructions to the builders: “let us build a church so beautiful and so magnificent that those who see it finished will think we are mad.”

The inside of the of the church, also known as Santa Maria de la Sede, is cavernous with eighty side chapels and a ceiling that soars 138ft high. It is the third largest Christian cathedral in the world. The grandiose Gothic woodcarving of the Retablo Mayor, altar piece, is the life work of one artisan, Pierre Dancart, and gilded with an amazing amount of gold from the then newly discovered Americas.

Statues representing four kings of Spain from Aragon, Castile, Leon and Navarra are pole bearers for Columbus’ tomb, belatedly acknowledging that the explorer, who died in poverty, had made a major contribution to the Spanish Empire.

Always up for a climb, we signed on for a rooftop tour of the cathedral. Following our guide, we climbed stairs worn smooth over the centuries through ancient passageways hidden in the walls and towers to the top of the church for a beautiful view across Seville. We were grateful that we didn’t pass up a chance to walk amid the Gothic spires, flying buttresses and gargoyles that adorn the inspirational structure.

When the tour ended, we rested across from the church, on the steps of the Monumento a la Inmaculada Concepción in Plaza del Triunfo. It seems to be a rite of passage for visitors to Seville, to sit here in the heart of the historic district and soak in the ambiance of this beautiful city.

We let your minds imagine life in Seville centuries ago as horse drawn carriages, filled with tourists now, clattered across the cobblestoned square in front of the Royal Alcazar of Seville. Despite the fact that we were visiting in February, every day the queue for the Royal Alcázar of Seville was always exceptionally long, so we opted to buy our tickets and reserve an entry time online.  The same option is available for the Catedral De Sevilla.

The Plaza del Triunfo sits on what was once Seville’s ancient river port until the 900’s when the area was filled, and the Caliph of Cordoba ordered the building, adjacent to it, of the Royal Alcázar of Seville to accommodate offices of the Muslim government and the Caliph’s residence.

It’s been expanded and renovated numerous times over the centuries by both Muslim and Christian rulers. But surprisingly each successive regime savored an appreciation of the previous ruler’s Islamic architecture, intricate wall and ceiling decorations and quiet, lush oasis-like gardens. All are designed to create a sense of wonder, a key element of Islamic art. The Spanish Kings and Queens continued to admire the Muslim architectural style and imported Mudéjar craftsmen from Toledo and Granada to enhance their newer constructions which favored European Gothic, Romanesque and Renaissance architectural styles. 

The importance of the Alcázar evolved significantly as Spain’s colonization of the Americas saw the country grow into the world’s first global empire, all of it directed from this seat of power in Seville. It’s an amazing place is the best way to sum it up.  Today the Alcázar of Seville is still occasionally used as a royal residence by King Felipe VI and Queen Letizia.

Flamenco is synonymous with Seville and one of most enjoyable ways to watch it was to find a street dancer or group busking. Our favorite dancer was Charli La Tornillo. She entertained crowds many afternoons with a passionate, fiery routine near the fountain in Puerta de Jerez Square, located on the tram line not far from the Alcázar. The Jardines de Murillo and the Plaza de España were also reliable spots to find Flamenco dancers.

One Saturday morning we decided to take the tram from the Prado De San Sebastian metro station into Plaza Nueva to start our morning, a relatively short trip in a modern coach through the pedestrian only historic center on a route lined with ancient stone and fin-de-siècle buildings.

It passed Seville’s 15th-century Exchange that now houses the Archivo de Indias, which contains centuries worth of records pertaining to Spain’s colonies in the new world. We first noticed a group of elegantly attired women wearing unique fashionable hats called tocados, or fascinators, walking along Av. de la Constitución, not far from city hall, our final stop. Saturday mornings, it turns out, are when civil weddings are performed in Seville.

It was an interesting morning watching the various fancifully dressed wedding groups queue in the plaza before their assigned time. Unlike civil ceremonies in the states, which usually are lowkey events, civil weddings in Spain are occasions for fashionistas to dress to the hilt.

After the ceremonies, friends and families escorted the bride and groom to nearby restaurants to continue the celebrations.

Seville is also a popular destination for joyful, outlandishly boisterous hen parties. Participants parade through the streets, dressed in quirky outfits, to celebrate their friend and bride to be.

Seville packs a lot into a small space and every direction we headed offered something interesting. The Hospital los Venerables was just a few steps away from our front door, down the narrow Calle Gloria that opens to the aptly named Plaza Venerables. 

It was built in the 1600s as a retirement home for poor, elderly or disabled priests.  The very austere exterior deceitfully hides a wonderfully ornate Baroque chapel and interior, as well as various tranquil courtyards. Today the building is used as a museum dedicated to the Sevillian born (1599) artist Diego Velázquez.  A collection of paintings by 17th century artists Francisco Pacheco, Murillo and Bartolomeo Cavarozzi are also on display.

There was an amazing amount to see in Seville as we wandered all over the city.  We’ll share our walks across this intriguing city in a number of future blogs.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Belize – When Iguanas Fall from Trees, Head South

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“Welcome aboard, folks. Our flight time to Belize is two hours and ten minutes. The weather is expected to be a balmy 80 degrees Fahrenheit today when we land,” the pilot announced as we were buckling in. Then continued with “As you know the National Weather Service has issued the very rare ‘Beware of Falling Iguanas Weather Alert’ for Miami and South Florida this morning.”  As funny as this sounds, it actually happens when the temperature dips into the thirties in Florida.  Cold blooded animals, the iguanas slowly stiffen as the temperature drops and eventually lose their grip on the tree branches they have been sleeping on and fall to the ground, stunned, where they lay immobile until the temperature rises.  Iguanas can grow quite large and may cause serious injury or death if you are unlucky enough to get struck by one of the falling frozen reptiles. It sounds like something out of a zombie apocalypse movie – be careful out there. We were delighted to be heading south again to a warmer climate after a cold and rainy November and December in Italy, which was followed by a warm-hearted, but very frigid Christmas with our kids in New Jersey.

On our final approach for landing the wing of the plane dipped to reveal a beautiful azure sea outlined with dense green jungle and brilliantly white sand beaches – and not much else – as far as the eye could see.  It was still much like it was several millennium ago when a prosperous Mayan civilization flourished, supporting an estimated population of 500,000 – 1,000,000 in the region. Columbus sailed by without stopping and landed in Honduras during his last voyage to the Americas in 1502.  Navigator Juan Diaz de Solis did not mention a landfall or discovery during his expedition in 1507 sailing from Panama to the Yucatan. Several theories suggest that the 190-mile-long Belize Barrier Reef, the largest in the northern hemisphere, was too difficult to navigate through so the Spanish fleets sailed past. We witnessed this difficulty once from the deck of a cruise ship as the captain left a snaking wake as he steered a serpentine route through the underwater obstacle course.

The first European to arrive in Corozal literally washed ashore as a survivor of a 1511 Spanish shipwreck. To stay alive, conquistador Gonzalo Guerrero offered his skills as a soldier to Mayan Chief Na Chan Kan at Chactemal, (now Santa-Rita, Corozal Town). He proved his skill as a warrior and married the chief’s daughter, Princess Zazil Há. The children from their union are recognized as the first Mestizos of Central America; theirs was the first Mayan liaison recorded by Bernal Diaz de Castillo in his memoir “The True History of the Conquest of New Spain,” written in 1568.

Guerrero defended his adopted homeland against conquest in 1531 when he helped Chief Na Chan Kan defeat the Spanish army in a battle near the Rio Hondo. Today the river is still Belize’s northern border with Mexico.  Spain never established any permanent settlements in Belize.  Gold and silver were discovered next door in Guatemala and Honduras. Belize was absorbed into the Spanish empire of Central America by its proximity to its larger neighbors, but was never colonized until the British subversively entered the territory.

The riches of the new world didn’t go unnoticed for long, but by the time English and Scottish pirates arrived on the scene in the mid-1600s, the treasure-laden flotillas destined for the Spanish crown from central America had been replaced by shipments of logwood.  Native to northern Central America, logwood or bloodwood was used by the indigenous tribes of the region to produce a vibrant red-orange dye. Mixed with other ingredients, a full spectrum of colors was possible. It grew abundantly and was exported to Spain where the cheap natural resource revolutionized the textile industry and afforded commoners a chance to have colorful wardrobes, which before was only afforded by the nobility. Gone were the days of fabrics dyed gray with soot. 

Gold or wood – it didn’t matter. Pirates were pirates and willing to steal your cargo regardless of its content, as long as there was a profit to be made, and the English textile mills were demanding logwood.  After plundering large Spanish merchant ships that sailed across the Gulf of Honduras, the pirates found safe refuge for their smaller vessels in the shallow waters behind the Belize Barrier Reef amidst its 450 cays and atolls, where they could hunt for food, get fresh water, and repair their boats.  In 1670 England and Spain signed a treaty banning piracy in the Caribbean.  The days of the infamous pirates of Belize, Edward Lowe, Captain Charles Johnson, Bartholomew Sharp, Captain Henry Morgan, and Blackbeard, were waning.  By this time English pirates had discovered Belize was full of logwood and many ex-privateers became legitimate and wealthy logwood cutters and exporters after buying African slaves to work in the miserable conditions of the mosquito-infested jungles.  Though Spain considered all of Central America as part of their empire and occasionally harassed the British logwood camps trying to evict them, the Spanish crown never established any settlements in Belize. 

In 1763 Spain signed another treaty allowing English subjects the “privilege of wood-cutting,” but still retained sovereignty over the region. Possession is nine-tenths of the law and Belize finally became the English colony of British Honduras in 1862. Mahogany had replaced logwood as the major export. Conflict with the Mayans escalated as settlers moved farther into the interior exploiting the regions mahogany forests, and forced the indigenous population from their lands by burning their villages and crops. The giant cut logs were floated down the country’s rivers to the coast and where rivers didn’t exist, small logging railroads were built to satisfy the European demand for this beautiful hardwood that was favored for fine cabinetry, furniture and shipbuilding.

Disenfranchised and oppressed, the Mayan revolted in what is called the Caste War against their colonizers. Led by Marcus Canul, a Mayan chief,  his people demanded the British pay for the crops they burnt and for the land they occupied.  In northern Belize, Canul’s freedom fighters attacked and occupied the garrison town of Corozal. The movement lost its momentum when Canul was killed during an unsuccessful assault on Orange Walk in 1872.  Long considered a rebel and criminal, he is now regarded as a Belizean hero who fought against ethnic cleansing. The deforested jungles were replaced by sugar cane, ranching and agriculture plantations.

Belize finally became independent in 1981, though The British Army still maintains a jungle warfare training facility in the country to help deter Guatemalan aggression in an unresolved border issue. Aldous Huxley once wrote, “If the world had any ends, British Honduras (Belize) would certainly be one of them. It is not on the way from anywhere to anywhere else. It has no strategic value. It is all but uninhabited.”

Today the tiny country of 400,000 supports a diverse culture descended from Mayans, Mestizos, African slaves, Garifunas, Europeans and more recently immigrants from Lebanon, Germany, the East Indies, Asia and North America with an economy centered on tourism and agriculture.  English is the official language of Belize, but it is not the first language of many with Spanish, Belizean Creole and Q’eqchi’ Maya primarily spoken, depending on what part of the country you are in.

The barrier Islands and cays where pirates might have hidden treasure now sport popular resorts on their white sand beaches. Scuba divers can explore shipwrecks, the Great Blue Hole (a marine sinkhole that is visible from space,) and the exceptional marine life found along the Belize Barrier Reef which is now a marine reserve and UNESCO World Heritage site.  Ashore the jungles and mountains continue to reveal the extent of the Mayan civilization in Belize with over 600 known archeological sites discovered so far, ranging from ceremonial caves to towering stone pyramids.

We are on the other end of the tourist spectrum and wanted something very lowkey, inexpensive and relaxing for a month. We headed to Corozal! Located on Chetumal Bay, it is the northern most city in Belize and only 16 miles from Chetumal, Mexico. It was founded in 1848 by Mestizo refugees from Mexico fleeing Mayan retribution from the Caste Wars there. It prospered exporting mahogany logs when there were still enough trees to support the timber industry. Sugarcane now fuels the economy. 

In 1955 Hurricane Janet, a category 5 storm with winds of 175mph, flattened ninety-five percent of Corozal and left 8,000 people homeless.  Surprisingly one of the few buildings left standing on the waterfront, fully intact, was the home of lumber baron John Carmichael.  It was built in the 1880’s using only mahogany.  The house is still used today as a Catholic mission. The pre-1955 wooden structures have been replaced with concrete block houses now, mostly two stories high, except the four-story Mirador Hotel, the tallest building in town.

Our ah-ha moment happened after the two-hour, inland drive from the airport, when we entered Corozal and saw the enticing turquoise waters of Corozal Bay on our way to our Airbnb rental. We drove a mile along a still bay bordered by a low battered seawall and numerous public parks dotted with palm trees.

Turning onto 2nd St. North our driver stopped in front of a flowering bougainvillea-covered wall, less than 200ft from the water, that hid the Villa Imperial Loft Apartment, our home for the next four weeks.  Our host Oscar wasn’t home at the time, but had made arrangements with Sue, another guest, who graciously led us through the flowering garden, complete with a resident mama cat and her kitten, and up the back stairs to our studio apartment. She enthusiastically answered our first questions about Corozal.

The large room was brightly painted and pleasantly decorated with an eclectic mix of antiques, reminiscent of visiting our grandparents.  A wall of windows facing east offered a glimpse of the bay, and any storms approaching, through the neighbor’s tree. Best was the kitchen across the landing at the top of the stairs. It was enclosed on three sides with just screened windows, covered with louvered shutters. In stark contrast to the apartment, it was very rustic with the feel of an old lake cabin. But we soon realized it was the perfect spot to observe the wide varieties of birds that visited the trees in the backyard, and we thoroughly enjoyed cooking and eating there.  Birding over the next month while walking along the waterfront was one of the highlights of our stay in Corozal. Spotting just a few of the 590 bird species in Belize, we saw sandpipers, great kiskadee, white-collared manakin, yellow-throated euphonia, tricolored heron, kingfisher, lineated woodpecker, great egrets, couch’s kingbird, crimson-collared tanager, black and white warbler, and the outrageously raucous plain chachalaca, which you’ll hear well before seeing them.

For many travelers visiting northern Belize, Corozal is just a brief stop on their way to or from Mexico or Guatemala, or a transfer point to catch the two-hour Thunderbolt Ferry or a flight on Tropic Air from the Corozal Airport (CZH) to San Pedro, on the barrier island, Ambergris Caye.  The town doesn’t have a beach, which has probably helped keep it off the beaten path for most tourists that visit Belize. Access to the shallow water is from stairs in the 1.5 mile long stone seawall that has not fared well against the surges of the ocean. We had read that the district has a sizeable expat community, that likes to avail themselves of all the big city options, mainly a Walmart and Sam’s Club that are across the border in Chetumal, Mexico.  But from our experiences we only encountered a handful of North Americans, surely not surging numbers that would indicate it was a sizzling hot spot for vacationing or retirement that would change the character of the town. And that’s a good thing. The joy of Corozal for us was its tranquility; there really was not much to do there aside from chilling and the occasional dip in the gentle waves of the bay.  The serenity of the seascapes compensated for the lack of activities.

We were enjoying the tropical 80-degree weather of Corozal and re-embracing our slow travel philosophy by immersing ourselves in the daily flow of life in this small coastal town. It was wonderful to see parents accompanying their uniform clad children to school every morning. Some parents drove, others walked along or bicycled with their kids. Routinely at the end of the school day an older couple pedaling a three-wheeler sold homemade popcorn to the kids or the youngsters lined up for ice cream on the porch of a home that doubled as an ice cream parlor. The kids waved to us if they noticed us bobbing in the bay across the street.

Our daily walks led to discoveries all across town, mostly culinary in nature. We were eager to find the best places to buy groceries, interesting places to eat and quench our thirst.  Most importantly, our craving for good coffee was easily satisfied directly across the street at the top of a colorful flight of tiled stairs. Here Oscar’s nephew Rudi runs the LVDM Coffee Stop on the porch of his home and makes what are easily the best cappuccinos in Corozal. He also rents two rustic villitas in his backyard. 

In town there were any number of Asian-owned grocery stores that all offered the same staples. We tended to prefer a shop called the Central Supermarket, because they were the closest place to carry our recyclable beer bottles. Diagonally across the street the city’s daily market had numerous fruit and vegetable stands, an open-air butcher, and clothing vendors. A twice weekly farmers market was held outside of town, across from the cemetery.  Fortunately, this location did not reflect negatively upon the quality of produce sold there. At a much greater walking distance, it didn’t offer any real advantage over the produce sold for the same price at the daily market. Shopping there was an early morning event and the atmosphere was very vibrant. It was here we got the first glimpse of the country’s Mennonite farming community, easily identifiable by their conservative dress and spoken Pennsylvania German. Since 1958 when they were invited to settle in Belize by the first Premiere of the country, George C. Price, the community has grown to 10,000, and they have contributed immensely to Belize’s agriculture self-reliance.

Surprisingly, even though Corozal is located right on the bay, we could not find fresh fish and had to purchase locally caught frozen fish, conch and lobster from Frank’s, a great butcher shop that makes their own sausage and offers a wide assortment of fresh beef, pork and poultry.  Directly across from Frank’s on the other side of the civic center field we found Vivi’s for wonderful meat pies.

On one of our walks, we did meet a young brother and sister team carrying a five-gallon bucket on the handlebar of their bicycle. It was full of lobster and conch, caught by their father earlier that morning.  They were going door to door in the neighborhood, selling it so they could buy their school uniforms.  Of course, we purchased some, and it was delicious.

The town does not have a marina for boats, but there are spots along the bay where fishermen pull out their ancient mahogany boats for repairs.  Called sandlighters, many of these traditional sailing vessels were built across the bay in the fishing community of Sarteneja and are over eighty years old.

There were several small bakeries in town, each offering different specialties.  The Y Not Bakery, to the detriment of our waistlines, was the closest and created the best temptations. Another favorite was Caramelo Bakery across from the high school and down the street from Belcuisine, a spice factory that produces flavorful Belizean Recados mixes.

Corozal really was a rewarding foodie’s destination with numerous small taquerias and enterprising folks offering roadside barbeque. Many businesses were operated from the windows of homes, like Ruby’s, who prepared delicous ceviche then sold it through her living room window for take-away.

The only option for eating out was casual dining. We found June’s Kitchen and Mar’s Caribbean Garden for homecooked meals.  Directly across from the bay, Scotty’s Crocodile Cove was a relaxing spot with thatched roofs; it was an enjoyable place for a refreshing Belizean brewed Belikin beer and large burritos that could easily feed three people.  The Tortuga Grill, across from the waterfront Rainbow Park, and the Wood House Restaurant, adjacent to Miami Beach, both offered good food and views of the bay.

Corozal enthusiastically supports its art community and one Saturday a month, in the town’s Central Park, holds the Art in the Park event where local artists and craftspeople display and sell their work. It was a fun time, with live music and delicous Belizean food. It’s held between 5pm – 9pm to avoid the heat of the day.  If City Hall is open make sure to check out the fantastic wall mural depicting the history of Corozal, painted by Belizean-Mexican artist Manual Villamor.

The blank concrete block walls of homes and businesses across from Miami Beach were the canvases for street artists invited to participate in the Corozal Graffiti Festival. In 2020 street mural artists from Belize, Cuba, El Salvador and Mexico were invited to enliven the walls with an “Ancient Chactemal” theme. It was a lively event with a music stage, art and crafts for sale, body painting and food vendors. On the beach, the Corozal sailing club was offering catamaran rides on the gentle waters of the bay.

There is an abundance of civic pride displayed in this small, well-kept community on Corozal Bay that is endearing. We barely scratched the surface of places to explore in Belize and were perfectly content “Snow Birds” with our choice of Corozal for a month’s worth of lazy rest and relaxation.  We’d definitely return to explore the surrounding area more fully.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Christmas in Milan – A Monumental Cathedral, Cemetery and Horse

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Snow started falling as we brewed the morning’s first cups of coffee on the stove using a traditional Italian Moka coffee pot.  Invented by Alfonso Bialetti in 1933, Italians readily accepted it as an easy way to make espresso at home, and it quickly became symbolic of “la dolce vita,” the sweet life and for us a pleasant morning ritual. The day before had been warmer, and bundled up we were able to take our coffee outside on the balcony of our fourth-floor Airbnb rental and enjoy a great sunset view.  This morning though, the tracks of the tram line melted through the thin blanket of freshly fallen snow and left two parallel lines, as if someone had drawn them on this new white canvas with a pencil.

Continuing with our philosophy of slow, immersive travel, we had opted for an apartment in the Isola neighborhood.  Though far away from Milan’s city center, it was situated near the Porta Garibaldi train station and the recently built modern skyscraper complex that surrounds Piazza Gae Aulenti. The illy Caffè here was a frequent stop for comsmopolitan people-watching and excellent coffee.

Nearby were the twin apartment towers of Boeri’s Bosco Verticale, Vertical Forest, famous for their lush foliage-covered balconies, and the Isola and Zara subway stations. The latter was only seven quick stops from the Milan Duomo.

The neighborhood also had numerous tram lines traversing it, but it was impossible to find a hardcopy map of this very extensive system while we were in Milan, though we were able to find this online map of the Milan Tram System while writing this. Ultimately, we relied on our phone’s mapping App to view our tram trips in real time and determine where to change lines to continue our journeys across the city.

Two blocks away, the bi-weekly outdoor food market closed the streets around Piazza Tito Minniti for the bulk of the day while families shopped the stalls for fresh vegetables, cheese, meat and seafood along with socks, pants, dresses and blouses. We enjoyed this aspect of Italian life after learning its subtle nuances – for example, only the vendor touches the fruits and vegetables. There is also a protocol of queueing. Sometimes though our schedule required us to shop around the corner at La Pastaia for fresh pasta or the Penny Market grocery store, where we signed up again for another shopper club card.  We’ve done this in every city where we have stayed long term – Cuenca, Antigua, Lisbon, Cape Town and Kotor. It seems silly, but those small savings do add up and jokingly it helps us feel more like a local.

Emerging from the darkness of the subway station onto the Piazza del Duomo, we were momentarily blinded by the bright sun reflecting off the monumental cathedral that towered before us. Breathtaking in its size and capable of holding 40,000 worshippers, the cathedral is the second largest in Europe, following Saint Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City, and the third largest in the world.  Designed in 1386, the ornate and dramatic Gothic façade of the cathedral is covered with 3,400 statues and spires, which required the recruitment of hundreds of stone masons and artisans from across Europe. 

The opulent exterior belies the cathedral’s spartan interior.  While massive in scale, the interior’s gray stone walls and towering columns are cold and austere even with the soft, filtered light of beautiful stained-glass windows illuminating the space. Most moving was a ghastly sculpture by 16th century Italian sculptor Marco d’Agrate of Saint Bartholomew holding his flayed skin, depicting how he was punished for converting an Armenian King to Christianity in the first century AD.

Wandering around the flying buttresses and sculpted spires on the roof of the church was the highlight of our visit to the Duomo. The day was crystal clear, and the panoramic view stretched from the Milanese skyline to the snowcapped Italian Alps. It was spectactular.

Across the plaza the Museum of the Milan Cathedral has an extensive and interesting collection of art and sculpture that at one time or another was part of the Duomo.

On the other side of the plaza stood Milan’s official Christmas tree, a modern conically shaped metal structure covered with thousands of multi-colored changing lights. Beyond the tree was the famous Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, where four-story tall buildings and the promenade between them are covered with a spectacular vaulted glass ceiling.  It is considered the world’s first indoor shopping mall, built shortly after the unification of the Italian peninsular into the Kingdom of Italy in the 1860s when Vittorio Emanuele II was named king.  Lovingly nicknamed “il Salotto di Milano,” or “the living room of Milan” by the Milanese, the phrase acknowledges it’s the place to meet friends and be seen.

Wanting to stay in the city center till night fell, so that we could fully appreciated the Christmas lights on the tree in front of the Duomo, we wandered farther afield until we found the Chiesa di Santa Maria presso San Satiro. First built in the 9th century, the present church dates to the Italian Renaissance and  features a gilded interior and a rare example of Trompe-l’œil in a church. This painter’s effect utilizes a forced perspective to create an illusion of depth behind the altar.

After dark the plaza in front of the Duomo continued to fill with people eager to enjoy the festive mood of the Christmas season.  The Christmas tree was stunning, and its modernity nicely complimented the historic buildings surrounding the piazza.

From our balcony we could see the silhouette of Tomba di Manzoni, the grand entranceway and “Hall of Fame” mausoleum for the noteworthy, though not as wealthy, Milanese who are interned at the Cimitero Monumentale. 

As we wandered farther into the cemetery, we realized that monumental might be an understatement. It was difficult not to confuse this extraordinarily extravagant place of entombment for an outdoor sculpture garden with memorials created by a who’s who list of famous 19th and 20th century Italian artists and architects for prominent Milanese families. 

The family names on the mausoleums also adorn roads, parks, tram and subway stations across the city. There seemed to be an afterlife version of one upmanship in play here with each monument more grandiose than the last.  As if competition or success in life was not enough and had to continue till your final committal.  It was a fascinating place to explore. Plan on spending most of the day.

Donna’s mom had passed away the year before and one of our reasons for staying in Milan was to revisit a project her mother was instrumental in as a member of the United State’s Italian American Heritage Foundation and Leonardo da Vinci’s Horse Foundation. She helped for fifteen years in the 1980s and 90s to raise 2.5 million dollars to the see Leonardo da Vinci’s 24ft tall Il Cavallo recreated. The sculpture was finally realized by American sculptor Nina Akamu. 

Da Vinci was commissioned by the Duke of Milan in 1482 to create, at the time, what was the largest equestrian statue in the world, as tribute to his late father, Francesco Sforza.  The full-size clay sculpture was completed in 1491 and was waiting for its terracotta mold to be made and enough bronze amassed for its casting when the French invaded in 1499. Subsequentially, the clay model was totally destroyed by French crossbowmen who used it for target practice.

On its 500th anniversary, da Vinci’s Il Cavallo was unveiled outside the Ippodromo Snai San Siro, Milan’s famous horse racing track. Smaller artistic interpretations of Il Cavallo stand in the plaza behind it. This being modern Italy though a horse just can’t be a horse, and many were psychedelically painted and wore tutus or unicorn horns. Wonderfully whimsical, they definitely made us smile. 

One rainy afternoon we took the tram to the 15th century Sforzesco Castle, seat of power for the Sforza dynasty that lasted only 100 years. But in that time the fortress/palace was expanded to be one of the largest citadels in Europe and filled with works of art by numerous Italian Renaissance artists.  Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Bramante, Correggio, Bernardino Zenale and Bernardino Butinone were commissioned to adorn the walls and ceilings and sculpt pieces to fill the vast space. Today the castle houses several of the city’s museums and art collections where the artists’ contributions to the palace can still be seen. A heavy fog had blanketed the citadel by closing time and was evocative of the moods cast in the historical fiction novels set in Renaissance Italy by Sarah Dunant. Later that evening we attended an Anglican Lessons and Carols service as a prelude to Christmas, then headed back to our apartment humming Christmas tunes as we window shopped.

Signs for Artigiano in Fiera, the Fair, dotted our route into Milan when we first arrived from Bergamo and piqued our interest.  We hadn’t heard of it before, but with a quick internet search realized it was the shopping event of the Christmas season in Milan. While in line to enter the center we noticed many people pulling large suitcases. Toward the end of our shopping spree, laden with purchases, we realized the bags on wheels were pure genius, and allowed the seasoned pros to carry their holiday shopping with ease. The Fiera is a tremendously popular annual, nine-day event that draws over one million visitors to the Fiera Milano, Europe’s largest exhibition center, located in Rho, just outside Milan. Folks shop for home furnishings, fashion, jewelry, arts and crafts, along with artisanal foods, wines and liquor. The sites’ nine cavernous exhibition halls were filled with vendors from 100 countries, though displays from the twenty regions of Italy occupied ninety percent of the space. Plan on spending the whole day if you hope to see everything. It was all very interesting and entertaining and truly a marathon event. From Milan it’s an easy trip on the M1 subway, which stops right at the venue.

Wanting to make our last night in Milan special, we made dinner reservations at a highly reviewed restaurant, only to be turned away into a rainy night because we arrived early as the staff was enjoying their pre-work communal meal together. (The later you dine out in Italy the more you’ll feel like a local. Though this does take some getting used to and we haven’t mastered this yet.) “Okay, we will have a drink at the corner bar and return,” we agreed.

To our delight, our aperitives were accompanied by small sandwiches with chips and olives.  We had every intention of heading back to the restaurant, but our waiter was engaging, and the Aperol spritzes were very good. We spent the time watching folks fight the wind with their umbrellas through the bar’s rain-pelted window. The specular highlights from the streetlights added magic to the scene. Occasionally some groups popped inside seeking a warm reprieve from the downpour outside, shook out their umbrellas and found a seat.  Recapping our adventures, tentatively planning the next six months, and talking about Christmas with our kids back in the states, the evening flew by until the waiter said they were closing. Umbrellas up! We headed home.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

PS – The Artigiano was canceled in 2020 due to the Corona virus lock down in Italy. Hopefully, it will be allowed 2021.

Lake Como – Natural Beauty, Swiss Olives and Pliny the Elder

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We had only been settled into our Milan rental for a few days when, upon checking the long-term weather forecast, we decided to take the train to Lake Como the next day.  The days were solidly cold now in northern Italy, but still very pleasant if the sun was shining. By the end of the week, it was expected to rain for a while. What we didn’t expect was a dusting of fresh snow along the route.  In the distance the snowcapped Italian Alps were a blur as the train sped along, delivering us to the town of Como in an hour, the last stop in Italy before Chiasso, Switzerland.  Unsure of where we were heading, we followed the flow of day trippers into the town center past a blend of Gothic, Renaissance and 18th century architecture.

The famous inverted “Y” shaped lake was created by receding glaciers, 10,000 years ago, during the last Ice Age. Since the 1st century, Roman naturalist Pliny the Elder wrote about it as an “A list” destination for poets and writers. Today artists and celebrities continue to be mesmerized by its natural beauty. The Goths, Ostrogoths, French, Spanish and Austrians have all contributed to its convoluted history until the region was united into the Kingdom of Italy by Giuseppe Garibaldi’s troops in 1859.  Even Mussolini visited one last time as he tried to flee Italy in April 1945 and cross the border into neutral Switzerland, but he was captured by Italian partisans in Dongo, a small village on Lake Como. He was executed the next day.

It was an especially sunny day and the town’s Christmas market on Piazza Cavour across from the lakefront was thriving with folks enjoying the weather and shopping amidst all the stalls for the quickly approaching holiday. At the restaurants lining the piazza, outdoor dining was still in full swing, but was only bearable if you found a table in the sun and used the provided lap blankets to help ward off the winter chill.

Aside from the usual cheese, jam, sausage and porchetta sandwich stalls, there was an olive vendor with an incredible variety of olives for purchase.  One of his most surprising offerings was Lugano olives which originate from the Italian speaking part of Switzerland! – south of the Alps, on the shores of Lake Lugano, just over the hills from Como.

The Passeggiata Amici di Como, a lakefront promenade, was busy with tourist watching swans bob about on the water and folks queuing for the various ferry boats still offering tours.  We followed the walkway as it spurred onto a long pier that extended almost two thirds of the way across the lake and culminated at a large, futuristic monument called Life Electric. Designed by internationally acclaimed architect Daniel Libeskind in 2015, the highly polished chrome sculpture brilliantly reflects the sun, sky and water surrounding it and changes continually with the light, evoking continuous motion. It is dedicated to hometown physicist Alessandro Volta who is credited with the invention of the electric battery in 1800.

From here we also watched and listened to a continuous flow of seaplanes roar across the water from the Aero Club where one can book an aerial tour of Lake Como and surrounding mountains.  It’s been a popular activity since it was first offered in 1913.

Back in the historic center we headed to the Cattedrale di Santa Maria Assunta-Duomo di Como. The façade is an exquisite example of Gothic architecture and includes sculptures of hometown stars Pliny the Elder and his nephew, Pliny the Younger, which flank either side of the church’s rose window. 

The interior is decorated with antique tapestries made in Antwerp, Florence and Ferarra during the 16th and 17th centuries. The church’s construction was started in 1396, but wasn’t completed until almost 400 years later in the later part of the 18th century, due to legendary Italian bureaucracy, civil unrest and a stone cutters strikes. (I’m just speculating here, but in 1629 the bubonic plague halved the population of Northern Italy and brought economic hardship to the area that lasted for decades afterward.)

Farther along, the Basilica di San Fedele commanded the other side of the street.  Substantially altered in the 12th century, it incorporated some architectural elements from a 5th century church that originally occupied the site. Entering the church, we were confronted with a terrifying hand-carved wooden sculpture of hundreds of sinners, painted red, being consumed by flames – it’s reminiscent of Hieronymus Bosch’s Vision of Hell. We imagine it was a highly effective teaching tool in the middle-ages.  By late afternoon only a dim light was filtering through the church’s ancient windows as an organist dutifully labored to get the right pitch from the ancient pipes.

Darkness fell early as we walked back through town. Many of the buildings were colorfully illuminated with Christmas holiday projections. It was magical.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Bergamo – Cathedrals, a Flat Tire and a Bell Tower

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Somewhere along our route on the A4 motorway to Bergamo the tire blew. It wasn’t an obvious blowout, the car still handled well, but the car felt different.  Our dilemma was, if we stop on the shoulder of the highway to call for assistance how do we explain our location in our non-existent Italian, or do we keep driving to the next exit. We kept going. In the time it took to stop and pay the toll the tire totally deflated, and we limped off the highway on three wheels. Luck was with us we when we rolled into the gas station at the top of the exit ramp.  They didn’t offer any repair services, but did have a small café, and it being Italy, they served excellent cappuccino and pistacchio pasticcino.  With the barista’s help our exact location was given to the roadside assistance agent, and we settled in for what we thought would be a very long wait. Surprisingly, we were back on the road again in less than one hour.

Bergamo was a well-established ancient village before it became a Roman town in 49 BC and today is a hub of industrialization in the Lombardy region.  The newer portion of the city, Citta Bassa, or lower city, is a smart looking collection of contemporary buildings along tree-lined boulevards and pedestrian malls worthy of exploration. Though we were here to wander around the narrow lanes and ancient churches within the 16th century Venetian defensive walls of the Città Alta, the high city. The historic upper center of Bergamo was strategically located on a rock promontory with commanding views of the surrounding region.

Completely pedestrian only, the old town is connected to the new town by a funicular  that runs up the side of a steep hill through an ivy-covered channel. We knew the old town would be full of history, but soon realized it was an unexpected foodie’s delight when we were faced with a gauntlet of gourmet food stores that started as soon as we got off the funicular.

With each shop window more tempting than the previous, it was a challenging task walking along Via Gombito to Piazza Vecchia, the historic center of Bergamo.  It was the last week of November now and even though the days were sunny there was a definite chill to the air. Fortunately, the cafes on the piazza were still in full swing with outdoor dining and had heavy lap blankets available to ward off the chill.  The ambiance of the old town is wonderful and there’s plenty to absorb just by wandering around, but if you are short on time concentrating on the historic buildings that line Piazza Vecchia is rewarding.

Dominating the piazza is the Campanone, the town’s clock and bell tower. When it was built in the 12th century it was the private residence of the wealthy and influential Suardi family.  With admission there is an elevator that will take you most of the way to the top.  Interestingly at ten o’clock every evening the town keeps an ancient Venetian tradition alive by chiming the bells of the clock tower 100 times to signal the closing of the city gates. It was cloudy after lunch so we decided to delay our tower visit till later, hoping that the weather would change, and the sun would come out. Next to the tower stands the Palazzo del Podestà e Museo del Cinquecento a wonderful, high-tech, multimedia and interactive museum housed in a Renaissance era palazzo that highlights Bergamo’s history.

The Cattedrale (duomo) di Sant’Alessandro, the Bergamo Cathedral, is almost hidden away behind the arched portico that separates the Piazza Vecchia from the Piazza Duomo.  Majestic in scale, the duomo dates from the 1400s and has undergone many alterations over the centuries that has evolved the church into a treasured, religious art-filled sanctuary that is the Bishop of Bergamo’s seat.  An important center for Christianity since the religion was accepted by the Roman Empire in the third century, Bergamo has had a bishop since the fourth century. Underneath the Presbytery the Bishops’ Crypt of The Cathedral Of Bergamo holds, in a semi-circle, twelve tombs of bishops who guided the See in the 19th, 20th and 21st centuries.  Strikingly, the façade of the crypt, in my opinion, could pass as the entrance to a retro café; it just had that feel.

The highlight for us on Piazza Duomo was the Romanesque Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore with its intricately designed marble façade and ornate gilded interior, and the Cappella Colleoni, a separate 15th century funerary chapel with a frescoed ceiling that seamlessly stands next to it. Founded in 1137, like so many other churches in Italy, it was built over the ruins of an earlier 8th century church and an older Roman temple. 

To our delight the church organist was practicing during our visit, and we stayed for twenty minutes and enjoyed this impromptu concert.

Just wandering around, we eventually arrived at the Torre della Campanella, the bell tower and arched gate entrance to Piazza Mascheroni and the Visconti Citadel which guarded the western entrance of the city from invasion, and protected the Visconti family from civil rebellion. The citadel is now home to the Civic Archaeological Museum and the Bergamo Science Museum. 

Remarkably, the buildings adjacent to the gateway still have faded remnants of renaissance era frescoes adorning their exterior walls.

Outside the city walls, the landscape opened to vistas of rolling hills, still holding the fading colors of fall.

Back at Piazza Vecchia the afternoon sun was beginning to break through the clouds when we decided to head to the top of the Campanone. 

The elevator stopped short of the top and we had to navigate a narrow passage to reach the highest level.

Each corner of the tower offered an amazing bird’s eye perspective of the ancient city, from soaring above the cathedrals on Piazza Duomo, to cityscapes of red tiled rooftops with smoke wafting from their chimneys, to distant still green hills.

The city is full of potential, and you won’t be disappointed if you spend two nights here to fully explore the Città Alta. But Old Town Bergamo is the perfect size to entertain you for four or five hours, on your way to or from Milan or Verona, either by train or car, without feeling you might have missed something.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Verona – Courtesans, Hermits and Grappa

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Occasionally, I will suggest we return to a place we have visited before, to relive that good time and explore the things we missed previously, or if it was a super affordable destination.  “The world is so big. I’d rather go someplace new,” is often Donna’s response, said with a sweet smile.  But “the rule” doesn’t apply to Italy! – the land of her people.  I’ve lost count of the number of times Donna has been there, but I maintain I’ve followed along often enough to receive honorary citizenship. Let’s face it, Italy is a great place to explore, which led us to Verona, again, for a night. Anyway, it was sort of on our roundabout way to Milan.

It was late afternoon when we arrived at the budget friendly Accommodation Verona, (yes, that is the correct name) on the edge of the historic district. We double parked while the proprietor took our bags upstairs. He then hopped in the passenger seat to show the way to the underground car park and the hotel’s newly purchased garage spaces, with overhead doors to totally secure your wheels, which he was immensely proud of. It was a bit of a hike from the hotel, but the car was safe in the parking garage equivalent of Fort Knox.

The sun was brilliant on Verona’s ancient colosseum while we sipped Aperol spritzes and shared a pizza at an outdoor restaurant on Piazza Bra, as shoppers strolled amidst the nearby Christmas market. Gone were the fake gladiators and other street entertainers who left when the weather turned colder.

It was a vastly different dining experience compared to our first dinner in Verona years ago.  Travel novices then, we were constantly referencing a travel guide by an American, that recommended sights, hotels and restaurants. With book in hand that suggested the restauranteur would treat us well and offer special prices to loyal readers of said guide, we found a delightful place on a quiet lane lined with outdoor tables and twinkling lights.  “Who?” was the response when we mentioned the guidebook. A large antipasto, charcuterie board, wine and “special price” were all agreed upon. Or so we thought.

It was one of those long, delightful European dining experiences, where the table was ours for the evening. The dinner and ambiance were great! Eventually our amiable host, carrying the largest bottle of grappa we’ve ever seen, presented a small wooden box containing the bill. “Please enjoy as much of the grappa as you like.” Drink this to ease the shock of the bill, would have been a more accurate invitation.  Grappa is a regional pomace brandy, distilled from the seeds, stems and skins left over from the winemaking process. Production is centered nearby around the aptly named village of Bassano del Grappa. This is strong stuff that, in a pinch, Italian farmers have used to fuel their tractors. A good dent was put into that bottle of grappa, as we were eventually the last to leave. Fortunately, our hotel was a short, though not very straight, giggly walk away.  Sleep was unjustly cut short the next morning when at sunrise, the glass recycling truck in the alley under our hotel window loudly emptied a dumpster of wine bottles to haul away.  The brash rattling sound of glass bottles crashing was excruciating and reverberated off the narrow alleyway’s walls for what seemed an eternity.  Thank God for espresso and Saint Drogo, the patron saint of coffee baristas. (I do not make these things up!)    

Normally hidden in deep shadows, Renaissance era wall paintings decorating ancient buildings were now revealed in the last of the afternoon’s light. Likewise, the lowering sun highlighted the fine relief sculptures adorning many of the city’s ancient buildings.

By dusk we were standing along the Adige riverfront watching the last rays of the day’s sun color the sky above the arched 14th century Castelvecchio Bridge.  Attached to the Castelvecchio fortress, the bridge was intended as an escape route for the feudal lords to flee across in case of a popular uprising or coup d’état to seek safety in the Tyrol mountains, north of the city, and for the prince’s courtesans to discreetly exit the castle.

The lights of the city’s Christmas tree shined brightly through the twin arches of the Porta Borsari; built by the Romans in the 1st century AD, it was the main entrance to this once walled city. Nearby, Caffè Borsari beckoned, with its extensive list of creative coffee beverages. Maestros of the espresso machine, the baristas here are artists.

The next morning was overcast as we drove across the Adige River and made our way up a serpentine road through a forested hillside, to the esplanade in front of Castel San Pietro for the panoramic view of Verona, and its iconic Ponte Pietra bridge below.  A wonderful feat of ancient engineering first crossed in 100 BC, it has had a troubled existence, with multiple collapses caused by flooding over the centuries, and intentional destruction by the retreating Germany army in WWII. Through the various reconstructions, the builders have remained faithful to the original Roman design of five different sized arches with apertures above the pilings. The present castle on the hill was built by the Austrians in 1851 as a barracks, replacing a 400-year-old fortress blown up by Napoleon’s army in 1801. For the hearty, there are stairs from the bridge that lead to the mirador, or the Funicolare di Castel San Pietro that will whisk you to the top of the hill, should you wish to avoid the muscle aches.

The dull sun barely broke through the clouds, but the filtered light created a serene scene reminiscent of an impressionist painter’s pastel hued landscape, soft and atmospheric.

Rounding a curve on the SS12, as we headed north, we caught our first glimpse of a snow-capped Mt. Baldo, brilliantly white against a clear blue sky. Our destination was the remote and isolated Santuario Madonna della Corona.  A pilgrimage site since 1522, legend holds that on the eve of the Ottoman invasion of Rhodes, with 400 warships and 100,00 troops, the sanctuary’s statue of the Madonna was carried miraculously by an angel from the Mediterranean island to a shallow cave on a Mount Baldo cliff edge, home to a hermitage for holy men, for safe keeping.

Spiazzi, the village above the sanctuary, was nearly a ghost town when we arrived mid-week in November. We found the empty parking lot for the church and high-season shuttle bus that was not running, but aside from that there was no other signage pointing the way. Taking a guess, we turned down a very narrow country lane and headed down hill, stopping when we reached a farm stand where a stoic woman, bundled up against the cold, was selling alpaca wool, sheared and spun from her flock which was corralled nearby.  Stopping, we asked if we were headed the right way and how long she would be open. A little farther on we came to the first Passion of Christ station on the Sentiero del Pellegrino, the Pilgrim’s Path.  The series of life-sized bronze sculptures depicting the stations of the cross took the devoted Italian sculptor Raffaele Bonente thirty years to create.  Whether you walk along or drive the paved road or hike the steep staired path, the stations are positioned where the routes intersect. 

In the off-season, without any other vehicles on the road, it was easy to stop and take photos of the church that tenaciously clings to the cliffside, between heaven and earth, 2539ft above the Adige Valley. In high season the turn-around at the church is reserved for the shuttle bus, but off season we parked next to one other visitor.

The original dangerous path along the cliff edge has been obscured over time through multiple improvements and the approach to the terrace in front of the church is now through a rough-hewn tunnel carved into the cliff. Tranquility reigns here. The views across the valley were phenomenal and accompanied only by the sound of a gentle wind rustling through the forest below.  The spiritual devotion and shear physical effort to build a church in such a difficult spot attests to the deep faith and dedication of the builders. For hikers, the Sentiero del Pellegrino continues down the slope, through the valley to the village of Brentino.

Following the same route back to Spiazzi, we stopped at the alpaca farm and purchased some much-needed heavy weight alpaca wool socks, to help keep our feet warm.  Early on in our two-year journey Donna decided to start crocheting in the evenings. Wool has been purchased for various projects, mostly gifts, in Ecuador, Guatemala, Portugal, South Africa and now Italy, from an off-the beaten-path farm stand on a remote mountainside.  It was late afternoon now, but fortunately the Albergo Trattoria Speranza, located at the crossroads of Spiazzi was still serving food and has rooms if you want to stay overnight in the hamlet.  A good meal restored us for the drive to Lake Garda.

With night drawing in earlier now we reached the lakeside village of Garda at twilight.  Sunset colors lingered in the sky as we walked along the marina. A few fishermen were still casting, hoping for that last bite, and small boats gently rocked on the ripples of Lake Garda. 

The lights of a Christmas market set up along the lakefront drew us further down the promenade.  Wonderful aromas drifted from the various food stalls, making what to choose for dinner even more difficult. Mulled wine and porchetta sandwiches capped the evening.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Reggio Emilia – Fine Food and Ancient Alleys

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Seemingly never-ending waves of softly rolling hills that we viewed from the towers of San Marino, up-close now, were verdant with the new growth of winter cover crops and persimmon orchards, heavy with their delectable late-ripening orange fruit. The landscape, a patchwork quilt of autumn colors and earth tones, dotted the countryside enroute to Reggio Emilia, like the brush strokes of an impressionist painting.

Still elegant nineteenth century villas now stand where Reggio Emilia’s ancient defensive walls once rose, until a surging population demanded city expansion in the late 1800s.  A wide boulevard lined with trees and a well-used bike path now follow its original hexagonal footprint around the bike friendly city.  Bicycling across the flat terrain of Reggio Emilia is a popular way to commute to the train station or work in the pedestrian-only historic center from outlying neighborhoods, and is supported with 125 miles of well-marked urban bike lanes.  Emilia-Romagna has set a regional goal of getting 20% of all commuters to bike to work and funding 2300 miles of dedicated bike lanes.

The Reggiani’s enthusiasm for bicycling dates back to the 1870s, when a hippodrome was part of Parco del Popolo, and continues today with fierce loyalty to area road-bicycling racing teams that compete in the historic Giro dell’Emilia that has coursed through Emilia-Romagna since the race was first held in 1909. Currently it’s an a 1.HC event on the UCI Europe Tour.

With the assistance of the receptionist at Hotel Posta we were able to park on the street, just outside the historic center, without a fee for a week. This is unheard of during high season, but it was a great savings for us that we fully appreciated.  Located in the center of the city on Piazza del Monte, across from city hall, the hotel is in the Palazzo del Capitano del Popolo, a historic building which was originally constructed in 1280 as a governor’s palace. For over 500 years, since 1472, the rooms under its crenelated roof have been used as a hotel.

It has been renovated numerous times during the centuries, but still retains the old-world charm. The room rate was quite affordable in late November and we practically had the place to ourselves. From our window overlooking the piazza we watched the ebb and flow of Reggio Emilia pass below, highlighted by a teachers’ protest, a Christmas parade, and nightly buskers who took excellent advantage of the wonderful acoustics that the small plaza offered.

The city’s three large piazzas, Camillo Prampolini, Di Prospero, and Della Vittoria, are lined with historic buildings, churches and restaurants. During high season they would have been bustling with tourists and cafes tables would have nearly filled the squares.

Now in late November, city workers were hanging Christmas lights from the lamp poles throughout the city and erecting a Christmas tree in Piazza Prampolini, while a large temporary ice-skating rink was under construction near the Romolo Valli Opera House. 

Bundled up against the chill now, only the hearty sat at the few tables left outside, though inside the cafes was not really much warmer. Good coffee and locally produced Lambrusco helped ward off the chill as we expanded our concept of “walk a little, then café,” during our wanderings between churches in this pleasant city. 

Cheese is our weakness and we delighted in every opportunity to try different aged Parmigiano Reggianos. (Longer aging produces a stronger or more flavorful cheese, with some cheeses aged up to 36 months for that intense flavoring.) Paired with a locally produced aged balsamic vinegar, it is a surprisingly tasteful combination.

Oh, let’s just face it – Italian food is our weakness and we thoroughly enjoyed discovering the city’s cafes, bakeries, and restaurants as much as we enjoyed the city’s churches and museums.  Charcuterie boards, pastries and pasta tempted us repeatedly in this culinary temple of gastromic delights.  Here are some of our favorite places: Antica Salumeria Giorgio Pancaldi – always worth the wait for a table. Terme del Colesterolo – you have to love the name and their porchetta sandwiches. La Casalinga – a fresh homemade pasta store with super nice ladies who will stop what they are doing and make any tortellini or ravioli you request if the case is empty. Yes, we did buy some to take to our apartment stay in Milan. Dolce Charlotte – for their savory and sweet baked goods. And Tabarin Osteria Popolare – even though they confused our order with the table adjacent to us it was still a wonderful dining experience.

The Chiesa di St. Francesco stands on Piazza Della Vittoria adjacent to the Romolo Valli opera house. It was built in 1272 to support a Franciscan convent and monastery. The cloister was converted in 1830 into the Musei Civici di Reggio Emilia to house the private scientific and zoological collection of Lazzaro Spallanzani, an Italian physiologist (d. 1799) whose research into nutrient culture solutions advanced the scientific investigations of Louis Pasteur. 

It’s an amazing collection, still displayed as it was originally assembled, in now-antique wood and glass cases, evoking an earlier time.  There is also an extensive collection of regional archeological discoveries that was remarkably interesting.

On the Martiri del 7 Luglio 1960 plaza in front of the museum, (named for five workers killed by police during protests against a neo-fascists political party there on July 7, 1960) there is a moving commemorative monument to the 615 Reggio Emilia Resistance Fighters, both men and women, who made the ultimate sacrifice during WWII, fighting the German Army that occupied Italy.

A short distance away, next to the Romolo Valli Opera House, the Parco del Popolo, People’s Park, provided a tranquil haven speckled with neoclassical sculptures and pathways through a forest of old growth specimen trees, still holding their fall colors. The city’s ancient fortified citadel occupied this space until its demolition in 1848 to make room for the park.

The twin arches of Porta Santa Croce, built in 1199, are now the only reminders that Reggio Emilia was a formidable walled city.  A walk there along Via Roma revealed antique architectural details and a very large, whimsical sculpture of a bucket of fish, across from a street mural at the train station.

Aside from being renown for culinary excellence, the city has a tradition of supporting academics with ties to the University of Modena that date back to 1175.  But the city’s real claim to fame is the Reggio Emilia Approach, born from the aftermath of Italy’s destruction during WWII when men and women were in the work force to rebuild the country. With this new preschool concept parents “desired for a new form of education that would ensure against future generations being brought up in toleration of injustice and inequality. Where children are valued as strong, capable, resilient and rich with wonder and knowledge.” “With a small amount of money sourced from the selling of a tank, three trucks, and a few horses from the war, and with land contributed by a local farmer and building materials from bombed-out buildings, local men and women of all ages built the first post-war preschool for young children.”  A first in Italy, it was a break with parochial education which was the historic norm.

With a region that boasts about its excellent cuisine and fine wines it only makes sense, with a small leap in logic, that some of the most exotic cars and motorcycles built in the world are made in Emilia-Romagna, Italy’s “Motor Valley.” While Reggio Emilia doesn’t have any automobile factories, it’s close enough that you are sure to get the doors of your Fiat 500 rental blown off on the E35 by a passing Maserati, Lamborghini, Ferrari or crotch- rocket Ducati.

They all have museums in the region, but we spotted an advert in our hotel lobby for Ruote da Sogno, a showroom with more than 100 classic cars and 700 restored classic motorcycles and scooters, all in perfect working condition and FOR SALE! 

It was an interesting space that we wandered about freely. They also conduct traditional and online auctions., while the high-tech showroom is also available as a corporate or wedding event space.  The eclectic collection was very interesting, down to the glass refrigerator case full of champagne for auction winners to celebrate with. Vespas with a sidecar are our passion and speed. Do they ship? We asked ourselves. Zoom, zoom!

The city had completed stringing Christmas decorations down the ancient lanes and on the piazzas.  They were especially beautiful at night when the cobblestones glistened from the afternoon rain and the lights reflected off their still-wet surfaces.  The Christmas market on Piazza Camillo Prampolini was in full swing now and we couldn’t resist the opportunity to weigh down our luggage even more. After all, in late December, we would be heading back to the states to enjoy Christmas with our family.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Ravenna and San Marino – Golden Tiles & Mountain Vistas

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A curtain of fog blanketed our route as we traversed the Po River Valley and crossed into the Emilia-Romagna region on our way to Ravenna. The purpose – to see some of the finest Byzantine mosaics outside of Constantinople, present day Istanbul, which was once the seat of the Eastern Roman Empire. Not to be outdone, Ravenna’s golden mosaics rival Constantinople’s and were created in the 5th century when Ravenna was the capital of the Western Roman Empire after Rome’s demise. Eight churches have been recognized by UNESCO for their cultural significance as “Early Christian Monuments of Ravenna.”  Most of them are credited to a building boom by Justinian I after a reconquest of the city from the Ostrogoths in 535 that solidified Byzantine power on the Italian Peninsula along the Adriatic coast.

The valley had been the breadbasket of Northern Italy for several millennia when the Etruscans and Romans first started to drain the wetlands to expand areas for cultivation to support a growing populace aligned with city-states of the region. The spring floods from the snow melt of the Alps, Apennines and Dolomite mountain ranges replenish the valley’s fertile soil every year before pouring into the Northern Adriatic Sea.

With the belief that the valleys are always greener on the other side of the Alps, invading armies contested the area for centuries. French kings, German tribes, Galls, Hannibal with eighty war elephants, Goths, Attila the Hun, Papal armies, and Napoleon have all wanted this green acreage, and were willing to shed blood for it.

The fog had lifted, but it was still a moody day as we entered the Basilica di San Vital. The unique octagonal church was one of Justinian’s first commissions to celebrate Christianity in the city on a grand scale. The splendor of its lofty mosaics that rise from the floor, on all sides, to encompass the domed ceiling are dazzling. The golden tiles warmly reflecting the ambient light even on a dreary day.

Byzantine mosaics evolved from the Greek use of different colored river stones to create sturdy designs in ancient roads. Durable marble was preferred for its vast array of colors and was used for interiors floors in palaces.  Lasting centuries, these intricate designs are often referred to as “eternal pictures.”

The Byzantine artists’ innovation was to use physically lighter and more fragile material such as different colored glass pieces and mother of pearl, along with incorporation of gold and silver leaf. The color palette expanded with the refinement of glazed tiles.

A short distance behind the basilica stands the Mausoleo di Galla Placidia, intended as the final resting place for Teodosius the Great’s daughter. It was never used as a tomb, as she died in Rome.  The small, modest brick structure is designed in the shape of a Latin cross and is inspirationally decorated as a “prelude to paradise.” A surprisingly intimate and tranquil space, it is one of the oldest religious monuments in Ravenna dating to 430 AD.

A short walk across town, the Cattedrale della Risurrezione di Nostro Signore Gesù Cristo or Duomo of Ravenna, the Baptistery of Neon, and the Archiepiscopal Museum of Ravenna all share the same campus. Though considerably newer, the 18th century Duomo is built over the ruins of an early fourth century church and retains several early side chapels and fifth century sarcophagi.

Behind the cathedral the former bishop’s residence has been converted into a museum displaying a diverse collection of religious relics. The highlight though was the exquisitely mosaiced sanctuary, the Chapel of St. Andrew.  It was built in 495 AD for the private use of Ravenna’s archbishops.

The museum directly behind the cathedral was also interesting. with its diverse collection of religious relics and an exquisite private chapel for the bishop.

The real reward for the trek across town was the early fifth century Baptistry of Neon.  The octagon-shaped brick building appears to have settled into the ground, but in actuality, centuries’ worth of construction detritus from earlier settlements in Ravenna have raised the surrounding terrain ten feet since the structure was built. This necessitates the occasional raising of the entrance.

At the baptistry it’s all about the magnificent mosaics that adorn the dome. Above arched windows, the center medallion features John the Baptist christening Jesus in the River Jordan, followed by an encircling outer ring that depicts the twelve apostles. Astonishingly, most of the original mosaic work survives and is still intact. During a minor 19th century restoration, a mosaic artist freelanced with creative license and added the bowl that St. John is using to pour water – a scandal at the time.

The tall ridge of Monte Titano rose above the gentle hills of the Emilia-Romagna countryside surrounding San Marino like a tall ship’s white sail on the ocean; its three fortress towers mimicked the crow’s nest atop a schooner’s mast.  The towers served the same purpose: as lookout posts, to spot any approaching threat. They have served the Republic well since its founding in 301 AD, when the Christian stonemason Marinus, who was later beatified as San Marino, fled Rimini to avoid the Diocletianic Persecutions.  Also known as the Great Persecution, it was the last and harshest repression of Christianity in the Western Roman Empire before it was accepted as the state religion in 313 AD.  The rugged terrain of the mountain provided safe refuge for the small community of followers who built a small chapel and monastery. As the community grew, a governing system evolved that included representation of each family by the head of the household in an assembly called the Arengo.  Representatives were summoned to the meetings by the ringing of the church bell. This eventually changed to a Grand and General Council which elected two Captains Regents for six-month terms. In 1861 the tiny constitutional republic bestowed honorary citizenship on Abraham Lincoln. In his acceptance letter he wrote, “Although your dominion is small, your State is nevertheless one of the most honored, in all history. It has by its experience demonstrated the truth…that Government founded on Republican principles is capable of being so administered as to be secure and enduring.” On the 150th anniversary of Lincoln’s death, in 2015, San Marino minted a ten-euro commemorative coin that highlights the great orator’s words to the tiny republic: “Great and Good Friends.”

Giuseppe Garibaldi and a band of followers received refuge in San Marino before the tide of the unification movement turned in his favor. In the 1870’s, San Marino was asked to join with the rest of the Italian peninsula. However, the good will engendered by their gracious treatment of Garibaldi prevented the tiny republic from suffering invasion after they politely declined.

Along with Andorra, Monaco and Liechtenstein, San Marino is a surviving example of a medieval city-state that was once quite common throughout Europe and especially the Italian peninsula. In such esteemed company, one would expect the place be expensively exclusive. That would have held true if we had visited during the high season. But that’s not the case in November when cold winds whip across Monte Titano. With some internet sleuthing, Donna found us a great rate at Hotel Rosa San Marino.

The last vestiges of autumn colors still clung to the trees that lined our serpentine route up the mountain that ended at one of the ancient city gates through a crenelated wall.  The hotel had assured us that parking was available on site when we made the reservation several months prior, but a traffic sign warned that vehicles were prohibited and to proceed no farther.  With a quick phone call to the hotel they confirmed that they would register our car with the city and that we could drive through the gate and into the historic district without any worries. 

With a few tight turns between buildings, we drove higher and literally parked beneath the Guaita Tower, San Marco’s first tower and iconic fortress built in the 11th century.  Only a few steps from the paths along Monte Titano’s ridgeline, the hotel was in an ideal location to explore the mountaintop city and had wonderful views from its balcony.

The next morning, we braved the chill wind and climbed to the top of the tower. Donna loves these vertical expeditions. Steep ladders, crumbling fortress walls, and cliffside trails don’t intimidate her. I on the other hand have a healthy fear of heights and am only emboldened with a camera in hand in order to pursue the best photo ops. Spots along the ridge trail connecting the towers were challenging for me, but extremely rewarding for the views.

The panoramic, birds-eye-views from the tower were phenomenal and well worth my shaky knee syndrome while on the ladder to the top. The region of Montefeltro spread out below us toward all the compass points. Northward and south the gentle valleys and hills of Emilia-Romagna were saturated with the earthen tones of autumn. To the east the Adriatic coastline near Rimini shimmered on the horizon and it’s said on the best days you can see the mountains in Croatia.  To the west the borders of Tuscany, Marche and Umbria straddled the rugged Appenine mountains around the Regional Natural Park of Sasso Simone and Simoncello.  During the day the towers were manned by lookouts for signs of any approaching armies and at night to spot their campfires.

To get to the second and third towers we had to pass through defensive wall that protected the core of ancient village and cross an arched stone bridge, called the Witches Path, Passo delle Streghe, above a deep gorge that divides the ridge. It gets its name from the howling winds that whip through the high, narrow gorge and sound like voices. Allegedly, during the Dark Ages a coven of witches practiced their black magic here. More accurately though, suspected witches in San Marino were thrown to their deaths from the cliff edge. Falesia, the 13th century second tower, was built on the highest point of the ridge (2,425 ft) and used to house a garrison of crossbowmen. It now houses a military museum that showcases ancient weaponry, but was unfortunately closed for repairs during our November visit.

A small door through the Falesia’s outer wall connected to a rugged cobbled path that continued to Terza Torre, the third tower or Montale. The slender 14th century tower stands alone in a wooded area on the bow of the ridge. Built as a lookout tower and prison, the only door to the structure is twenty feet off the ground where prisoners were thrown into one large pit in the tower’s foundation.  This tower has never been open to tourists, but the scenery along the trail makes it well worth the visit.  Challenging trails off this path circumnavigate Monte Titano and eventually lead to the valley below.  The early morning and sunset light on the mountain are totally different and enhance a romantic ambience that is especially rewarding for photographers.

Fortunately, at the other end of the tower path there were many restaurants with indoor and outdoor seating.  Opting to eat outside on a breezy day, so that we could continue to enjoy the view, we lucked out and were able to get a table along the cliff edge that was out of the wind. Another advantage to November travel is that merchants are gearing up for Christmas. The town was very pretty with its holiday decorations, and we were just a bit early for the Christmas market, although the cute little cottages were already set up. Donna had fun browsing the shops, and found a nice commemorative: a roof tile with a miniature Christmas scene built into it.

The next morning it almost seemed easier to walk the ridge trail than the steep streets of San Marino’s historic center that were giving our calf muscles a workout.

The Basilica di San Marino and the much smaller Chiesa di San Pietro stand next to each other on Piazzale Domus Plebis.  Encompassing the mountain into its structure, Chiesa di San Pietro originally dates to the 600s and has a carved stone recess that legend believes was San Marino’s bed when he first sought sanctuary on the mountain.  The basilica was rebuilt in 1826 in a Neoclassical style over the ruins of an earlier 4th century church. In the church, relics of San Marino are safely kept under the altar.

Following narrow lanes we came to the Funivia · Città (Libertà), a cable car, that can whisk tourists up or down the mountain in two minutes, to the parking lot by the Castle of Borgo Maggiore. At this end of the city the wide terrace of Contrada del Pianello offered different yet equally enthralling vistas of the surrounding countryside. The panoramas were especially dramatic late one afternoon, when the sun broke through the cloud cover and cast dramatic shadows cross the countryside.

There is no passport control when you enter San Marino from Italy, which is disappointing if you enjoy getting those passport stamps as reminders of your travels, but for diehards like us, the San Marino Tourist Office, located by the cable car station, will stamp your book for five euros.

San Marino has some interesting public sculpture and the first piece we encountered was in a small park plaza across from the tourist office. The Alle Vittime Del Bombardament, depicts a young woman rescuing a small child. It commemorates the bombing of the country, a neutral territory, in June 1944 when allied forces mistakenly believed the German Army had retreated onto Monte Titano. Two hundred sixty-three Sammarinese were killed during that air raid.

Working our way to the Museo di Stato, the National Museum, we passed the old stone quarry where the country’s crossbowmen, a military unit formed in 1295, once trained. It’s still used by The San Marino Federation of Crossbowmen, a group of ceremonial crossbowmen, musicians and flag-wavers who now entertain at festivals in Renaissance dress. Further along, just before the Palazzo Pubblico, San Marino’s capital building where the Captains Regents and the Grand Council conduct the business of the country, more whimsical sculptures graced a small area with benches. 

Piazza della Libertà in front of the Palazzo Pubblico gets its name from San Marino’s own version of Lady Liberty. Sculpted from brilliant white Carrara marble, the Statua della Libertà depicts a striding female warrior, carrying a flag-draped spear and extending a hand in peace, with the three towers of Monte Titano as her crown. It was donated to the country in 1876 by German Countess Otilia Heyroth Wagener, a former Berlin ballerina, who married an Italian nobleman. This was ten years before the French Statue of Liberty was finished in New York harbor.

Adjacent to the entrance of the National Museum, the Grande Statua Nudo Femminile or the “Great Female Nude Statue,” (this title creates such an unflattering visualization for a tranquil figure and anyway the sculpture is only 5.5ft tall) by Italian sculptor Francesco Messina stands in front of the Cassa di Risparmio della Repubblica di San Marino, a bank. The bronze was purchased to celebrate the bank’s 100th anniversary.  I can just imagine the discussion around the board of directors table, “Profits are up this year, we should invest.” “Yeah, big nude sculptures are symbolic of banking success, financial stability!” “One would look good in front of the building.” “Okay, let’s vote.” I’m being sarcastic, of course, though San Marino does have liberal banking regulations and welcomes offshore accounts from wealthy individuals looking to hide their assets.

The Museo di Stato, the National Museum, has an interesting collection of archeological items discovered on Monte Titano and its surrounding territory that spans its early history, along with art and religious items.  We were not aware of it at the time, but San Marino offers a museum pass for 8€ that allows you visit all seven of the country’s national museums. It is a very good value.

It was a long uphill walk back to our hotel, but well worth it to enjoy the quaint lanes of this unique republic one last time before our departure the next morning. If you are looking for an aerial experience over the Italian countryside without renting a helicopter, a trip up Mount Titano in San Marino might fit the bill.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Vicenza – Grand Architecture, Parks & Waterscapes

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Our mishaps of driving in Italy are still memorable. But they were far more forgivable and less costly before the advent of the remote video surveillance systems that Italian towns use today. Years ago, we had briefly visited Vicenza, home to one of the world’s most influential Renaissance era architects, Palladio. After a long day on the road, navigating down from the Dolomites, we drove through the old city gate under the Tower of Porta Castello, the last remaining tower of a 12th century fortress and wall that once enclosed the Renaissance city.  Today it houses an art gallery, and you can climb to the top for views of Vicenza.

The directions to the hotel were confusing and our GPS at the time was no help.  We had already stopped twice to ask the local polizia for directions, but of the four officers asked, each had a different opinion about where our obscure lane was located, which only befuddled us further.  A few moments later we realized Corso Palladio was a pedestrian-only street and we were intruding on its charming ambience. The hotel assured us they had parking, so we continued along slowly through a thickening crowd that didn’t think anything of us.  It didn’t help that the street signs were impossible to see from the car. Traveling the whole length of the street, we ended at a piazza in front of the Teatro Olimpico, designed in 1580; it’s the oldest indoor theatre in the world, with its unique original stage set still in use. It was Palladio’s last creation before his death.

Across the way two police officers with submachine guns stood by their patrol car in front of the Museo Civico di Palazzo Chiericati, known for its eclectic collection of donated art, antique furnishings and toy soldiers from the Veneto region. There was no mention of the “BIG FINES,” we had momentarily anticipated.  Instead, the gracious officers gave us a police escort to the hotel.  Parking was in the narrow lane, in front of reception.  

Our visit was long enough for dinner and a stroll, the next morning, around the Piazza dei Signori with its massive civic building, the Basilica Palladiana, redesigned to its present form in 1546 by the young, as-yet unknown hometown architect Andrea Palladio.  His architecture can be characterized as a refined rethinking of classical Greek and Roman temples with domed and columned buildings favoring a “harmonic Renaissance aesthetic.” The style was popular with many wealthy Italian families across the Veneto region, who commissioned him to design their palazzos. This grand style continued to be extensively influential into the 19th and 20th centuries where it was favored for municipal and government buildings, i.e., the United States Capitol Building and British Museum, among others.

Our original visit was enough time to realize the city was vastly interesting and that we had mis-planned.  Now we stay a minimum of two nights wherever we go to compensate for time lost traveling between destinations.

We figured seven nights this time should be enough to relax, enjoy the city and sample its livability.

Raised in the suburbs of New Jersey, we always shunned living in a city until we retired and sold most everything, including our cars, to finance this two-year adventure around the world.  To our surprise we now enjoy city life. Especially the walkability of smaller historic cities with their pedestrian only centers, a concept not found in the sprawl associated with urban planning in the United States.

As we neared Vicenza our shuttle driver, Fabrizio, from the Venice Airport, detoured slightly to show us two points of interest on the outskirts of the city that he thought we might enjoy, and were afraid we would otherwise miss. Parco Querini, a semi-formal large open green space with sculpture lined paths and a domed pergola, looked stunning on a late autumn afternoon. It was once the private retreat of a wealthy family and was opened to the public in the 1970s. 

Nearer our apartment, Fabrizio took us past the red and white brickwork of the Chiesa de Santa Croce ai Carmini, with its architecturally distinctive facade. We found both sights interesting and vowed to return.

While walking to the park for a return visit, we found the Boutique Del Pane Vicenza, a delightful small bakery at the very end of Corso Antonio Fogazzaro, past the 14th century Church of San Lorenzo with its intricately carved roped portal and guarding lions that have slowly eroded with time.  Years ago in Italy, the concept of “coffee to go” or “take away” as we have in the states was unheard of. Tradition was you stood at the counter for a quick morning espresso or lingered at a table.  Attitudes have evolved and we are not sure if we agree, but this visit, with coffees and pastries in hand, we snacked in the park.

Nearby the twice-weekly artisanal farmers market, Il Mercato Campagna Amica di Vicenza, brought locally produced cheeses, wines, fruit and vegetables to new meaning with a “zero food miles” philosophy.  The artisanal baker was very popular with folks queued three deep at her counter for a chance to buy a wedge of bread from her huge country loafs.  Around the corner from the market, we found the best vegetarian restaurant we’ve ever been to, NaturaSì Silene Bio Bottega E Cucina. With truly the most flavorful and memorable vegetables.

From our apartment on Contra Motton San Lorenzo we explored the historic center of this delightfully compact, Renaissance city, where we were less than a ten-minute walk from everything. As we strolled past intriguing architectural details, we took note of what to do and where to go later in the week.  Discovering pastelería is our superpower and we put it to good use finding tasty creations to enjoy for the next morning.  Walk a little then café – repeat was a well-paced yet caloric approach that we fully enjoyed in our explorations of the city.  Though some days longer walks between cafes were needed when our belts were too tight. Donna says the solution is simply to wear elastic waist pants.

During the time of the Romans the main street in Vicenza was Via Postumia, a military road that connected outposts across Northern Italy. Later during the Renaissance, noblemen competed in Palios, horse races, on the religious festival days for Sacra Thorn and Corpus Domini, when the main street, now lined with arcaded sidewalks, was used as a racecourse. After the Second World War the street was renamed Corso Andrea Palladio, to honor the great architect for his contributions to the city, and an electric street-trolley coursed down the avenue. The Corso and the historic center of Vicenza have been pedestrian only since 1983. It remains a vital artery, with upscale shopping and restaurants connecting either end of the town and the historic sites in between. It’s the perfect street for La Passeggiata, the early evening stroll locals still enjoy. If you are looking for a traditional Italian bar along the Corso, the Gran Caffe’ with its old-world charm is the perfect place for an espresso or spritz. It attracts a diverse following, and is popular with students, professionals and a cadre of finely dressed older women who seem to be as much of an institution as the café itself.

Vicenza’s relic from Christ’s Crown of Thorns is treasured in the Sanctuary of Santa Corona, which was built by the Dominicans in the late 1200s to safekeep the extraordinary gift from the French King Louis IX to the Bishop of Vicenza. 

The centerpiece of the church is a beautiful altar embellished with pearls, corals, lapis lazuli and polychrome marble. Interestingly, outside hanging on the wall of the cloister is a plaque featuring a Cinta senese, an ancient Italian pig breed that is famous for its flavorful meat.

Palladio has definitely left his mark on the city with buildings of his design on almost every street – at least, it seems that way. A tour of the city wouldn’t be complete without stopping at the Palazzo Barbaran da Porto, a Palladio design built in 1570, that is now a museum with interactive exhibits and video displays as well as three dimensional models dedicated to the architect’s work.  Recognized by UNESCO in 1994 for his influential architectural aesthetic, called Palladian, twenty-four of his Palazzo designs and the city itself have been designated a World Heritage Site.

The city also has a wonderful ambience aside from his architectural masterpieces.  Waterscapes from the Ponte S. Paolo and the Ponte S. Michele over the Fiume Retrone reflect a quaint village vibe unexpected in comparison to the grand Piazza dei Signori just two blocks away.  

Pasticceria Venezia – a Vicenza dal 1964, just up from the bicycle parking on S. Paolo and near the Palladian Basilica, is a terrific place for café and a bite to eat.

On the other end of town just outside the Porta Castello, the Giardini Salvi, a treed greenspace with fountains, has been on the city map since 1580. It was the private park to the Palazzo Valmarana and in a brief moment of 16th century civic mindedness, was open to the public for a few years before being closed again for several centuries.  It wasn’t until the 20th century that the park was permanently reopened for public use.

The district south of the Corso Palladio is also worth exploring with the Duomo di Vicenza, the Cathedral of Saint Mary of the Announcement, as its centerpiece.  Heavily damaged by allied bombing during the Second World War, only the original 1482 Gothic entrance façade remained, while the rest of the church had to be reconstructed.

Diagonally across the street, in the ancient Bishop’s Palace, the Museo Diocesano di Vicenza has a unique collection of Vicentine religious artifacts. Interestingly there is a large collection of fine marble spheres, some the size of bowling balls, given to a former Bishop of Vicenza as gifts.  Discovered on the other side of the piazza during reconstruction after WWII the Criptoportico Romano was the subterranean storage area of a 1st century Roman domus. As interesting as that sounds, if you’ve been in an empty, damp dark basement before, you can skip this.

Around the corner is Righetti’s, a self-service restaurant and another Vicenza institution for over thirty years, that should be experienced. Customers find their own tables and set the cutlery themselves before walking to the back of the restaurant and placing their orders, from the daily changing menu on chalk boards, directly with the cooks in the kitchen.  After dinner, the cashier counts your glasses and plates, then bills accordingly. They are open Monday through Friday for lunch and dinner, cash only.

Although the weather was noticeably cooler, we enjoyed our November off-season visit to this visually pleasing and gentle city. If you are an admirer of historic architecture, Vicenza is akin to finding a lost treasure. The bonus was the lack of large tourist groups, which we imagine could be quite smothering in this quaint city during peak travel months.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Sicily Part 2: To Cefalu and Palermo – Wandering Through the Centuries

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The weather in mid-November was still nice; most of the days were sunny, but cooler.  Sometimes a damp dreary, grey day snuck in and reminded us that winter did come this far south as was the occasion when we started our drive to Cefalu. It was honestly just plain yucky! On the wet roadtrip south, we passed two men selling roasted chestnuts and plastic, one-liter bottles of Vino Novello, young wine, or the Italian version of Beaujolais Nouveau, made from an accelerated fermentation process that eliminates the aging normally associated with vinting wines. With a quick u-turn and purchase our spirits were immediately lifted, as the aroma of the freshly roasted chestnuts filled the car. They took the chill off the day.  The bottles of wine would wait until Palermo.  This continues a tradition started years ago, stopping at roadside stands for any type of food, craft or wine purchase.  Some days we made very slow progress indeed.

Heading inland from the coast road we followed the A19 west across the desolate, mountainous interior of Sicily past sporadically placed hilltop villages of various size.  Calascibetta was particularly impressive from the road; its recorded history dates to its Arabic settlement in 851 AD. An area of 300 rock-cut tombs, Necropoli di Realmese, and a warren of cave dug dwellings at the Byzantine Village of Vallone Canalotto called for further exploration. “Next time,” we agreed as we raced to spend the afternoon in Cefalu.

On the Sicilian list of most beautiful villages, it is also thought to be one of the inspirations for the coastal village “Vigata” where our favorite fictional detective, Salvo Montalbano, created by Andrea Camilleri, enjoys quietly eating his beloved Sicilian dishes on his patio overlooking the beach. A step above the typical crime novel, Andrea Camilleri’s inspector Montalbano critically confronts Italy’s difficult political and social issues.

A graceful, curved beach, with ancient stone homes built to the Tyrrhenian Sea’s edge, under a bold headland defines Cefalu’s beauty. Offshore lie the Aeolian Islands, a volcanic archipelago.

The town’s first settlement was atop the nearly inaccessible 1200ft tall promontory that dominates this spur of land that protrudes into the ocean like a bent knuckle. A new town was established on the coast under the cliff face when the Normans captured it from the Arabs in 1063 and proceeded to anchor the new village with a cathedral that was built to fulfill a promise to the Holy Savior by Roger II, the King of Sicily, upon his survival of a vicious storm at sea that cast him ashore at Cefalu.  Started in 1131, the fortress-like church, with Arab influenced architectural elements, took over 100 years to construct and was finished in 1240.

A handful of tourists sheltered under the tent of a café on the plaza in front of the Cefalù Cathedral, trying to ward of the November chill with coffee or wine.  Unfortunately, the church was closed and we were unable to view its Byzantine mosaics. A trailhead on Via Pitre leads to the top of the massive promontory that towers over the town.  Paths connect the ruins of a Greek temple dedicated to Diana that dates to the 9th century BC, as well as a Saracenic castle.  The panoramic views of the Cefalu and the Sicilian coast are phenomenal.

A plastic curtain at the restaurant shielded us from a sudden downpour as we sat enjoying pizza, just above the gentle lapping waves.  By the end of lunch, the rain had lessened to a misty drizzle and we ventured forth, with our umbrellas at the ready, down slick cobbled lanes to a wide, curved stone staircase.

Legend says the waters of the Cefalino River that feed the The Lavatoio Medievale, a medieval washhouse, were created from the tears of a nymph mourning the loss of her lover.  The waters originate six miles away in the Madonie Mountains near the village of Gratteri and flow under the streets of Cefalu before reaching the sea. Lion-headed spouts filled a series of stone basins that the town’s women used from their construction in 1665 until the last traditionalist scrubbed clothes there in the 1990s. An ancient stone plaque at the top of the stairs is inscribed with the saying “Here flows Cefalino, healthier than any other river, purer than silver, colder than snow.”

Our stay on Via Bara All’Olivella, a street known for its Opera dei Pupi, puppet theatres, was on the edge of Palermo’s historic district and near the classical Massimo Theater. Craftspeople carve and dress the puppets with fine cloth and metal armor, and their workshops can still be visited along the lane. The shows, which can last two hours and have three acts, re-tell the legends of medieval Christians kings, chivalric knights, damsels in distress, and Saracen nobles, with a supporting cast of sorcerers, witches, dragons, giants, and various other evil doers. Sicilian puppetry is a dying art and has been recognized by UNESCO an “Intangible Cultural Heritage.”

Sicily and Palermo have a long, convoluted history with the city as the capital of the Kingdom of Sicily when the Normans ruled.  Later it was a sister city to Naples when it was part of the Kingdom of Naples. Eventually the distinct regions finally agreed to be called Kingdom of the Two Sicilies in 1816, until the unification of Italy in 1870.  The prestige of both cities is seen in the wealth and the number of their churches.  And there really are a lot of them.

Like Naples, this large urban center has fallen on hard times in recent decades.  In the historic center the landmarks have been maintained, but the remaining residential areas have been allowed to deteriorate to the point where the crumbling buildings seem to cry out for restoration.  With oases of beauty scattered about between gritty and raw neighborhoods, Palermo stands in stark contrast to the experience of Cefalu and Taormina.  This doesn’t mean that it wasn’t enjoyable and interesting. On the contrary, along with being fascinating and different, it was a very urban experience!  Plotting our routes between churches exposed us to high culture and art along with the rough-and-tumble ambience of the city, sprinkled with graffiti, as we wandered the streets.

Only a few blocks away from our lodging, we started our morning at Chiesa di San Domenico. It has under undergone many incarnations since the Dominicans commissioned the first church in 1280. The Baroque façade and interior are the result of an expansion in the 1700s. With the burial of many notable Sicilian artists and politicians within its wall, it is recognized as the “pantheon of illustrious Sicilians,” and continues this tradition with modern heroes, most notably the tomb of anti-mafia prosecutor Giovanni Falcone, who was assassinated by organized crime in 1992, and which still receives tributes.

Somehow, we ended up on the top floor of the department store next to the church. Surprisingly, it had a nice café and patio with a view of the Colonna dell’Immacolata on the piazza and the gateway to the La Loggia quarter, one of the original Palermo neighborhoods.

The colorful Vucciria Market on Piazza Caracciolo and the decaying remnants of past glories on the surrounding streets led to the fountain on Piazza Garraffello.  Built in 1591, its beauty was overshadowed by the street art on the grim encircling buildings and haphazardly parked cars that nearly obscured it from view. The area was very quiet when we strolled through but is known for its raucous nightlife that lasts until morning. 

Across from the port a heavenly aroma emerged from a small storefront that was doing an active business. The place got its name from its specialty, Pani câ Meusa – Porta Carbone, a street food sandwich famous in Palermo that is made with boiled and then fried cow spleen and cow lung, grated caciocavallo cheese and lemon, served on a sesame roll.  We thought its strong and rich flavor was a taste that might take a lifetime to acquire.

Two blocks away, the Giardino Garibaldi’s stately centuries-old specimen trees anchored a neighborhood of fine palazzo now functioning as museums and university buildings. 

Around the corner a large, tall-wheeled float shaped like boat, called a Carro Trionfale, was on display in front of the municipal office. On top was a statue of Santa Rosalia, a 12th century hermit who is credited with saving the city from the plague when a relic of the saint was paraded three times around the city in 1624.  The highlight of her weeklong festival, held every July, is the procession when the carro is pulled through the streets by teams of men from the Cathedral of Palermo to the waterfront.  Every year a different district gets the honor of hosting the carro until the next festival.

Farther afield, our wanderings took us down blocks that seemed to retreat further back in time with every step. We saw contemporary street art on urban housing projects within steps of a ghostly unfinished renaissance cathedral, the Santa Maria Dello Spasimo. Started in 1506, it was never completed and now is used as an open-air theater and concert venue.  The juxtapositions of the treasured and the forgotten in Palermo are stunning.

The warren of narrow lanes off the Il Capo district between the Massimo Theater and the Cattedrale di Palermo were ripe for exploration.  Off Via Volturno, two stone columns with decorative capitals, Porta Carini, grace the entrance to the Mercato del Capo, one of the oldest outdoor markets in the city.  Built before 1310, the columns symbolize the neighborhood’s grand past that’s difficult to visualize amidst the colorful canvas awnings of the raucous street vendors.

Nearby is the site of the brutal assassination of Carabinieri General Dalla Chiesa, an anti-mafia investigator, his wife and a police escort. They were murdered by AK47 wielding gunmen on motorcycles one night in 1982. This vicious event epitomizes the Mafia war or Mattanza, the Slaughter, that gripped Palermo and the whole of Sicily from the 1970s to the 90s with thousands of homicides of rival mafioso foot soldiers, journalists, politicians and judges.  Fortunately, things are vastly different now.

Farther along, the street narrows enough that from their balconies, neighbors can easily talk to one other across the lane. At Piazza Domenico Peranni haphazard stalls, some with trees growing through the roofs, house a permanent flea market filled with dusty curiosities.

Every seat of power in antiquity had a triumphal arch to signify its greatness, and Palermo’s is certainly unusual with its columns depicting turbaned Arab slaves. The Porta Nuova gateway was reconstructed in 1570 to celebrate the 1535 triumph of Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, over Ottoman forces in Tunis. Landing in Palermo after his victory, the monarch paraded 14,000 Arab slaves through the city. Standing next to Palermo’s Royal Palace, the Palazzo dei Normanni, the 140ft tall monument was part of the defensive wall that once surrounded the city.

When the Normans won Palermo in 1072, it is believed they found 300 mosques in the ancient city and proceeded to change them all to churches, many sponsored by baronial families. Grand, lesser and forgotten, it was nearly impossible to avoid the churches as we walked through the historic district. Many were closed, but the larger ones still open to tourists were all different and magnificent.

The Cathedral of Palermo is definitely one not to miss. It was constructed by the Normans in 1184 over a mosque that was built atop the ruins of an earlier Christian church.  It’s undergone many architectural alterations over the centuries, embracing Arabic, Gothic and Renaissance influences which have combined to create a visual compelling architectural façade with numerous interesting details. 

The cavernous inside is rather plain in comparison to some of the richly decorated interiors of other Palermo churches. The piazza in front of the church is perfectly scaled for viewers to appreciate the grandeur of the church behind it.  The roof, tombs and treasury of the cathedral are all accessible for a fee, while entrance to the church is free.

If you are short of time head to the Quattro Canti (Four Corners) intersection of Corso Vittorio Emanuele and Via Maqueda. It is the heart of Palermo’s historic district.  A short walk took to us to the fanciful Fontana Pretoria, a tiered fountain from the 1500s, which is bedecked with mythological figures.

Beyond it three ancient churches ring Piazza Bellini, and back-to-back visits of all three then required Bellini cocktails to loosen our stiff neck muscles afterward to reground us after this celestial bliss.  The Church and Convent of Santa Caterina d’Alessandria was originally built as a hospice in the 1300s.  Its caverneous, highly decorated Baroque interior, with every surface sculpted or painted with cherubs, angels, saints and martyrs celebrating the heavenly kingdom, was built for the cloistered Domenican nuns from wealthy and noble families who arrived a century later, only to close the hospital and open a bakeshop, “i Segreti del Chiostro – the secrets of the cloister,” instead. Hey, everyone enjoys a good cookie, and the nuns are still turning out traditional Sicilian baked marzipan sweets like frutta di Martorana today, from the convent’s original recipes. Near the entrance to the convent its original ruota, a small wheel-like door, is still in use. Through it the cloistered nuns can pass baked goods while remaining unseen, and poor mothers could anonymously leave babies for adoption. The last nuns left the monastery in 2014 and it was opened to the public in 2017.

Across the piazza stands Santa Maria dell’Ammiraglion, named after the Norman admiral, who commissioned it in 1143.  Its exterior is a hybrid of Baroque and Romanesque styles with Arab influences. Inside, golden Byzantine mosaics cover the walls, arches, and domes.

The Arab-Norman architecture continues next door with the fortress-like Church of San Cataldo. The smallest church on the square, its austere block shape has three red bulging domes of Arabic style on the roof.  During the 18th century it was unceremoniously used as a post office until its façade was restored in the 19th century and the building annexed to Santa Maria dell’Ammiraglion.  Without clues to its original interior decoration the inside has been left unadorned, just bare stone.

We only scratched the surface of places to explore on an island that we found enchanting and fascinating.  It could take a lifetime to experience all it has to offer – an interesting idea. We hope to return one day. 

The wing of the plane dipped one last time to reveal the turquoise waters along the Sicilian coast as we headed for Northern Italy.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Sicily Part One: Taorima and Castiglione di Sicilia – Sunny Ancient Lands

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The clickity clack of our suitcase wheels reverberated through the Porta Catania, the ancient gate through a defensive wall that once encircled the town, as we pulled them past the 14th century Duomo of Taormina, over cobblestones polished smooth by centuries of use and time.  Adorned with crenelations, the church looks more like a fortress than sanctuary and seems at odds with the playful Baroque fountain in the plaza across from it.

Lined with colorful shops Corso Umberto, barely wide enough for a horse cart, connects the two old entrances to the city and is pedestrian only. The adjoining steep, staired alleys were sized just right for the width of a donkey.

Meeting us at the corner, our young host graciously carried our bags up the passageway and to the third-floor room we had rented in a newly renovated guest house.  It was a compact space, but it would work if we sucked in our stomachs. Effortlessly, he trotted up two more flights to the rooftop where he showed us the kitchen, as well as distant views of the Teatro Antico di Taormina, the castle above town, and Mount Etna, all bathed in the last of the sun’s rays. 

The next morning, before the day became too hot, we followed a steep switch-backed trail up the side of Mount Tauro to the Chiesa Madonna della Rocca and the Saracen Castle.  The Arab fortress is believed to be built over an ancient Greek acropolis. Unfortunately, it was closed due to disrepair, but the panoramic view of Naxos on the coast with Mt Etna in the background was phenomenal.

Sicily’s history follows Mount Etna’s turbulent eruptions – quiet for long periods then thrown into turmoil by foreign invasions.  Hanging off the toe of Italy, its large land mass pinches the Mediterranean Sea to the point that the island is only 372 miles from North Africa’s Tunisian coast. For ancient mariners sailing East to West or South to North it was unavoidable, and they collided with it.  Its easy location at the crossroads of the Mediterranean brought Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans, Vandals, Ostrogoths, Byzantines, Arabs, Normans, French, Germans, British, and Spanish for varying lengths of conquest and cultural influence. It’s an interesting gene pool for sure. 

Appreciating a good beach when they found one, the Greeks rowed ashore and established their first colony, Naxos, on the island in 734 BC.  Later siding with the city state Athens in a war against Syracuse, upon defeat the city was completely destroyed in retaliation. The survivors fled to the high ground and founded Taormina.  Visitors continue to be dazzled by their vision to dramatically construct an amphitheater on the edge of a cliff towering over the sea with Mt. Etna, an active volcano, in the background.  

Finally, Piedmontese volunteers, the red shirts of Northern Italy, invaded to unite Italy. Commanded by Giuseppe Garibaldi, the army defeated the Kingdom of Sicily whose territory extended across the boot of Italy and North to Naples.

But before that Taormina with its multiculturalism was a required stop on the “Grand Tours” of the 18th and early 19th centuries once it was mentioned by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe in his Journey to Italy. Paris, Venice, Florence, Rome, Naples and Pompeii, Athens, Istanbul, Cairo and Seville were also treasured destinations.  Remember, this was the time when all land travel was by horse-drawn carriage and water crossings by sailing ships. Think of it as an extended gap year, when young aristocrats were sent abroad for two to four years to sharpen their sensibilities and further their knowledge of the arts, antiquities and the classics.  Taormina’s big draw though, over those other sophisticated cities, was its clifftop location high above the Mediterranean that caught the cool breezes blowing in from the sea during the summer.

The Nordic invasion continued with landscape painter Otto Geleng. Exhibitions of his paintings in Paris and Berlin left critics saying such landscapes couldn’t exist and that he had an “over-active imagination.” He encouraged all his doubters to see Sicily for themselves, then returned to Taormina and opened the town’s first hotel, Timeo, in a renovated palace. His vision inspired a wave of artists, writers, and actors to visit.  In the 1920s D.H. Lawrence lived there. The books In Cold Blood and Breakfast at Tiffany’s were written by Truman Capote during his stay on the island.

The town can really name drop some famous visitors: Salvador Dali, Orson Welles, Cecil Beaton, Jean Cocteau, Rita Hayworth, Greta Garbo, Elizabeth Taylor, John Steinbeck, Cary Grant and Tennessee Williams have all worked on their tans in the golden rays of the Mediterranean sun here. 

The Taormina Film Festival, now in its 67th year, still premieres movies every June on a large outdoor screen set up in the 2300-year-old Greek amphitheater.  It attracts a new generation of sunscreen-wearing A listers: George Clooney, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Nicole Kidman, Russell Crow, Leonardo DiCaprio and Salma Hayek. Imagine watching Spiderman: Far from Home there, as Mt. Etna sputters trails of lava into the night sky in the background. Aside from the film festival, the amphitheater hosts a vast number of concerts and stage productions throughout the year.

Not being on any lists, including Interpol’s or the FBI’s most wanted, we enjoyed a still warm early November day as we wandered through the Giardino Storico Ex Villa Trevelyan, now the town’s public formal garden, but once the grounds of a villa owned by a Scottish noblewoman. Lady Florence Trevelyan fled rumors of an affair with King Edward VIII, settled in Taormina and eventually married the mayor.  During our visit, intricately stoned paths along the cliff edge, with views of the sea, were still lush with blooming bougainvillea and hibiscus. Eventually they led to fanciful, ornamental architectural constructions called Victorian follies.

Rambling on, we passed an antique Rolls Royce being readied at the Grand Hotel Timeo to whisk the bride and groom away after their destination wedding. 

From the top row of seats at Teatro Antico di Taormina, the views continued to be enthralling; Mt. Etna was perfectly framed by the ancient columns of the stage. 

In the other direction, the coast toward Spisone dazzled in the afternoon sun.  Inland, the homes of Castelmola were precariously balanced to avoid sliding off their treacherous slope. 

A stay isn’t complete in Taormina without multiple strolls along Corso Umberto in the mornings for café and pistachio pastries, and later in the day for pistachio Aranchino or gelato.

The broad expanse of Piazza IX Aprile, adjacent to the Porta di Mezzo clock tower and the elegant Baroque Church of San Giuseppe draws a large crowd at sunset to admire the view, and is the perfect spot to enjoy a classic Aperol spritz. 

Located in the foothills surrounding Mt. Etna, Castiglione di Sicilia is on the list of most beautiful villages in Sicily. Less than an hour from Taormina, it beckoned us to visit. The scenic drive along SS185 through the Alcantara Valley was uneventful.  The fields were dormant now and farm tractors were parked to await the spring planting season. The multiple arches of Ponte San Cataldo, a historical railway bridge, graced one curve of the road.  It was now a bridge to nowhere, the train tracks at both ends long ago removed for scrap. Villages we passed showed barely any signs of life beyond a barking dog or two. 

Numerous signs for campgrounds and agrotourism farms along the route promised outdoor enthusiasts escape from city life.  Turning onto SP7i we eventually passed the rustic 12th century Norman Chiesa Di San Nicola, then crossed a small bridge over the Alcantara River, within sight of Castiglione di Sicilia.  Fed by snow melt from Mt. Etna and Nebrodi Mountains, the Alcantara River is one of the few rivers in Sicily that flows all year-round.  Over the millennia the cool waters of the river have carved a dramatic gorge through lava fields left from Mt. Etna’s volcanic eruptions.  Hiking trails above the gorge and swimming in its cool natural pools are popular summer activities in the region.

Commanding the high ground helped increase your chance of survival in the days when pillaging and plunder ruled the land.  Defenders hoped that attackers would tire and move on to an easier target. From the road in the valley, Castiglione di Sicilia looked formidable, with Castello di Lauria commanding the promontory like the rock of Gibraltar. 

Driving into the center of the village, mid-week in the off-season, we nearly had the whole village to ourselves. It felt deserted, almost as if the village had been sacked and the residents had been taken captive. We followed a warren of narrow alleys and stairways around the upper village until we reached Castelluccio, the ruins a of Byzantine tower, in a small park with an overview of the village. 

From here we spotted the belltowers of six ancient churches and monasteries that dot the hilltop. The oldest, Chiesa San Pietro, dates to 1105. Castelluccio, slightly lower than Castello di Lauria, would be our highest point in the village, since the castle was closed in the off-season. That’s the one disappointment we experience when traveling in the off-season – many points of interest are closed due to a lack of tourists.  It’s the old double-edged sword, less crowding versus less accessibility.  For the most part we are okay with this and enjoy wandering to soak up the ambiance of a locale.

A looping around the huge monolithic rock, Via Edoardo Pantano brought us to the foot of Castello di Lauria, the 12th century Norman fortress built upon earlier Greek and Roman battlements. The views of the Alcantara Valley were beautiful from this vantage point. Farther on the Basilica of Maria Santissima della Catena stood atop a wide staircase at the end of a quiet plaza. The patron saint of the town, she is believed to have saved Castiglione di Sicilia from the wrath of Mount Etna on many occasions.  Her feast day is celebrated every May with a procession through the village. 

It was mid-afternoon by the time we were ready for lunch, and our options had dwindled dramatically since arriving.  Only La Dispensa dell’Etna was still open with all the inside tables taken by a large party.  Interestingly, part of the floor of the restaurant has glass tiles that allow you to look down onto artifacts discovered during a renovation. It was a little chilly for outside dining, but we enjoyed, with the guidance of our waiter, several specialties of the Alcantara Valley. The addition of wonderful home-made house wines from the regional grapes, Nerello Mascalese and Carricante, native to the slopes of Mt. Etna, combined with the delicious food made this one of our most pleasurable meals in Sicily.  Following the Etna Wine Path might be the catalyst for future visits to Sicily. 

Till next time, Craig & Donna

South to Sicily: Part Two – Maratea to the Toe of the Boot

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Normally in November we’d head to warmer climes south of the equator, but it was payback time for an extended stay in Africa, and the Italian homeland of Donna’s ancestors was calling.  We’d realized for awhile that Italy was going to be the most expensive part of our two-year journey.  Even with a very favorable exchange rate, traveling through Italy in the off-season was the best way for us to afford this portion of the trip. We’d keep our fingers crossed about Italy’s rainy season. Grey clouds hung low and were as thick as tiramisu as we neared Paestum.  Known for its ancient Greek temples dating from 550 BC, we had planned to stop there, but the day was just too damp and dreary. We drove on to Maratea.

The weather improved, with the sun occasionally making an appearance as we turned off the E45 and headed west, through a rural hilly landscape covered with trees and olive orchards, to the Tyrrhenian coast. Here again most hotels and restaurants were closed for the season, but we found a very nice, four-room Bed & Breakfast in Acquafredda, just above Maratea.  This part of Basilicata resembled the Amalfi Coast with its narrow cliff-hugging road and rocky coves.  It’s one of the regions where Italian families head to escape the crush of foreign tourists that descends on Italy during the summer months. It also makes Basilicata one of the few Italian provinces that borders two seas. The road narrowed to a single lane as we entered the old village.

Fortunately, Donna spotted the traffic light that dictated the direction of traffic flow through the narrow passage before an oncoming bus would have forced us to back down the lane.  We had a little difficulty finding La Giara until we realized it was down at the end of a rutted farm lane more suitable for a tractor than a sedan.  Run by a gracious older couple who patiently dealt with our rudimentary Italian, the inn was wonderful, with our upstairs room having a view of the distant sea. We were the only guests. The turquoise waters and the pebbly, black sand beach of Spiaggia Acquafredda were a short walk away from the inn. We had the shoreline to ourselves one crisp morning as we walked along its frothy surf.

The sun’s golden rays were now shining on the sea as we drove along the serpentine road into Maratea for dinner. We’ve found that even though many tourist establishments are closed in the off-season there is always someone who stays open year-round to cook for his friends and neighbors.  And with their reputations online with a discerning community we’ve found that these very local places are inexpensive and great.  Ristorante Pizzeria Sapore Di Mare did not disappoint us with its variety of fresh seafood and pasta dishes, and we ended up having three meals there over two days.  Blame it on the off-season.   There were not any streetlights or shoulders along this cliff hugging road. Fortunately, there was a solid stone guardrail and no oncoming traffic when we rounded a curve and our car’s headlights lit up a man and woman raking hedge cuttings into the middle of our right lane.  A quick zig zag avoided catastrophe as screams filled the night air inside and outside of the car. Our hearts were pounding after such a close call!

Breakfast the next morning was delicious though a little strained by our lack of Italian until the husband’s eyes widened when we expressed interest in the olive oil that was served with the homemade bread. Pridefully he brought us small tastings of different olive pressings. A large olive orchard was their true livelihood, and this time of year they were busy harvesting the first olives of the season and pressing them for this coveted golden liquid.

We hadn’t done much research on this part of our trip, only knowing that we would encounter some stunning coastline, so we were pleasantly surprised when we found ourselves in the picturesque, man-made harbor of Marina di Maratea.  A small port, with an assortment of pleasure craft and fishing boats, it embraces the coast under a towering 2113-foot-high Monte San Biagio. The mountain is topped with a statue of Christ the Redeemer that is visible for miles along the Tyrrhenian coast.

The day was brilliant and with café on the quay at the aptly named Bar Del Porto we planned our ascent of Monte San Biagio. We were relieved to find we could drive to the top of the mountain, a revered pilgrimage site that celebrates the fourth century martyr San Biagio who is credited with several miracles in Maratea, the most important of which was shielding the town from Charles VIII’s French cannon fire during an attempted invasion in the 1400s. As proof of his intervention, next to the altar in the basilica there is a cannonball with a mysterious fingerprint pressed into the iron; it is believed to be San Biagio’s, left there when he deflected the shot with his hands. Legend states that his relics arrived in Maratea in 723 when a ship carrying them from Turkey to Rome for safety was mysteriously stopped by a bright beam of light from the sky; the vessel was unable to sail forward until the relics of the saint were removed from the ship and brought to the mountaintop. A church was then built over the ruins of an ancient Greek temple dedicated to the pagan goddess Athena.  Maratea celebrates San Biagio’s feast day every May by carrying his silver statue from the basilica in a processional, on the shoulders of teams of men, down the steep mountainside trail. It is a journey of 4-5 hours into the center of town, through streets filled with the faithful, to Maratea’s oldest church, Saint Vitus, built in the 9th century. 

During the high season you are not permitted to drive all the way to the basilica. Instead, for a small fee, a shuttle bus delivers you to the church. In November luck was with us and we were able to zoom up the elevated switchbacks that seemed to float ethereally above the steep slope to the parking lot.  The only other vehicle in the lot was a truck belonging to workers repairing the church roof. Regrettably, mid-week, the church was closed.

A gentle sloped walkway led to the summit past the stone ruins of old Maratea. Founded by Greeks over two-thousand years ago, they occupied the hilltop for centuries before the lower village was built in the 11th century to accommodate an expanding populace.  The landscape around the ruins was dotted with fragrant wild fennel for which Maratea got its name (from the Greek word marathus, wild fennel.) In the mountains behind the church the clouds were almost low enough to cover the tiny Hermitage of Our Lady of the Olive Trees that sits isolated in the rugged terrain.

In 1963, Italian sculptor Bruno Innocenti was commissioned to create a statue of Christ to crown the summit.  His youthful portrayal of Jesus without a beard, made from poured concrete mixed with crushed marble from the famous quarries in Carrara, faces East, inland toward the rugged mountains and the church that holds San Biagio’s relics.  Standing 70ft high with an arm span 62ft wide, it is the fifth tallest statue of Christ in the world.

The views up and down the rugged coastline and inland were spectacular. Maratea is also known as “the Holy City of Southern Italy,” so named because the small town has 44 churches. We were excited when we spotted several tiny bell towers in the distant village from the overlook.

We spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the newer village which lines the slope of a valley that leads to the sea. Archeological evidence found in local caves reveals that the area has been inhabited since the Stone Age.

Far below the Statue of Christ the Redeemer, steep cobbled alleys branched off the main road and wove their way up the lower slope of the hill, past centuries-old homes worn by the elements.

Occasionally trees and vines sprouted through the cracked sidewalks and clutched the walls. It felt like the village was deserted. Nearing the end of the day we found a wonderful vantage point to capture the silhouette of the village and the valley against a colorful sunset.

Only a two-hour train ride from Naples, Maratea, Basilicata’s “pearl of the Tyrrhenian Sea” has stayed off the radar of foreign tourists and remains “the Amalfi without the crowds,” and one of “Italy’s best kept secrets.” It’s definitely an area worth exploring in greater depth.

The next morning, we contemplated driving 2.5 hours along the scenic coast to Lamezia Terme, where we would connect to route E45 and continue south through the Calabria region to the ferry port in Villa San Giovanni, on the toe of the boot, across from Sicily. 

Fearing I would insist on stopping too many times along the coastal route to take pictures, we opted to head inland for the drive instead.  The day got warmer as we proceeded further south through a verdant landscape of rolling hills covered with olive trees or freshly tilled fields.

Spotting the seaside town of Scilla from the highway, we decided to detour for awhile since we were making good time. Famous in Greek mythology for its legendary sea monster, Scylla, the town is set dramatically high on the cliffs that front the sea. Castello Ruffo commands a hooked promontory below the town.

Its defenses that once protected the village from invasion are now just a historic backdrop for a wide crystalline beach that sparkled brilliantly in the afternoon sun.

Back on the highway we stopped to refuel and have lunch before boarding the ferry in Villa San Giovanni to cross to Messina, Sicily.  Back in the states we would only eat at a highway rest stop if we were desperate. In Italy, we eagerly searched for them, since there we found them to be gourmet havens for travelers. They serve delicious plain or grilled panini, pizza, and of course good espresso.  They also usually have an interesting assortment of snacks for later, as well as the usual assortment of souvenirs. Yes, magnets and coffee mugs. But also a candy known as Pocket Espresso! After making our purchases, we picnicked under a tree on the edge of the parking lot which overlooked the Strait of Messina.

The powerful currents that race through this narrow strait have been legendary since the time of Homer, when Greek sailors first started to explore the unknown waters around southern Italy.  The dangerous opposing currents on either side of the strait personified in the Odyssey as the mythical sirens Scylla and Charybdis who lured unwary mariners to their deaths in their turbulent waters.  The phrase “between Scylla and Charybdis,” refers to being stuck in a difficult situation with poor options, similar to the common expression, between a rock and a hard place.

After stopping to get our ticket stamped, we drove aboard the Giuseppe Franza, operated by Caronte & Tourist, and parked on the car deck amidst a variety of large commercial and private vehicles. We stood outside on the passenger deck as the ship’s powerful engines easily pushed the 308ft ferry, capable of carrying 600 passengers and 120 cars, off the dock for the forty-minute crossing to Messina.  So different from the ancient Greek bireme that Odysseus’s men would have rowed on their journey.

Our destination was the coastal town Taormina. Fortunately, we didn’t have to row there.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

The Best Trip Ever

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Our friends have asked frequently, “What’s been your best holiday?” and now Yellow Zebra Safari is asking the same question.  For a chance to win a Tanzanian Safari, they are asking entrants to write a travelblog about their best trip ever and submit it by October 31st.

My best trip ever has to be the one we are currently on.  Roughly two years ago, out of the clear blue, one evening my wife floated the idea that she was thinking of retiring soon. I had been downsized several years earlier and had found a second career as a USPS mailman, delivering junk mail and mountains of Amazon packages through terrible weather, while deftly avoiding ferocious Pomeranians.  The idea struck home. Okay! But, what would we do?

As a pair of seasoned citizens, we are not the typical demographic for a gap year/round the world trip, though our community is growing. We sold most of our belongings, put the rest into storage and hit the road. I write this from Olon, Ecuador, where we are practicing slow travel, a two-year journey around the world with the best travel partner, my wife.IMG_7856IMG_7404We’ve been on the road for more than 100 days now; previously, our longest trip was just shy of three weeks, with carry-on luggage only.  So, we felt fully prepared to tackle this challenge (insert wink here.)  Needless to say, there is a learning curve, but we have the right mind set.  In late October, we move north to Guatemala, followed by a cruise to Cuba. The first part of 2019 will see us in Europe, and after that, who knows? We’ve discussed heading to South Africa, then working our way north and through East Africa, trying to have as many big game safari experiences as possible.  This has been a dream of mine since I unwrapped my first National Geographic magazine and was enthralled by the spectacular images of the great migration across the Serengeti.  Winning this Tanzanian Safari experience by Yellow Zebra Safari would make this dream a reality.

Our earlier adventures have prepped us for mishaps. At a filling station in France, I put gasoline into the rental car’s diesel engine; in Italy, we were trapped in a parking area when our token would not raise the automatic exit gate; we have experienced canceled flights and missed connections which resulted in airport overnights on hard floors.  Trips to Peru, Mexico, Guatemala, Fiji, Turkey and Morocco have broadened our perspective; we view the world as global citizens, and take seriously our responsibilities as travelers and stewards of the planet.

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.”

The first sentence of this quote from Mark Twain is the one most widely known.  We think the second line is more relevant today, since we really do share commonality with people the world over.

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We are currently in the midst of our best holiday ever, a life changing/lifestyle change that will create lasting memories.

Great adventures to all,

Craig