The Great Iberian Road Trip: Review and Recognition

After such an epic two months, I think it’s only right to make a review of our experiences and the places we visited. We have been through famous cities, visited picturesque villages, driven over mountains, found breathtaking beaches, walked through historical buildings, had some excellent food, and stayed in nine very different places. This is our summing up of our time on the road.

Best City

1. Seville

By far the most exciting and impressive city on our route, it had everything needed for both visitor and resident. The 24-hour lifestyle is what makes this place such an exciting city to be in. The mix of excellent gastronomy, popular culture, old and new architecture, good public transport and mobility, as well as an exciting atmosphere, make this the ideal city trip destination.

2. Cartagena

A city embossed with its ancient history. Everywhere you look there is something two millennia old. And yet it has a surprisingly modern feel. I enjoyed walking along some of the quiet backstreets where there were lots of hidden taverns, restaurants and shops. They organise some street theatre every autumn – I think we might be back soon…

3. Coimbra

A splendid city with a lively inner core, bursting with culture and great architecture. The city’s atmosphere and pleasantly designed layout are lovely, but there isn’t enough to keep you here for more than a weekend, but its proximity to a great deal of other locations makes this a splendid place to use as a base. Obidos, Porto, Braga, the beaches at Figueira da Foz, the hills and river valleys in the interior, and even Lisbon, are all within a reasonable drive.

4. Mérida

Hidden in the middle of Extremadura, packed full of Roman remains and delightful streets and squares, Mérida is the capital of its region, and once was an important city in the Roman Empire. This has not been forgotten.

 

Best Town

1. San Vicente de la Barquera

The loveliest place in the most beautiful setting, San Vicente had restaurants, beaches with calm waters and a tranquil atmosphere. But it was the outstanding beach that brought this to the top of the list.

2. Burela/San Cibrao/Viveiro

These three towns all next to each other provide excellent facilities for everyone. The beaches, the bars and restaurants, the child-friendly centres and the lively atmosphere make these places ideal to stay in for a decent period.

3. Braga

A picturesque town with a lot of history, this place provides a positive experience for the day visitor.

 

Bottom of the pile:

Torrevieja

Behind the tacky tourist tat shops on the seafront, many owned by the same company, this place is full of dismal grid streets, followed by soulless expat ghettos. The council has done its best to make the most of its murky beaches by adding a few features, like round breakers, diving boards, benches and extra leisure areas, but it just seems like somewhere the authorities had made the most out of a bad situation. This doesn’t mean I wouldn’t come back though: the bars and restaurants are good, and there is a buzz even at 2 in the morning.

 Best Smaller Settlement

1. Fisterra

The end of the Old World, there are many reasons to appreciate this place – boat trips, coves, great gastronomy, lovely people.

2. Obidos

A colourful, pretty little town in the Portuguese countryside, well worth a day trip.

3. Antequera

A colourful little town in the foothills of the Andalucian mountains, it is an ideal place to stop for food and a good walk.

 

Best Food Experience In A Restaurant

1. Os Árbores, O Vicedo, Galicia

The setting under the trees, the family ambience, the simplicity of the dishes, the friendliness of the owner and staff; everything was right about this place.

2. Mesón Juan Manuel, Antequera

The best greeting, a typically Andalucian menu, and food that has been made with love and passion.

3. El Canton, Cartagena

Having a kind owner is key. The food is made with passion and pride, and brought to the table by hard-working staff.

4. Restaurante Guichot 7, Seville

The menu looked fairly bland but once it had reached our table, it was anything but. A total surprise.

5. Taberna O Lidador, Obidos

Well-presented wholesome food, lovely location, provided good vibes.

 

Best Café/Bar

1. Batidor Pasteleria, Fisterra

Run by a Hungarian family that moved here only last year, this place has already gained a local reputation for its grand café-style pâtisserie. But the informal atmosphere and the kindness of the staff make this a much cosier place. I could have eaten everything.

2. Sunset Gastronomia, San Vicente de la Barquera

It was like having a drink inside a painting. The view onto the inlet, the incredible homemade cakes, and the fun atmosphere was only surpassed by the loveliness of the bartender.

3. Salero Bar, Carnota, Galicia

Almost perfect preparation for a visit to Carnota Beach, this bar sits under some lovely shady trees. The drinks on offer and the snacks provided were just what we required at the right moment.

4. Alviento Terraza Club, Cartagena

The great views over the harbour and the city, the lack of exterior walls, the tables and water features give you the impression you are part of the surroundings, not separated from them.

5. AquaBeach, Praia da Fonte da Telha, Portugal

The view of the amazing sunsets, the greatest juices, excellent finger food and very well thought-out décor was a very special experience. It would have been higher on this list, but the total disorganisation of the staff showed there were a few underlying issues in their place.

Best Accommodation

1. Retiro do Viajante, Penacova, Portugal

The owner has thought of nearly everything – soft beds, a very efficient kitchen with dishwasher and induction cooker, simple but elegant décor, games for kids, and a lovely terrace with views over the river valley. We could have happily stayed here for longer. In fact, three days after we returned, I asked the children what place they liked the most, and they remembered this one. Unanimous decision of the jury!

2. El Faro 5, San Vicente de la Barquera

The upstairs bedroom with its views over the inlet from a huge bay window was a marvellous place for inspiration to write. I gladly sat there for hours typing on my laptop, and every now and again glancing out of the window.

3. Rio Covo, San Cibrao

We can forgive the dodgy cooker and the non-operational lift. The rest was fine – and when there was a problem, it was dealt with at the earliest moment. Everyone had their own bedroom and there was nobody else around, so the kids could make a fair amount of noise. Designated parking right outside.

Best Beach

1. Praia de Xilloi, O Vicedo, Galicia

Forget Ko Samui, this is just a spectacular location. Right opposite the best restaurant, this was no ordinary beach: it was a high temple of nature. Crescent in shape with rock formations at both ends, low waves and fine, powdery sand, there is no finer place to go for a swim. With showers and a toilet in a proper building near the ample car park, it was the most excellent experience of all beaches.

2. Playa de Carnota, Galicia

A wide-open expanse of sand accessed along a wooden walkway from the parking area, this was such a pleasure to spend a glorious afternoon on. The waves were high, but fun for some light surfing.

3. Playa del Puntal, San Vicente de la Barquera

A real delight. A small but lightly frequented beach in an inlet, it’s more like being on a lake. Perfect for paddle boarding and kayaking. The water was not that warm, but the location made up for it. With beautiful views across the inlet to the town, and the frequent passing boats, this place is more like Cornwall or Lake Garda than the Atlantic Ocean.

4. Praia Fonte da Telha, Portugal

With its superb backdrop of cliffs and the pools left behind at low tide, there is so much to take in here. The beach’s crescent shape gives the visitor the impression that it is endless. The high waves break further out in the sea, meaning they roll in quite tamely to the shore. Credit to the lifeguards on this coast – really friendly, motivated, great for a chat, always vigilant.

5. Playa de Estorde and Playa de Sardiñeiro, Galicia

With incredibly calm waters, despite being on the Atlantic Coast, these two beaches provided perfect conditions for safe swimming. The rock pools allow for exploration and the facilities nearby mean you are never far from a drink, some food, or a place to relieve yourself.

6. Playa de las Catedrales, Galicia

With its numerous caves, inlets, pools, hanging rocks and constantly changing shoreline, this was an unforgettable experience, spoiled by the expensive café and need to give your ID to access it.

 

Most Worthwhile Place of Interest

1. The Alcazar of Seville

The entry fee is very reasonable for what you get to see. This is an exquisite complex of buildings and gardens hidden in the very centre of Seville. And it’s huge. To conceal such an immense place in the middle of a city is its greatest asset, because it keeps the Big Building Mafia away. You know, the ones who spoil trips to more visible and more marketed monuments like the Alhambra.

2. Roman ruins of Mérida

As soon as the ruins of the Temple of Diana come into view, you know you’re in a special place. The rest of the building has been converted into a small museum and at 2 euro entry, I was happy to contribute to its upkeep.

3. Obidos

A really special place to visit, with some incredibly beautiful buildings, adorned with flowers and other objects, but I really wouldn’t want to live there. I would go crazy with all the daytime visitors, the convoy of buses and coaches offloading visitors for a few hours before the place goes back to being empty at night. Saying that, I think it is definitely worth a few hours.

4. The Alhambra, Granada

A giant Moorish royal domain perched on the side of a mountain, there are serene gardens with cooling fountains full of trees, bushes and plants, and palaces built by various rulers over the years. It was recently named Europe’s best attraction, but considering the place is crawling with visitors, sitting on all the ledges, wandering in front of you as you try to take a photo, hanging around archways, obstructing the views from the balconies, and pointing their smartphones at everything that doesn’t move, I don’t even consider this the best attraction in Spain. In fact, not even in Andalucia.

5. Moinhos de Gavinhos, near Penacova

These ancient windmills are free to visit, although you need transport to get there. But the views once you are there are spectacular. A great place to stop for a short walk, or a picnic, if you’re travelling through. And there’s no entrance fee.

 

Most Remarkable Experience

1. The boat trip in Galicia with Cruceros Fisterra

At 90 minutes, a perfect length of time for children before they get out of control, the friendly staff of this boat took us out into the deeper waters around the lighthouse at the end of the Old World. With the chance of seeing dolphins enhanced by the boat’s generous amount of exterior decking, this was the pinnacle of pleasure.

2. The old road from Penacova to Coimbra

The N110 between these two towns is narrow, precarious, difficult to locate, with more hairpins than a beauty pageant. A spectacular drive with the most surprising of endings when you suddenly emerge out of the wilderness onto an urban roundabout in a suburb or Coimbra itself.

3. Straddling the hilltops of the Sierra de Urbasa

Up among the heather you can find cows, horses, goats and some rare birds roaming wherever they choose. In this environment, the animals are not encroaching on our roads; we are driving across their territory. Pure nature and some breathtaking views.

4. Exploring the characteristics of different Iberian cities

Santiago de Compostela and Vigo, Granada and Almeria, San Sebastian and Gijón, Coimbra and Braga: cities in the same or similar regions, yet completely different. There are so many diverse and valuable places to visit that these two months have not been nearly enough to properly understand these special places. This is without taking Mérida, Penacova, Setúbal, Sesimbra, Cartagena and Seville into account.

 

Biggest Disappointment

1. Sierra Nevada

It wasn’t just the poky room we were given (which was an upgrade from the original one), it was almost everything else. I have never spent so much money in such a rural backwater. For example, a visit to the supermarket for a bagful of necessities was about 50 euro. On checking out, we had a couple of waffles and pancakes for breakfast for nearly 40 euro. With one road in and out, the place is one massive captive market with parking facilities, a ski lift and a huge number of tiny places for people to sleep.

2. Glamping in the Sierra de Urbasa

Not quite the experience I expected. I loved being greeted by farm animals first thing in the morning, and I thought the cafeteria was excellent. But it closed so early, and with EURO2024 on the TV, we all prayed there wasn’t extra time or penalties because we would miss the vital part. And the number of bugs we found in the tent, both dead and alive, just made us all reluctant to go to sleep. Shudder.

3. Crossing into another time zone over land

Going from Spain to Portugal on the motorway was the first time I had instantly gone from one time zone to another. I have crossed from the UK to France numerous times, but there is either the sea or the tunnel, so it feels like a real journey to get there. I thought going from GMT+2 to GMT+1 would be a thrill, but it caused more problems than excitement.

 

Places We Are Most (And Least) Likely To Return To

MOST LIKELY:

1. Galicia

This glorious part of the world was a true revelation. With its relatively empty beaches, coves, bays and river mouths, we could have spent all summer here. The clement temperatures, serene waters in the bays, dramatic coastlines, fantastic food, kind people, safe towns and cities, it is the perfect place to detoxify.

2. San Vicente de la Barquera

The sound of horns from the ships, the gentle chugging of fishing boats making their way along the inlet, the town centre buzzing with locals talking over lunch, families having fun on the beach, this town is a real panacea to the stressful pace of city life.

3. Penacova

Although the town itself is very quiet and spread out in a way that there isn’t really much opportunity for community life, it is in a beautiful setting. The river beach is a lovely place to hang out in the evening sunshine. It’s only 25 minutes to Coimbra and another 20 minutes to the beach, there are plenty of places in the area to make this the perfect base to explore.

4. Seville

Being fourth on this list is not that I regard it as being fourth priority. But the three above were pleasant surprises. Seville is the city with everything – excellent food, energising atmosphere, splendid architecture, cosmopolitan feel and clean, well-kept public spaces. And is the place on this list we will most likely return to first.

5. Almeria

We really liked the feel of this city. Similar to Granada but without the weight of expectation, as well as being close to the sea, I would love to visit this place in the off-season. There was a certain cheerfulness and enthusiasm in the people there.

 

LEAST LIKELY:

1. Sierra Nevada

No need to say why this place came top.

2. Torrevieja

Of all the places we have visited, this should have been the place we had a real holiday after the two-month exile. But it’s actually quite an ugly, impersonal town with rather dirty beaches and muddy waters. The gaudy seafront has sold its soul to tourist tat shops and generic cafés all selling variations of the same thing. Last year, we spent this week in Peñiscola, and I would swap that place over Torrevieja any day of the year.

3. Setúbal

Probably not going to rule it out totally, as it was quite a pleasant place, and I liked the sedate pace here. The potential to reach Lisbon, Sintra, Cascais, Estoril and the lovely beaches of the Atlantic coast make this quite a good base, but I think we arrived in the wrong frame of mind with low energy after such a strenuous July.

4. The Alhambra

Sorry, we tried this place 21 years ago, and nothing has changed. Maybe we should try this place in mid-January…

The Great Iberian Road Trip, Days 63-64: Forward Into The Past

 

The last full day of our Great Iberian Road Trip had arrived. Not much happened, to be honest, because we were so utterly exhausted. We decided not to cook in order to keep the kitchen mess low, and instead took a short walk to the Arab restaurant once again, as the food had been excellent. And once again, it was exactly what we needed. I had a kabsa with chicken – loaded with fragrant rice, cloves, saffron, cardamom, cinnamon, sultanas, dried apricots, peanuts, pine nuts, pepper and nutmeg, it was incredibly tasty. Bonny Bee settled for another tajine and the children for wraps with some fragrant fillings.

After this we walked around the corner to a clothes shop run by a group of Ukrainian women. Everywhere I have been I have encountered Ukrainian women making a new life for themselves and truly thriving.

The pool was our next destination to escape the oppressive humidity, then a trip to the playground before packing up and having a rest. It was a sure sign that we needed to go home again. We were all holidayed out.

Monday 2 September had threatened to be a cloudy, rainy day. This was an omen and a hint. The rain made it much easier to accept the end of our holiday, and at the same time implied a promising period to come. We had much to look forward to – the children were going to start their new school the week after, and we had to prepare them for this; Bonny Bee and I had a house to search and buy; and there was still a lot of warm Valencian weather to be had.

But after a sunny start in a café across the street for breakfast, the clouds soon moved in as we headed up the coast. We were to pass such places as Benidorm, Oliva, Gandia, Denia and Javea, known as Xàbia locally.

Xàbia has quite an important place in our family’s story: let us go back to the mid-1950s. My mother and her mother were quite close, and my grandmother’s sister had just won a great deal of money on the lottery, just a few weeks before my parents got married. Her aunt treated my parents to a honeymoon in the Grosvenor Hotel in London, at the time one of the most prestigious establishments in the world.

Later, this aunt and her husband decided that they wanted to emigrate, and they had found a house in Xàbia. In those days you had to jump through hoops to live in Spain, but even then it was worth the effort. I remember going to visit them a few times in my childhood. They always made extravagant dishes or took us to local restaurants. To round off our trip, I wanted to return to Xàbia just to see if I remember anything.

The first things that struck me were how many of the other towns in the neighbourhood I remembered: Benitatxell, Jesús Pobre, Gata de Gorgos, Pedreguer, Ondara, Cap de la Nau. All of these places triggered a few recollections of times past. I remember the warmth of being surrounded by my elder relations and being impressed by their satisfaction at lives well lived. Despite my great aunt and uncle’s fortune at winning the lottery, it was always so good-natured.

I, on the other hand, have a restless spirit and I can barely sit still for five minutes.

My elders were able to sit around a table – whether this was on my great aunt’s patio in the sparkling sun of Xàbia or the dining table at my grandmother’s house in a suburb of southeast London, or the table of a spit-and-sawdust pub – for hours and hours. They were able to talk about anything, and the conversation would rarely end. When it did, the silences were convivial, not in the least awkward; they knew their limits.

Luckily, this has rubbed off on me, although it does depend whose presence I am in. I want to reach the same level of inner peace when I reach my senior years, though. This is going to be harder, but not impossible.

Arriving in the town of Xàbia, seeing the greenery all around poking out higher than the houses, I was also reminded of some of its history. To avoid a similar architectonic desecration similar to some of the other towns in the area (actually I mean Benidorm), a decree was made that Xàbia should never suffer the same fate, and that no high-rise buildings should be built here.

I don’t know how true it is, but it is a fact that the late dictator of Spain had quite a bond with Xàbia, and although he let his cronies buy some of Spain’s most prized land to build whatever decadent villa they wanted (see Cala del Ministre for some rather deplorable details), it was his decision to build a Parador in the town that led the town council to grant him a holiday mansion right next door in thanks for this gesture. I wonder who *really* decided he should be rewarded with that… And so it was that in order to not spoil the view, the town council’s building policy rejects building applications above a certain number of floors.

We drove through some rather familiar expat ghettos though. This town has for decades thrived on wealthy emigrants of a certain age. Half of the population are non-natives and the vast majority of them are over 40. So that kind of gives some perspective on the place. And yes, on arrival at the beach front, where there is an improvised car park right on the sea edge (those oldies don’t want to walk too far to their favourite spot!) we took a stroll along the promenade.

It had been raining, but despite this, a lot of northern Europeans came past in their swimming gear. Looking for a place to seat, we passed several restaurants that turned me off: “ALL DAY ENGLISH BREAKFAST, 29 EURO” was one that made my neck hairs burn off. Another one found Ray Winstone lookalikes at the metal tables drinking pints of lager and talking like they’d just fallen out of a barrel of tandoori spices. And a third one proffered a daily menu that was so outrageously expensive, I’m sure even its owner thought twice before eating there.

We found one place though, and it seemed pleasant enough despite all the tourists staring at us in disbelief because we spoke Spanish to the waiting staff and English to each other. The food was unremarkable: Caesar salad followed by a couple of thin pieces of steak with a handful of chips that wouldn’t have made a full potato. Dessert was slightly better – crema catalana for us, ice cream for the kids. These places would also not have deterred my elders, who preferred more genuine establishments where local customers frequented, but we didn’t really have the time to keep looking – we had an appointment at our apartment at 5pm, and it was well after 2.

After a moody walk back to the car in the light rain, having apologised for the mess we made (as usual), we were a little behind schedule. I would have to let the agent know and do a little hurrying… the road between Xàbia and the motorway was full of trucks, camper vans and dithering tourists. Hitting the motorway itself, it all went well, and then we hit Valencia.

And then Valencia hit me. The relief of being back in these familiar surroundings, seeing the City of Arts and Culture, getting bullied by the local drivers, I realised what someone said to me once: Valencian drivers have a reputation for being the maddest drivers in Spain. I didn’t believe it until I had done this tour, and I realised it was true. But not only because of local habits: these wide boulevards, abundant multi-lane roundabouts with traffic signals, half-roundabouts to turn on, grid layout and massive thoroughfares full of traffic are the perfect incubator for mad drivers. I had got used to this over the last year but 2 months out of town and I was a novice once again.

We arrived at our urbanisation about ten minutes after the time I had announced. I had had no answer from the agent at all, so I presumed she was still on the way. We planned to get a drink from the café opposite, but suddenly she appeared from upstairs. After the initial chitchat, we headed up to look around the apartment and have a rest.

It was still the same, although there were a couple of changes: a new water boiler had been fitted (nice) and the place was clean and tidy. The children came in and settled in immediately, as if nothing had happened for the last two months. Things returned to normal more quickly than we could have imagined, although some very big tasks sill lay ahead. Having visited the home of my elders, I realised I had now become them. It’s time to form memories for the children in a similar way.

Thank you for sharing our Great Iberian Road Trip with us – a new adventure is not far away!

The Great Iberian Road Trip, Days 61-62: Just When We Thought It Was All Over, This Happened

 

Sometimes a bit of dolce farniente is a good thing. On Friday 30 August, we just bummed about in the park here, did a bit of swimming in the pool and I cooked some ibérico pork cutlets with potatoes and a side of tomato in vinaigrette.

But on Saturday 31 August, we made the final excursion of our road trip. And what a stunning location it was. The naval city of Cartagena is over two millennia old and is nestled in amongst the lakes and mountains of the Murcia region. At one time, this place was known as “New Carthage”, and was a capital city of its eponymous Roman province. Cartagena has an abundance of remains from its various settlers over the years, including Phoenician, Byzantine and Moorish, but it is the Romans that left some of the biggest traces behind, including one of the most aesthetically positioned amphitheatres in the Old World.

And the museum that houses it is a masterpiece in its own right.

We firstly headed to a parking garage somewhere at the dock. This was the perfect location to head into the old town for something to eat. It was approaching two o’clock, and we found a beauty of a restaurant, nestled between a row of houses where they had made a terrace. The kind proprietor sat us at a table at the back with high stools, so after all that driving, I opted to stand up the whole time.

The lunch was splendid – tapas portions of toast with ibérico ham, patatas bravas, artichoke leaves perfectly diced and laced with cheese and truffles. This was followed by some torrija, Spain’s answer to pain perdu, or bread and butter pudding. It made a perfect preparation to enter the Roman Amphitheatre. You go in through a modest door just off a main square near the docks. The entrance for us all was modest, and definitely worth every cent.

As you pass into the next room, you are greeted by some of the relics they have found – the capitals of Doric pillars, pieces of the texts set in stone, pieces of statues, some better kept than others, and a great deal of pottery. One of the rooms there has a window directly looking on to the stonemasonry of the huge building. The rooms ended with a set of escalators up to different other remnants, all very well presented indeed.

After a few more exhibits, you enter a tunnel which brings you to some of the rooms under the theatre. The designer really set the scene so well. Then, via a walkway, you pass through a triclinium with some of the original mosaic, and – here comes the most striking feature of the whole visit – the designer made the entrance to the vast, majestic remains of the amphitheatre feel like you are actually arriving as a spectator or an actor. The impression you get by leaving the tunnel and the walkway and entering the amphitheatre is a spine-tingling experience that leaves you appropriately awestruck and does its very best to transport you back two millennia. It is a striking moment.

You enter the amphitheatre halfway up the spectators’ section on the left. Walking round, you take in the scenery: the cypress trees above, the mountains in the distance, the remains of the pillars, the huge distance to the other side, the stage, and the balcony at the top. You can climb up to the top and go in the arches up to the very highest point, a vertiginously perched set of places but the view all around is astonishing, to say the least.

When your four-year-old uses the word “awesome” to describe what she has seen, you know this has been a worthwhile undertaking. In fact, all three were full of questions and comments to the point that we had to stop in order to think of the right replies. Out of all the visits to places of interest, this was the moment where I think reality set in: they’re starting to understand the concept of historical time… even if Dainoris is confusing the Roman period with having dinosaurs in it. I do believe their notion of the linear timeline is getting stretched, which is excellent.

Walking around this massive Roman structure, crossing the stage itself where actors had performed two millennia ago, I was reminded of the fact that in many of their performances, the Romans often let their actors die on stage. The Greeks had the rule never to show a death on stage, but the Romans were more bloodthirsty. Slaves were often used to fulfil this role, and they were swapped with the leading actor wearing the same clothes to carry this out. Other slaves or criminals were ordered to maim themselves or suffer an alarming injury in order to regain their freedom. Some price to pay.

Does this show the Romans were less civilised than the Greeks? Maybe. Often, a less sophisticated culture is able to overpower a more civilised one simply because the civilised one has gone past the desire to destroy and expand territory. We see this happening now, although the civilised cultures have correctly learned to arm themselves to the teeth to protect their position.

After our mightily inspiring visit, we headed to a bar for a well-deserved drink. It was quite hot and dry sitting there. I remember one of Ovid’s poems where he describes all the food and drink people took to the theatre – I can understand why.

Just above the underground car park is a newly-built leisure complex with an indoor bar downstairs, an ice cream outlet on the side and a hangout bar on the roof. We went up there. The view was lovely although the lounge music had a very heavy beat to it that was a little bothersome. Although they had these fruit-flavoured tonics that made it all better again.

We jumped back in the car and went to the playground outside our apartment. I went off for a little light shopping and a look around the outlet stores just round the corner. By the time I returned, everyone was heading back up to watch TV and flake out. It had been an exhausting day. Last full day coming up – then we make our way home again.

I can’t wait.

The Great Iberian Road Trip, Days 59-60: Happy Birthday, Livia!

 

On Wednesday 28 August, we did next to nothing, except go to the pool in the building and take a little wander to the promenade for some ice cream, cakes and coffee. Our time in the pool was curtailed by the arrival of an angry boy who kept trying to steal Dainoris’s surfboard and clinging on to it really tightly. To retrieve it, I had to unwind it from his wrist, all while he was trying to punch me in the ribs, face or abdomen. Bonny Bee put the surfboard on the roof of the heating shed but the little monster took the pole for the filter net and knocked it off. He eventually left us despite accusing us of several disproven acts of sabotage when his mother called him from a window above.

Apart from that, not much happened. I guess we’re kind of winding down now, before we return to Valencia on Monday.

On Thursday 29 August, Livia turned 7. Seven years already. How time flies…  so to celebrate, we took her to a shop to choose her birthday present. She wanted a bed for her new doll, but as we didn’t find that, she was happy with a pushchair for her. She asked to have pizza for lunch, and I found one a short car ride up the beach. It was quite an impressive complex with one section for burgers, one for pizza/pasta and one for ice cream and cocktails. It’s probably kicking in the evenings there.

The place was also right on the edge of the beach, so we headed over there next. Dainoris played in the sea for a while, Livia did her own thing with rocks and sand – she loves making structures and improving on them – and Milda just lay on the sunbed, as she really didn’t like the strong waves.

I lay on a sunbed, as did Bonny Bee, and we had a decent rest. I think we have also got a bit of fatigue from the nomad life. It’s been an educative and exploratory two months, but continuously unpacking our stuff, packing it up again and moving on has taken quite a toll on us. The idea was to use the time wisely, mixing work with leisure, and looking around to see if we had decided to settle in the right place. A by-product of this has been that we have seen what type of house we would like to live in once our house in Germany is sold.

And what we saw was that indeed, returning to the Valencian Community, even though we aren’t in our province, was a true moment of joy. There are parts of Spain that we definitely could move to, but Valencia is where we feel most at home.

Further joy has sprung up in recent days: the children have all started asking how to say certain things in Spanish. They began in the winter with “zumo de piña” and “pajita”, but now the curiosity is much greater. I think because they realise they’re going to start at a Spanish school in just ten days’ time! So now that even Livia has started asking how to say certain phrases in Spanish, I think the floodgates have been opened and we will see a lot more of this in the weeks to come.

I went for a swim in the sea, which compared to the Atlantic was like getting in the bath. However, the beach in Torrevieja is quite narrow and not particularly pleasant. A lot of it used to be rock until very recently, and under the water there is a fair amount of it sticking out and into the feet of unsuspecting members of the public (me) wading into deeper waters. My toes, toenails, heels and calves are all scratched and gnarled. More than they were before…

But once in the deeper waters it was fine. The waves were familiarly low and no so strong, but there was a treacherous riptide. Out further in the sea the waves were coming in at an angle, the most telling aspect of nasty undercurrents. After I was nearly swept out to sea back in June, I don’t take any chances, so I hung around where my feet could touch the bottom.

When I got out, Dainoris came to declare for the tenth or eleventh time that he was bored. This is because his close mate Milda hates the beach, and Livia likes the pleasure of her own company. I was also getting a bit bored of the place, so I suggested we go for a drink and a little sit down back in the huge leisure complex.

Then we jumped in the car and went back to our poky little apartment in the city. Just four more nights of our exile left…

The Great Iberian Road Trip, Days 57-58: On The Home Straight

 

On Monday 26 August, we woke up in the Sierra Nevada ghost town with the car fully loaded. I took the kids to get some breakfast while Bonny Bee collected the remaining objects and tidied up. We went in search of somewhere open, which was a lot more difficult than it sounded. Eventually we ended up in the very restaurant we ate dinner in the evening before. For three measly waffles, a pancake and a coffee, the bandits charged 36 euro and 70 cents. I caused a bit of a scene about that – imagine, you have a captive market; nothing else is open, and you’re miles from anywhere. You could stick a “1” on the price of the bill and nobody would be able to do a thing about it.

I thought our stop on the way should be Almeria – I had heard a lot about it, not all of it good – but I wanted to see for myself. It was two hours’ drive along some of the most picturesque yet perilous roads past craggy mountains, over vast, steep river valleys, through tunnels and around deserts. We parked in the Town Hall garage and went for a walk. It was a revelation: such a pleasant and well-maintained city. Even the seemingly ubiquitous police were smiling.

The central square was so bright, I needed to squint to see it properly. The children were able to run, dawdle, chase each other and push toy trucks wherever they pleased. The first thing everyone wanted was a drink. I was happy with this idea, as it would give me enough time to locate a place to have lunch. The first place we came across was called La Taberna Del Loco, and it was one of those places which played covers of cool 80s and 90s rock songs but with that ultra annoying calypso beat. And it was really loud. We wouldn’t be eating here.

Just around the corner was a shady pedestrian road and it had two or three restaurants on it, one of which had very good reviews. After we got out of there, we landed at that place, and it was excellent – it worked as such: you get a drink and you get a bite-sized tapa. If you want extra, it’s 2 euro. We voraciously ate our way through the menu and it was glorious, although only the adults went for the pinchitos. These aren’t the same ones as found in other parts of Spain: these are skewers of pork or chicken covered in spices introduced by the Moors and cooked over charcoal grills.

For me, pinchitos are part of my childhood: high in the Andalucian mountains, the elders of my family had a house. In the town was a bar-restaurant called La Reja. We went there about four nights in every seven. It was a very special place nestled between the houses, and was an open terrace under long grape vines that provided shade in the day and beauty at night. And they made pinchitos that engraved a massive space in my early gastronomic memory. Back here in Andalucia, I was reminded of La Reja and those pinchitos.

I’m more at home in Spain than I ever would have imagined a year ago.

Now was time to get dessert. Walking a little further, we happened upon the central market – it was just closing but we had enough time to buy some cherry tomatoes, garlic, and other fruit and vegetables. I asked the stallholder where we should go for a dessert and her colleague sent us to an ice cream place about 10 minutes down the road.

After a delicious but cantankerous visit to the ice cream place, we headed in a foul mood back to the car where we sped off to our final stop on our tour, Torrevieja. It was still two and a half hours from Almeria, but I was hoping the children would maybe stop fighting long enough to have a sleep. And that they did. For a while.

A couple of hours later, having left Andalucia far behind and hurtled through the autonomous region of Murcia, the hallowed signpost appeared: “COMUNITAT VALENCIANA”. I was so happy to be back in my adopted home region, that I completely let go of reality and was pulled over by the Guardia Civil for speeding. It was the irony of all ironies: here we are, having almost accomplished a complete tour of the Iberian Peninsula, and I am greeted in my home region by a fifty-euro speeding fine… the officer was kind enough, very professional, and told me it wasn’t a great deal over the limit, but rules are rules and I took it as a positive omen.

Just fifteen kilometres further on, the town of Torrevieja appeared, as did some horrendous traffic jams, but we soon made it to our next address, and found a parking space just ten paces from the door. We were informed by the property owner about the procedure to enter the place: “When you get to the front door of the premises, please press buttons on the Intercom to allow someone in the building to let you in.” Well… I had never had such an adventurous arrival at a place… we pressed a number of buttons but nobody opened. In the end, some student type with an electric scooter was heading out and we were able to gain a foot in the door.

The next instructions said: “at the top left of the door is a small black box with a code. Type this number in and you will find the keys inside. It was fairly dark in the corridor, so it took a little time, but we managed to enter the apartment. Well I say apartment – more like a capsule with a couple of windows. But it was just a week and this odyssey will be over.

I’ll be totally frank – since the robbery in Setúbal, I haven’t really enjoyed the trip as much. Except maybe for Seville, but that was just three days and I could have gladly spent all summer there.

That evening, we went for a walk and to find some food. I didn’t feel like cooking. Torrevieja is quite a cosmopolitan place and we stumbled on a North African restaurant. The call of a tajine was too loud for us… I had a lamb tajine with olives and sultanas, and Bonny Bee opted for a chicken tajine with some fine spices. Both were exquisite, although I got he feeling the cook went light on the spices for fear of upsetting our European tase buds. We usually tell the person taking the order to cook it as it should be, but we forgot this time. The children had some tacos with Moroccan-style filling, and they miraculously ate it. We all slept pretty quickly, even though it was hot and stuffy.

On Tuesday 27 August, we woke up in a sweaty heap – more so than Seville, and I think it’s the humidity here on the Valencian coast. I bought us some food and cooked a lunch of tagliatelle ragu, then we went down to the building’s main attraction: the pool. Tiny but adequate for our purposes, the children loved making their own fun in there. In the early evening, we took a walk to the main road by the beach. The road was long and caused Dainoris to obviously get agitated, but the promise of ice cream at the end took the edge off his routinely sulky and resentful temper. So he just kept saying “I don’t wanna go for a walk” in a whiny and persistent manner.

We got there, and suddenly, as if by way of a miracle, the smiles returned and the moaning ceased. For a while. One of the things I had been meaning to do was to get Livia a cuddly toy. Milda has a rabbit and a chick, the latter being loaned out to Dainoris at bedtimes. But Livia lost her own rabbit back in Germany before we left, and all other replacements were just not as good. Plus it’s her seventh birthday on 29 August.

To a chorus of “we’re tired” by Dainoris and Milda, we passed a toy and game shop on the way home and my plan was to sneak Livia in there for a few minutes, buy something, and meet the others a little later on at the playground. Bonny Bee was content with taking all three in the shop, but I had grave misgivings. These misgivings would prove to be right – Livia took thirty seconds to identify the doll she wanted: a lovely tousle-haired stuffed figurine. We could have been out of that shop in no time and nobody would have been any the wiser, but now Livia had something, the other two started demanding a present too. Milda even threw her chick and the rabbit on the floor of the shop and declared that she didn’t like them any more. In fact, she went utterly berserk. And Dainoris gave a stellar performance as The Boy Who Never Got Anything.

We tried to placate them with some smaller stuff, but they wanted to go for things larger than Livia had. And that was when we decided to teach them a life lesson: if you can’t be happy for your sister when her birthday is on the horizon, you don’t deserve a reward. Imagine the absolute meltdown that confronted us as we left the shop with just one thing… Bonny Bee was holding on to Milda, but Milda resembled more a swarm of incensed wasps with a hand. And Dainoris had chucked himself in a mournful pile of snot and tears on the pavement. They were both wailing like a pair of car alarms on low battery.

If there’s one thing parenting has taught me, it’s that we aren’t there to be popular. We aren’t there to keep the peace by giving in to every demand. We are there to provide a moral compass and set an example, and not to be everyone’s best mate. There are limits to our patience, but there are no limits to our determination not to blink first every time we are presented with a new demand.

We made our way to the playground in the square outside our apartment block, very slowly while this meltdown was going on. Dainoris’s crying had gone from total indignation to feeling the need to cry out of principle. Milda had been saying she was tired of walking, but I knew that as soon as we reached the park, all this would be over. Just before we turned the corner into the playground, I said to Milda “If you’re tired, you’ll need to have a rest!” And she agreed. Reverse psychology often works when one element is hidden from the subject – and to her credit, she didn’t suddenly say “I’m better now”, and run off to play. She really did sit with us for a good five minutes.

We went home for something to eat before bed, but two of them didn’t last very long…

The Great Iberian Road Trip, Days 55-56: Welcome To Pandemonium

 

On Friday 23 August, we had a very important appointment. Back in spring, when I put this trip together, I bought some tickets for the Alhambra. You have to book them well in advance if you want a choice of time and date. But to me what is pretty disturbing is that they also want your ID card or passport. I understand the need to keep fraud low, but other places have systems in place that don’t require such far-reaching measures. In any case, I don’t have anything to hide, but it’s the principle of the thing.

I was a little worried about driving out of the urbanisation up the mountain, what with a rock festival due to start today. I was in no mood to return and find all the spaces usurped by out-of-towners. But that was the risk we took. Forty-five minutes later, we arrived at the vast tree-covered parking area behind the Alhambra and were directed to the first section, the furthest from the entrance. I explained about the kids and that they can’t walk too far in this heat, but the guy said it was already full all the way out to here. An ominous start.

We walked towards the gate, a good ten minutes away, to be greeted by a line of tourists jostling for position to be permitted entrance. It was one of those disorganised queuing systems with three lines and you have to guess which line is going to go the fastest. We had to produce our IDs and put our belongings in a scanner to get in, plus the tickets on my smartphone needed to be validated. It was a fairly impersonal experience, but it got us in the door. As someone with an ADHD personality, all this completely scrambled my brain. And the sheer number of pushy tourists everywhere sent me into a spiral of bad-temperedness that would need some time to deal with. Livia was also suffering from a similar experience and had started acting impulsively, so she needed some guiding.

We moved gradually towards the entrance of the Palace of the Nazaries – we had access at 12:30 and were required to be there on time – but firstly we negotiated the cypress-lined pathway through the grounds to the other end of the complex. Be mindful that it is going to be impossible to capture a picture without another visitor in it. Anywhere. To get to the Nazaries, you have to actually leave the main Alhambra complex and queue up again to go through the same bureaucratic process over there. Just before you enter, there is a building that has been turned into a toilet and refreshment centre, based over three floors. I was incredibly irritated by all these people standing around, sitting on parapets and benches, hanging around in groups.

Let me take you inside my world a little: when you go into a railway station in the middle of the rush hour, and you have just a few minutes to locate the platform of your train before it leaves, you are faced with a number of obstacles that you see everywhere. These include luggage placed indiscriminately in the middle of the passageways; gormless individuals exiting outlets eating food or checking their phones and not looking where they are going; teenage dirtbags sitting on the floor in a circle ignoring each other as they bash the screens of their smartphones; old people dawdling in narrow walkways unaware you want to get past.

The list goes on, and the overload of noise from announcements or random music or other people’s conversations or those large cleaning vehicles with the round brushes whirring through makes the whole experience miserable. Because when you’re in a hurry and you are confronted by all this commotion, you make mistakes and you become more and more stressed and more and more likely to cause yourself to miss your train. Your ability to think straight is compromised, and you see everyone else as guilty of conspiring to ruin your peace.

This is what it can be like when we go to a place like this.

It is so hard to cope, so difficult to concentrate and focus on viewing the place, the actual reason for my visit, that I constantly need to reset my internal thought process. The best way to deal with all this is to just block everything and everyone out. But… add into that three self-obsessed toddlers and their mother who has delegated responsibility for the excursion to me, and I am a walking time bomb. This place was different to a railway station, but no less awful. There were the same gormless tourists around, and a few Instagram bozos all vying for position, pushing each other out of the way to get the best picture. If the flamenco performance in Seville the other evening was awful, this was by a very long margin worse.

This was the central square in the capital of the land of Pandemonium; the painting of crowds even Brueghel would have had trouble completing; there was not a moment that I wanted to stay there. But I did, because we had paid to go in and we needed to make the most out of it.

Being confronted with this torturously tiresome shower of cretins is the greatest distress we can face. We think we see injustice, spitefulness, intentional disregard for others everywhere, even though it is most probably just a random configuration of events. From the young people monopolising the few seats around the place, to the guy standing in front of the main object of the area while his partner takes a photo of him; from the three people walking side-by-side very slowly so nobody can get past, to the treacherous rat who steps in front of you as you are trying to take a photo, we see injustice and malice everywhere, even if none is in fact intended.

And we also make our feelings known: being passive-aggressive and handing out a few barbs is a way of letting people know we aren’t coping very well. Children like Livia tend to do weird things like licking arbitrary objects or splashing in water, throwing stuff, eating leaves, punching something or someone, shouting random words in inappropriate places, taking off clothes, scratching, pushing, lying on the ground and cackling, and other things. As we get older, the ways of handling these things becomes more streamlined and less haphazard, but the notion that you are in an inhospitable place full of those who would harm you rarely dissipates, even if others around you don’t share your impressions.

The effort it takes to walk into a public space on our own is extraordinary; courageous even. The feeling you have is the equivalent of entering a wedding reception while the father of the bride is giving a speech to the silently attentive guests, and everyone looks round at you in disdain for disturbing the vibe. So the whole experience was really just Bonny Bee and I trying to keep Livia from flipping her lid and at the same time making sure Dainoris and Milda didn’t have any bright ideas. The fact we were in one of Spain’s most prestigious buildings was secondary and the day was more like an out-of-body experience.

As you can see from the photos, it was a lovely place, despite the crowds, but most of it went past in a fug of irritation and stress. Before we went to the Generalife, a more spacious and relaxed section of the complex, we had lunch at one of the inns, in a delightfully shady courtyard. I do like a place with character, and the fact we were on our own table meant I didn’t feel threatened by other guests.

The Generalife was an oasis of calm after the would-be outdoor airport departure terminal we had been in earlier. The gardens, spilling over with flowers and shady trees, made everything worthwhile. I had recovered some semblance of a good mood, and we had a better time there. Livia and I walked together through the gardens and had much more pleasure than earlier.

We left the place in a better frame of mind than we arrived, although Bonny Bee was pretty frazzled by it all. I had coped by trying to block out all the nastiness around me, but she had been at the brunt of several blows to her sanity and strength. We took the road back to Sierra Nevada (after a few GPS mindfarts) and had a decent rest after the upheavals of the day.

In the evening, I visited a supermarket to get something to eat but there was hardly anything left. I still managed to spend 24 euro on a few bits, which I found outrageous. This is really a captive market here, where the shops and restaurants are conspiring to rip the gullible visitors off. Put it this way: I won’t be coming here again any time soon. Instead, we went to one of the few restaurants that deign to open in the summer months and had what we thought was a small and rather plain meal, but nevertheless cost one and a half times more than our banquet in Antequera.

The children were still coming down off their plane of tension, and it showed, to the extent that their mother needed to return to the apartment for a break before the coffee had arrived. She was exhausted and overwhelmed, and I totally understood. It had been a most demanding day.

The following day, we did absolutely nothing at all. We went out for an expensive lunch and a short walk, but most of it was spent trying to process the events of the previous day and regaining our strength ready to tackle a daytrip to Granada on Sunday.

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