The Great Iberian Road Trip, Day 51: ...And Into The Cauldron

It was eight-thirty in the morning on Monday 19 August. I woke up with a spring in my step. It was the day we would go to Seville, another city I have always wanted to visit. Having packed the car fairly solidly the night before, it was just a question of taking down the last bits and that would be that. We had reconfigured the bags so that we would not have to remove so many things from the car in the coming two places we would be staying. I finished loading up the car, strapped the kids in, and off we sped.

I had planned to go along the Algarve coast of Portugal and enter Seville from the west, but I suddenly had the urge for a history upload. Just inside Spain, in the region of Extremadura, is the city of Mérida. It was an important city in Hispania during Roman times, and it still had a great number of ancient buildings still standing. It took the road eastwards, into the cauldron of Iberia, where temperatures were in the low forties. I was worried the car would suffer somewhat, so I didn’t push it. The scenery going that way was flat, yellow, with the sporadic newly-planted forest, and the urban areas were hidden under trees. I was just grateful for almost empty roads, meaning I could activate Cruise Control and relax my weary legs.

We arrived in Mérida without many problems – just a toilet stop for Livia, and some snacks for everyone. Except… the phone continued to think we weren’t in Spain, so I had no signal and had to find the centre without directions. We walked into town to look for a place to eat. Mérida is a pretty city with a pleasant, safe ambiance. It does, though, have the feel of a place quite remote and disconnected from the rest of Spain, even if it feels just as Spanish as everywhere else.

I asked a local shopkeeper where the best place was to eat, and she directed us to the Plaza de España, about five minutes further down the main street. And what a beautiful square it was: understated, yet extraordinarily bright. There were ancient buildings here too – the Alcazaba, the oldest Moorish fortress in the Iberian Peninsula, made up half of one of the sides of the square. There were a good number of restaurants lining the shady side of the square, but none of them appealed.

Then I spotted a place at the bottom of the square – are there times that you notice a place and it appeals to you for no reason from a distance, so you go to take a closer look? This was the case for me, and I’m glad I did, because it was crowded with local people all waiting for lunch. And what a glorious menu it had – El Pestorejo, a plain-looking restaurant, was anything but. They offered ribs falling off the bone, stuffed ox tongue, fried cod, fillet of pork, croquettes, a host of wine options, and even rabo de toro, which is a bull’s most prized organ, if you get my meaning.

We settled on croquettes for the children, a dish called carne con tomate for Kirsten, and secreto ibérico for me. When they came, there was enough to invite several other families to dine with us. I have to say, although my secreto was grilled to perfection, the carne con tomate was the star. A rich, hearty meat stew with a layer of potato chips on top, it was the perfect comfort food after the setbacks of the last ten days. I would call it happy food.

While we were waiting for the food, I went into the restaurant to try and get a Wi-Fi signal so that I could call our phone provider to get a solution for our phones, still disconnected from the network. Unfortunately, there was no GSM connection, so my phone kept cancelling the call. Lunch arrived and was utterly delicious. No-nonsense gloriousness on a plate, no stylish arrangement, just good-honest food. And the potato chips were the best I had had in Spain in a long time – British-style in thickness and length, slightly soggy and an incredibly competent accompaniment to any meal, I could have happily moved to Mérida just to be next to this place.

Then I had a bold but naughty idea: maybe somebody at the restaurant could lend me his phone so I could call the phone service. The waiter serving us was from Argentina and a jolly soul. Hard worker, enjoyed his job. I told him the situation and before I had managed to ask, he said “here’s my phone, get it sorted.” Salt of the Earth.

I was fourth in the queue, which went on for quite a while, but I hung on and to my complete exhilaration, I was eventually announced as the next customer in the line. And then, I was through. I explained the issue – I was calling from the phone of a waiter in a restaurant and my phone had decided to cut off communication once we returned to Spain. “No problem,” she said. “Go to the app and select Network Selection.” I did. “And now see what setting it’s on.” It was on roaming. “So choose automatic, and it should never have this issue again.”

It was that easy. How silly of me. This was a memory issue, not a lack of technical skills. I thanked her and apologised for forgetting all about that particular manoeuvre, which we had done when we left, and expressed my admiration for the job she does – I did something similar for 18 months back in 1999, and I can freely admit, it is often a soul-destroying experience, although I still have a lot of good friends and contacts from that very period.

By this time, the children were giving Bonny Bee the run-around, so I returned to the table to enforce crowd control. We decided to pay and leave – I sought out the guy who had lent me his phone, and left him a banknote as a tip. He had earned it. I don’t believe in tipping everyone all the time, as I believe it can legitimise the removal of wages like in the US, but he had gone over and above his remit.

We got an ice cream and headed back up the hill. I wanted to see the Temple of Diana, one of the best-preserved Roman temples still standing. When we turned the corner and it came into view, we were all awe-struck. I can recall the feeling of total wonderment and captivation only a couple of times in my past, yet here we were, and I was having the strongest one yet. It was so properly intact that when we went inside and up to the main balcony, I could briefly transport myself back two thousand years to its heyday, visualising the view and imagining the sounds of the time. For a few seconds, I had blocked out the present and left the twenty-first century. What a special feeling.

There were parts of the building that were exposed to the public, and touching them provided an energy that only the most powerful trees can deliver. Walking around the monument was one of the most remarkable and memorable moments of this road trip, and I’m glad we made it out this way rather than take the coastal road. We also saw Trajan’s Gate but there are so many other Roman monuments in Mérida that we will have to return… I can’t say I’m against that idea.

We hit the road again and I took the car to the fuel station to check the tyres as I had the feeling we had been sliding all over the road. When we arrived there, though, I required the help of the pump assistant, because it wasn’t a digital one, and he said the tyres were far too full. This was despite having spent three hours in a parking garage. I was quite shocked, as we could have had a nasty accident, but I don’t understand how that could have happened – I guess the heat may have inflated them.

We arrived in Seville without too many difficulties. I was surprised by the suburbs, which just appeared round the corner, and even more surprised when our turning for the city centre arrived. We reached the parking facility in the Old City which I had reserved in no time at all, and suddenly we were getting bags out and one suitcase. Dainoris insisted on wheeling the suitcase, which was very dapper of him. We had about 400 metres to the apartment I had booked, but he took it all in his stride. I had to walk ahead now and again to come back and help him negotiate kerbs and rough surfaces, but he did extremely well.

The apartment was above some shops in the very heart of the city, and although it was the same size as the last one, the layout was far more convenient – it also had a fairly large courtyard just for us, which was perfect. Although I wouldn’t live here forever, I would definitely let us spend a month in it. Of all the places we have stayed in on this trip, I think this will be seen as one of the best.

We had a little rest and watched some Clan, the children’s channel run by RTVE, which is head-and-shoulders above all other television providers in the south. Like the BBC, it commands respect and some affection for its status as a national institution. Milda wasn’t really in the mood to go out, complaining she was really tired, but we persuaded her. We went out into the stifling night air of Seville, where hundreds upon hundreds of other people had had the same idea. It was well after nine in the evening and it was still quite oppressive.

Walking a few streets from our apartment, we stumbled on a breezy pedestrian lane with several cafés and restaurants on it. The one we chose had a decent menu and priced things according to the size you wished for. We ordered some garlic potatoes, salmorejo, oxtail croquettes, tortilla de patata, and a round of cool drinks.

Returning to the apartment, it was around eleven at night and there was more life on one flagstone in this city than there had been in some of the towns we had stayed in in Galicia. But now that we have cracked the 50-day mark, the fatigue has died away and I think we can enjoy the final couple of legs of our road trip – just two more weeks left.

Everyone was looking forward to a decent night’s sleep.