Hello Barcelona, goodbye Angela and Janice

We left Barcelona on the day of the elections for the province government.  This, as we discovered at the cooking class on our first night, was a very important event for the independence of Catalunya. 

It was an interesting mix with an Aussie couple, the vegetarian slow travel Brits, three Canadians on a girls' trip and us.  And the Catalan and Swiss/French hosts.  I asked whether Catalunya would gain independence  ("quite likely") and whether FC Barcelona would be kicked out of the Spanish football league  ("that's the dumbest threat ever").  When Janice asked what benefit there would be for Catalan independence, there was a flumoxed silence and our hostess confessed that she had never thought about it.  It did not take her long to recover.  Stories of oppression and banning people from talking their own language exist the world over and this is a similar story.  I expected most of this yo be historic, and much of it was.  But Catalunya pays higher taxes than the rest of the country which seems a bit unfair.  For our host, the Spaniards are lazy and do not plan for the future, whereas Catalan people are hard working so I think there are some stereotypes on both sides.  I would have liked to hear the other side but my spanish isn't good enough to follow the debates.

Barcelona was a little sad for us.  First, because we said goodbye to Angela, our rented BMW sports car.  Second, and more importantly, because this was the end of the trip for Janice.  For her last day, we visited Montjuic and did the funicular and cable car (great views over the city) and did a wander up Las Ramblas which is tourist hell. 

I visited the Sagrada Familia in the afternoon and timed it right to see the sun pouring in through the windows.  It was absolutely stunning.  Fifteen photos later, I thought I would sit quietly in the prayer room (for the quiet and peace).  They wouldn't let me in because my shoulders weren't covered so take a scarf with you if you're planning to go.

A great big rock

At the beginning of the trip, we envisaged ourselves avoiding the toll roads and stopping at delightful little spots along the way.  Our first day in Portugal cured us of that idea.  Hence, we decided to take the toll route from Valencia to Montserrat.  We travelled for about 300 k  on it so I was expecting it to be pricey....35 euros later. I still think it was worth it.  The drive took four hours and god knows how long it would have been on the normal roads.

This meant that we arrived in Montserrat in late afternoon and had no queue to get up the hill.  We didn't  realize how helpful this was until we left the next day and saw the cars queued for what seemed like miles. As we were staying at a hotel on site, we once again took the car right into the monastery, scattering tourists as we went, to drop off our bags.

There is quite a famous boys choir at the monastery so we went to vespers to hear them sing.  First the monks, who were great, the the lads filed out and began to sing.  They were amazing.  I couldn't understand a word of it, but their clear high voices filled the church in a way that the lower voices of the monks (and a few nuns) had failed to do. 

Dinner was at the hotel restaurant - Janice's shout for mum's birthday.  Vegetables with a romanesco sauce and Iberian ham to start, followed by a seafood Paella.  The paella was slightly disappointing.  It seemed to have liver in it and the seafood was very overcooked.  The complex had cleared out by then and we had a little wander in the cool evening.

We woke in time to see the sunrise (me: yip, that's daylight, back to bed; mum and Janice went down for a photo.  Again the complex was almost empty.  Mum and I hopped on the first funicular up the very very steep hill at 10 am (not realising till later how sensible this was until we saw the queues later).  There are a lot of walks on the hill, but we just did the short one to St John's hermitage.  Following the signs led us up some very steep steps and along a narrow outcrop.  Then we realised there was a much easier way.  I went down to investigate, chatting to mum along the way.  It was not until I heard a male voice behind me ("not your friend") that I discovered that mum was not behind me, but another couple was.

We mostly had the tracks to ourselves so it was a surprise to see the hoards when we were back down.  I had time for a quick peek at the art museum before we headed off.  The monastery has quite a good collection including Renoir, Monet, and Picasso.  There's also some nice paintings of Montserrat.  The mountain itself is spectacular, rising up almost vertically in what us almost entirely rock.  It's difficult to describe how the ridges look razor sharp as they stretch out like spider's legs from the central behemoth.

I really enjoyed Montserrat.  It's still a working monastery and there was a great sense of peace in the church and on the mountain.  The bells ring regularly which is annoying if you're trying to sleep but fabulous if you're in the square in front of the church or hearing them echo from one of the tracks on the mountain.

We went to Valencia but it was closed

It was my turn to drive when we came into Valencia  (strangely, this is often the case when we arrive at cities...)  There are 10 lane avenues, and roundabouts with just about as many lanes.  I did alright with these, but then I had to navigate the narrow streets of the old town.  I failed, and then the police closed the streets for an event.  Some very bad Spanish and showing the reservation got us through and then I sat in the car while mum and Janice went on foot to get me a guide.  We parked the car in another tiny, awkward underground car park and that's where it stayed until we were ready to leave.

Our first night we went to a nearby square for tapas and sangria (they had the lovely goats cheese and honey thing - this time with sultanas as well).  Mum and I then went for a wander round the old city at night. 

Then it was a fairly fast paced walk through the old city and to the park in the river.  There used to be a river here, but after flooding it was diverted.  The park now wends through the city like a river, complete with multiple bridges which have become part of the park, one covered in flowers, another old one surrounded a large pond, one with eagles underneath if you're inclined to look up.  The bike has tracks for cyclists, tracks for runners, paths for wandering (and they let you know if you're on the wrong one!) 

Our destination was the city of arts and sciences which has some great new architecture and, apparently some great museums.  They were shut and looking a little abandoned apart from a man vacuuming the gigantic pool, and a few security guards, gardeners, and tourists.  Even finding a toilet was difficult.   

We were pushing it for time on the way back, but I finally let them stop for breakfast when we were close to the apartment.  It was one of the best  (and best value) breakfasts of the trip.  Cafe con leche, zumo de naranja naturales, croissant, and yoghurt and fruit - all served very quickly and in a nice small square.

On our way out of the city, we stopped at the beach.  The marina was very pleasant with the abandoned America's Cup bases and some nice super yachts although much of the marina had the air of being shut, and then onto the beach.  There are several sand sculptures, a massive beach and loads of cafes.  More coffee, juice and croissant, and a walk in the water before we headed on the long long drive to Montserrat.

I would definitely visit Valencia again.  For a week.  At the beach.

*The* Alhambra

If you ever go to the Alhambra - and you should - I have a few tips:

1. Stay at Hotel America.  It's one of two hotels in the Alhambra complex, and the other is the parador which is expensive and, if our dinner is anything to go by, a bit snobby.  Also, the Hotel America has Angelos, our waiter with a great sense of humour, and a very lovely woman at reception.  The advantages of being in the complex are mainly obvious, but also include being able to drive right inside (authorized vehicles only) and play chicken with the tourist hoards.

2. Part of the complex is free to visit including the two museums, the baths, and the church - all but the baths are closed Monday.  Leave these till last, or better yet early the next day when no one else is around.  The museum of Fine Arts has some nice paintings of the complex in the late 1800s and early 1900s,  the museum is worth a quick walk through.  I'd started relatively early with very few people about so when I came out about an hour later, the hoards were a bit of a shock.

3. Book well ahead for the Nasrid Palace and book for after 11.30.  We saw many tourists miss out on Nasrid.  The after 11.30 tickets allow you entry to other parts all day (for the most part unless you meet a grumpy staff member like mum did).  I enjoyed all of the complex but the Nasrid really is the highlight. 

4. Take your time.  Sit down and watch the world go by for a while in various parts.  We did this as we weren't in a hurry.  There is a lot to see and this allowed us to enjoy it rather than rush round and end up tired, grumpy and with sore feet.

5 Take a packed lunch or take a bit of dosh. There are vending machines or two restaurants for lunch.  We, of course, had lunch at one restaurant  (hotel America) and dinner at the other (the parador).

A flying visit to Seville

We didn't quite get airborne, but I did my best to get some air when I fell off the segway.  It sounded like a bit of fun and I thought it would be relaxing and easier on the feet than the walking tour.  The first was certainly true.  It took us some time to find the meeting point - in the end, we had to ring the guide and he came and fetched us.   Little did we know that we would soon be driving/riding(?) through these narrow streets with a lovely couple from India and our guide.  She fell off first - just a small spill.  Not to be outdone, I soon went flying and scraped my elbow and knee. 

The thing is, you don't think you're going that fast and you don't realize the speed is limited to 12 kph. The segway tips right backwards to slow you down and, thinking you're going to fall off, you panic and fall off.  So, I became his flower number one and had to follow right behind him. 

You see a lot more from the segway, especially once the limit is increased to 20 kph - but you don't see inside anything.  This meant that the highlights for me were the Plaza España into which we took the segways via the ramps, the parks which also had the advantage of being cool, and the narrow narrow streets of the old town where we only just managed to squeeze through.  We went along the river, which is navigable and has yachts sailing in it, the bull fighting ring, the gold tower, the palace, the cathedral a number of times, a nice quite grove hidden from most tourists where we learnt that bitter oranges have one small and one big leaf (possibly he made that up) and the mostly bitter oranges in Seville are sent off to Britain for marmalade, and probably some other stuff I've forgotten.

Lunch, shopping (I bought scarves), and on the bus home for a nap and dolling ourselves up for a night at the flamenco.  We went to Casa de la Memoria because it has a great reputation.  It was nothing like I expected.  The theatre is tiny and you have to queue early to get a good seat (we had a drink first and do had ok seats).  First, a guitarist and a singer appear for the first number.  The guitarist was brilliant.  I'm sure the singer was too, but as mum said, it sounded like he was gargling some of the time.  At one point mum sneezed and he said the Spanish equivalent of bless you, so I like him just for that.

There were two dancers - a man and a woman who performed separately - well kinda.  All four are on stage moat of the time. but it's just one big jam session which the audience are voyeurs to.  The dancer seems to be in charge, with the guitar and vocalists taking their lead with a lot of interaction between all four.  The woman was fantastic, and I was expecting her to be the highlight with the man as an after thought.  But he was pretty damn good too.

We had dinner at the flamenco restaurant - tapas and red wine.  The wine was chilled which gives it a different flavour and is not my preferred way to drink red.  The tapas we amazing.  Four sorts, all on toast: steak and cheese, ham and something, and I can't remember the others but they were great.  Ham here is usually a prosciutto  like meat and is so much better than ham as we know it.

We strolled to San Francisco square, which is nothing like mum remembers from Rick Stein, and had a nice dessert and an awful Pina colada (aptly described by Janice as tasting like face cream).

Out of Africa

It's fitting that I'm writing this in Granada, and have eye balled Africa today from Tarifa,  the southern most point of Europe.  But I decided on the title for this post as we were speeding through the Portuguese countryside from Lisbon to the Algarve.  With its prairie style with straw-like grass and spread out trees, I expected a lion to prowl out at any moment.  Fortunately, the most dangerous thing in Spain is the hairy caterpillar.  Oops, we were in Portugal.

We stopped in Grandola for lunch, for no reason other than we were hungry and it was there.  Grandola is one of those towns where old men sit in a row outside all the cafes and watch the world (i.e. three blonde chicks from NZ) go by.  We found a nice local cafe with a very friendly Romanian waitress (she came for vacation several years in a row, married a nice Portuguese boy, had a child, and is now Portuguese).  We were her very first customers from New Zealand.  In between taking our order and bringing our drinks, she Googled New Zealand.  "Why would people from NZ travel to Portugal?!" she asked.

The spot we booked in the Algarve turned out very well (except for the hotel, but I've complained about that elsewhere).  Alvor Bay is a nice little fishing village.  It's full of British tourists, but I felt it was less so than other places.  I spoke to several couples in the lift who are regulars and have noticed more "sports bars for young people like you [me] have popped up in recent years".  Clearly, they were very perceptive...

We had a lazy morning with a walk along the beach through the crevices and caves to get to more and more beaches.  Despite the presence of other tourists and a little cafe tucked into the rocks, it felt like we'd found a secret place.  I had a swim back in the hotel pool and a nice relax in the sun.

Late afternoon, we headed out to the western most point of Portugal (and Europe?) where there is a lighthouse and great views up the west coast and along the south coast with cliffs and crashing waves.  For our entertainment, some locals had climbed down the cliff to a precarious perch and were fishing.  Apparently this is quite common, but they usually prefer to do this at night!

There are some nice viewing spots (and forts) along the way back to Sagres where we stopped for dinner (Chiringuito Last Chance) after a wander along the beach and the sunset-gold cliffs .  It was a little difficult to find, but it was worth it.  We had tapas of cucumber, cheese and salmon; tuna, tomato on bread; dates in bacon; tomato and mozzarella; baked camembert with honey and walnuts; and goats cheese with fig jam on toast.  They were all delicious, but the last was so good that we ordered seconds.

Our last day in Algarve started with a sailing trip along the coast.  We had thought that we were going to the caves, but we headed the other direction.  It was a lovely day,  including a swim, and an attempt at sail power (basically we drifted for an hour).  The skipper was a Brit and first mate a Portuguese surfie, who was full of information about history and fishing and Portugal.  In the off-season, he catches fish to sell to restaurants.  This includes, spear fishing and free diving for barnacles.  These are both slightly hazardous.

Then, it was back to Spain.  All of the people we have talked to about Portuguese history have talked about the importance of Africa - as a colony, and as the conquering Moors.  It is tempting to think of Africa for its poverty and for tribal society.  But they once ruled much of Europe and their impact on the nation can still be seen - especially in the architecture  (tiles are everywhere).

I heart Lisbon

What three nights in Lisbon, but with a day in Sintra and leaving for the Algarve, we only had one full day in Lisbon.  We managed to squeeze in a lot though, particularly food.  The wine continued to be excellent - we had a lovely local white several times (Arinto).  The places I particularly remember are:

- Open, a lovely restaurant in a hotel where we went the first night.  It was lovely to be in a modern, spacious area with excellent food, wine and company.  And it was within walking distance of our hotel due to my excellent navigation skills.

- The little kiosk in the metro station on my way to the aquarium.  I asked for cafe con leite grande and a pastel de nata  (custard tart) to take away.  You can only get espresso take away, so I stood at the counter with everyone else, sprinkled cinnamon on my tart, and had breakfast.  It was fabulous.  I felt like a real Lisboner. The plums I bought from the cart afterwards were the icing on the cake.

- We took a cooking class. There was a Canadian (don't add too much salt) and a Romanian taking the class with us.  I had envisaged us making each dish ourselves in a master chef type environment.  Fortunately, we all cooked each course together giving me plenty of opportunity to drink wine and eat the Lupin beans, olives and bread.  I did have a fairly major role in dessert and also chopped onions.  Cooking was fun, but it was also great to chat to our hosts and fellow cooks while eating dinner.  (www.cookinglisbon.com)

We did see more than restaurants.  I went put to the aquarium by myself the first morning.  And accidentally had a good look at stadium as well.  On the first floor there is four quarters with sea life from different parts of the world interspersed with sections looking into the inner aquarium.  Penguins, Otters, coral sea life and I can't remember the fourth.  Downstairs is mostly about the inner aquarium with sharks, stingrays, big ugly arse sunfish, and loads of other stuff.  The temporary exhibition was by a Japanese photographer who makes art out of the plants and fish in aquariums.  The message of both the permanent and temporary was about preserving nature, and stopping and appreciating nature.

We did a walking tour including the number 28 tram.  The guide really knew his stuff and gave us an interesting summary of Portuguese history.  There was a second hand bookshop before the tour started and I peeked in.  It's one of those shops that looks small but goes on forever once you're inside.  It included an English language section so I picked up a couple of Penguins for Abi, and a book of Lisbonese poetry for me.  The tour included some great viewing spots over the Lisbon version of the Golden Gate Bridge and Christ the Redeemer, as well as the rest of the city.

The last morning started with a drive-by tour of Belem to see a tower and some white towering statue on the water.  We parked briefly and I was a fair way from the other car.  A man appeared to tell me to move closer and then expected a tip.  I wasn't playing that game so he was out of luck.

Book of complaints

Every hotel, cafe and restaurant in Spain and Portugal seems to have one of these - I even had occasion to ask for one today.  My sister has asked for more about the trials of travelling so this is my book of complaints.

1. Paying for water.  At home, a glass of chilled water, possibly with a lemon or cucumber in it is free cos it comes straight from the tap.  Here, it's all from a bottle and costs.  The water from the tap is yucky do you also have to buy water for drinking any time.

2.  BYO toilet paper.  Sure, there are occasions at home when you're high and umm not dry without a square to spare, but they are few and far between.  Many cafes and public toilets here have no paper, and often no hand towels.  While we're on toilets, there's also the turn the lights on dance as they're on a timer and if you're not gone in 60 seconds, you've got to wave your hands in the air like you just don't care.

3.  I miss Michael.  He makes my coffee every morning at work - a large trim flat white.  The coffee here is quite good, but a 'large' is about two thimbles full of milk with a shot of coffee so it's quite strong and I have to add sugar.

4. All of the hotels have been pretty great, except for our place in the Algarve.  The room safe wouldn't open with my code and they wouldn't open it until I paid a rental fee of 2.50 a day.  At this point, I asked for the book of complaints and suddenly they opened it free of charge.

Buns of steel

This phrase has been uttered a number of times on this trip as we've climbed various hills, mountains and staircases.  Sintra, Disneyland for adults, provided many such occasions.  We visited twice: our first day in Lisbon and this morning.

The Moorish Castle is like a giant folly.  The walls are really all that is left and some archaeological sites.  Quite interesting and some great views.

Pena Palace is incredibly ornate and colourful, great views and lovely gardens.  It is heaving with people.

(Tip of the day: tag where you parked the car on maps cos it's a bitch to find it again after a half day wandering the hills.)

Montserrate Park:  lovely, light-filled summer house in grounds of gardens from all over the world, including a very large pohutukawa.

Quinta da Regaleira: this was my favourite with its underground tunnels and cool upside down staircase.  The house itself is pretty from the outside, nice views from the tour but fairly meh inside.

The roads are tortuously narrow and windy, requiring some reversing skills if you meet one of the many buses.  Tourists are disinclined to move off the road when cars are coming.  Sintra itself is slightly stressful with  all the people and cars.

Half way to Lisbon

We hadn't booked anywhere for the night after the Douro, so mum found us a place in Coimbra, the first capital of Portugal and the oldest university.  The university library was interesting - bats live there to eat the moths that would eat the books.  Several levels below is the academic prison.  This sounded like a brilliant idea until I read that it was to keep the inmates away from the hoi-polloi of regular prisons.

The highlights of Coimbra were (a) Cais Morais where we stayed with Rosa and Palmyra.  They welcomed us with orange juice and farewelled us with a little bottle of homemade alcohol.  (b) Rui dos Leitoes where we had frisante, a slightly sparkling wine.  The meal was nice, the waiter was excellent.

On our way to Lisbon, we stopped at the monastery of Batahla.  The unfinished chapels were a very pleasant surprise, the cathedral with its simplistic and towering columns was awe-inspiring particularly after all the overly ornate  baroque cathedrals we've seen.

There was also lots of coffee, croissants and freshly squeezed orange juice.

Fruit bowl

"I wonder if they grow apricots out here," said Janice as we drove along the Douro river past grape vines and olive trees.  Soon after we saw apricot trees.  "This would be great for citrus," she said, and then there were orange trees.  If only she had pondered whether they had money trees.

The day started with a trip out to Foz for a walk along the beach.  I had imagined Mission Bay in Auckland.  What we got was a wild and rocky beach ( even the sand was gritty) with waves crashing in.  It was very scenic, but I don't think I would have braved the water in the little slivers of "calm" water that had designated as swimming zones.  I did, however, brave the pool at the hotel and that was very pleasant.

I have read that the drive along the Douro is spectacular.  It was nice, and we have some good photos but, like the Cares Gorge, nothing like some of those at home.  I've told myself to stop comparing, that it's a different kind of beauty.  It hasn't worked.

The Portuguese people are lovely, second only to the quality of the wine.  We had a lovely meal out in Pinhao in a little terrace (Ponte romanica) by the river and a bridge.  The roads are very narrow here and there are lots of buses and trucks.  This was our main entertainment in Pinhao as we watched cars having to back up to let a bus/truck through (I was always noting spots to back up to when we were driving).  We had baked cod for dinner and a delicious white Douro wine.  We were too full for dessert, bit our nice waiter brought us a piece of port cake to share.  It is cake drizzled with lots of port and it is delicious.

At a little cafe in the morning, we asked for coffee and croissants.  There was some confusion about what we wanted and then she gave us a brilliant smile, rushed out of the shop and shortly came back with croissants that she had bought from the supermarket.

Rita, our host at Casa Botehlas Elias, gave us a number of recommendations and we took most of them.  The 10.30am bus up to the top of the hill for 360 panoramic views.  Our guide spoke French, a little English, and was fluent in mime.  We stopped at a lovely garden half way up.  There was lavender, rosemary, sage and something that smelled like menthol. If we understood him correctly, these give different character to the grapes.  The tour ended with a taste of a port wine.  I bought a bottle of white port called La Gripa (the teardrop as it forms on the side of the glass if you swirl it).

A walk along the river, lunch of rice and beans with a cod fritter (at Cais da Foz), a walk back, and time for our cruise along the Douro in a rabelo boat (the type they used for taking the barrels of port down the river).  It was very pleasant and a nice perspective to see the vineyards.

The morning started with a drive up the hill for views over Pinhao and the river, and then a tour of the Quinta da Bomfin.  This is part of the Dow vineyards, and is still family owned and managed.  Marco showed us around and gave some information about the process.  This is a very different operation that Herman showed us in Haro.  The grapes go through a de-stemmer, down a hose, and into a stainless steal vat inside (we saw them go in).  There a machine simulates the foot stomping of an 80kg man (including his foot temperature).  They still do the foot stomping at their main vineyard.  Finally, we had a tasting  (I had ports, Janice table wines, and mum was driving). 

Lunch was at another recommendation by Rita(Veladouro), and was also delicious  (fresh tuna with salad and roast potatoes and lots of olive oil).  Every meal starts with a bowl of olives and bread.  I may start this tradition at home.

Porto is how drunk people say port

It was a long drive from Santiago to Porto, but we still squeezed in a trip to Finnistera, the end of the Way of St James.  Well, one of the ends, the one at the western most point of Spain.  Nearly.  There's some other place that is further west, but the Spanish are like my sister and never let the truth get in the way of a good story.

Lunch was little fish (complete with heads) in some little cafe in some little town in either Spain or Portugal.  Candice led us slightly astray again, but when we eventually found our palace, I mean hotel, they greeted us with a iced port drink. The hotel is fabulous.  Slightly out if town and right on the river.  The taxi drivers were on strike, protesting against Uber.  (We seem to have struck a few protests, first Paris, then the farmers in Santiago with their tractors, now the taxis.)

This meant that dinner was a one hour walk or at the hotel.  We started at the pool bar and ordered Sangria with sparkling wine.  Being seasoned sangria drinkers, we knew what we were getting.  Boy were we wrong.  First, there's a little salad if cucumber, oranges and limes, then there's vodka, brandy, cointreau, and some Portuguese liqueur.  Finally juice and presumably but bubbles.  And voila, you've got a huge glass of get your aunt and your mother drunk.  I, of course, was perfectly sober.

We then sat in the salon for 10 minutes before they could seat us for dinner.  For starters, I had an assortment of fish on a strip of dry bread.  A tomato soup was then poured over it by my waitor.  A sip of Janice's wine (flavours of tart apricots) set it off nicely.  I was a little brave with the main and had octopus.  It was delicious with a slightly charred flavour.  (Janice's wine with her main was also very nice with a very fruity flavour).  For dessert, we stole Janice's pastry and port.

Not a hangover to be seen the next morning and the taxis were back on the job to take us into town.  We had booked a 3 hour walking tour with Blue Dragon.  We had our guide, Virginia, all to ourselves.  She took us all over town - churches, parks, that bookshop with the awesome staircase, the market, the train station, some traditional looking streets, spots with views over the city, the old city wall, the town hall, the shopping district....  We had a great chat about the various sights, the history of the city and of Portugal, of politics, and about the people of the city - and the best football team.  It was a really enjoyable morning.

We met one of my friends for lunch at Taberna St Antonio.  What a treat - not just the company, but the food, the wine and the hosts.  We had a lovely cod, rice and spinach dish with a Douro wine.  They don't usually have the cod at lunch, but I think they cooked it specially as I had booked via Facebook. It was delicious but nothing compared to the chocolate mousse we had for dessert.  The chef, mama, visited us after each course to check we had enjoyed our meal (with her son translating).  If you're ever in Porto, this is the place to eat.

In the afternoon we wandered the city, I bought a handbag and mum shouted us coffee and cake at the Majestic Cafe.  It's a famous cafe where radicals plotted the overthrow of someone.  Someone famous wrote of the cafe when it was opened, "The cafes in Portugal have, up to now, been exclusively the hotbed of revolutionaries, the business meeting point of merchant groups, or where the obstinate aged listlessly pass the time....Ladies from the best of Oporto's society frequent  [The Majestic ]."  I like to think we were the Ladies rather than one of the former three groups.

The day ended with a trip on the number 1 tram our to Foz,  and straight back again as we were cold, dinner of Francesinha  (heart attack in a sandwich), and the long walk home along the river.

First gear

Once you get off the motorways, there are a few narrow windy roads in Portugal.  We drove one of them today along the Douro river.  The road to Treviso in the Picos de Europa tops them all.  *This* must have been the road McCartney was talking about when he wrote that song.

Mum had taken the wheel out of Haro and driven us to Ribadesella, a lovely beach town, for a picnic lunch on the strand.  We had intended to go all the way to the point, but it turns out that's only a walkway (someone should have told Candace).

There were some nice views over the Atlantic and then we were in Bilbao.  We got a little lost and ended up on a nice riverside walk to the Guggenheim.  Lovely bridges, lovely buildings, lovely parks along the way.  The Guggenheim itself is, of course, fabulous, and we had a little visit to El Poop.

And then on to Las Arenas de Cabrales, a nice little town just out of the Picos national park.  We dined out on Fabada, a white bean and smoked meat dish, salad, and a jug of cider sangria before toddling off home and snoring as only a drunk can.

The weather the next day was less than ideal, and the man at the tourist office warned of falling stones if we attempted the Cares Gorge.  All other possible walks were good, with great views - but not today.... Undeterred,  we decided a wee drive was called for.  The narrow, windy roads  (they make those hairpins coming into Queenstown look tame), the mist and rain, and the occasional screech from my mother would have made for a wild ride, if I'd managed to get out of first gear for more than two minutes.

It was actually a very lovely day.  Sotres was sunny and we stopped for lunch here - a plate of local  cheeses and bread.  There was a nice little walk where we saw goats, blackberries, and a blueberry - like plant, cows with bells on walking down the road, cows without bells on, another little walk to a spot where you could see the village of Bulnes  (you can only get there by funicular or a one hour hike.  Apparently the road to Treviso is a dead end so back we went for a dinner of omelete and cider sangria.

Mum and I woke at the crack of dawn and headed out to the Cares Gorge walk.  This was an excellent decision as parking was a breeze and we had the track to ourselves for the first few hours.  It's a very barren landscape with sheer drops where grass grows in impossible places and trees hang on to the slopes by faith alone.  We had to be back by 10.30 so only did half the walk.  I'm quite spoilt for walks at home.  I enjoyed the Cares Gorge, its sparceness is its glory, but it doesn't have anything on tracks like the Routeburn.

On top of the world

We're just back from Carril.  I know very little about the place except that there's a beach, nice lemon ice-cream, and they serve G&Ts by the half litre glass.  Fortunately, Janice was driving home back for out last light in Santiago de Compostela.

We left Oviedo yesterday and travelled via the Praia de Catedrals.  It's like Cathedral Cove at home but on a smaller scale.  We had a very pleasant hour wandering the cliff tops and the beach before continuing the journey - with great views of the ocean along the way.

We're roughing it at a camping ground so it was a 30 minute walk into the old town where we explored the streets (we were not lost....) had a wine, a juice and a third of a tortilla patatas each in a nice little terrace cafe next to the cathedral.  A street performer entertained us next before we headed home and stopped for tarta de santiago  (a nice moist almond cake).

Today we spent in the old town again including a roof top tour of the cathedral. They really do take you up in the roof and let you walk around.  It was spectacular, not just for the views, but because you're on the freaking roof of a cathedral. 

Back inside, we joined the queue and hugged the apostle.  I later read that I'm supposed to make a wish so a missed opportunity there - although it seems weird to treat St James like a birthday cake.

A night at the futbol: Spain vs Slovakia

We had good seats.  Behind the goal so not great, but close enough to be good.  The dancing bull fighters we'd encountered on the way to the stadium had set the mood.  The Slovakian were small in number - two largish groups in different parts on the stadium, and four lonely guys right in front of us - but they were vocal and had a few songs to sing.

The action started with a slightly chubby, slightly bald guy entering the field and kissing the ground.  He was to be our cheerleader for the night, inciting Mexican waves, rounds of Ole Ole Ole, and chants of España! da da dum on his drum.

The Slovakians shot and missed in the first few minutes, and the four in front clutched their heads in frustration.  Soon after, the Spaniards shot and scored much to the elation of the crowd and I lept to my feet with plastic Spanish flags waving.  Tonight, I'm spanish.  I oooooooh when they nearly score, I'm incredulous when the ref falls for the Oscar winning fake falls of the Slovakians, and I'm indignant at the fouls of the opposition.

Much of the first half was spent just in front of us with Spain dominating.  No. 21 always looked dangerous with the ball in er foot. Although number 4 for Slovakia played a fine game in defence.  There was a tense moment and we were outraged when the Slovakian goalie fouled Iniesta.  The ref was on the job with a yellow card and a penalty shot. Iniesta scored, and the crowd sang.  I think Iniesta might be famous cos he was clearly second favourite.  First was number 3, a local boy I think, as the crowd roared whenever he even touched the ball.  And by roar, I mean full on ROAR.

The crowd had much to cheer about although no more goals were scored.

Haro and the Bodegas

It's been days since we were in Haro and I still haven’t written the post.  I blame the sangria de sidra.  It's tempting to rush on and tell you about the long and windy roads of the Picos, but Haro was fabulous and deserves some attention.  Mr Beethoven, that's what I'm calling our host at Beethoven apartments, spoke almost no English but he still told a good story with my bad spanish and a lot of mime.  He showed us around his restaurant until his wife arrived to check us in.

We had previously booked a tour at Bodegas Lopez de Heredias.  Herman, our guide, looked like he'd been in a bar fight, but it was just a football injury.  He started with a brief history.  About 150 years ago, the family had to emigrate to Chile, then to France and finally to Haro where the vineyards were planted.  We saw the cellar - 3 million litres of wine in barrels deep into the mountain - the cooperage where about one barrel a day is made, the big barrels where they make the wine, and the tasting room.  The cellar is lined with mould, penicillin I think, which moderates the humidity, and spiderwebs as they control the insects.  The best wine is 6 years in the barrel and 6 years in the bottle before selling.  We were given a bottle of this each at the end (Vina Tondonia). 

We dined at Las Duelas that evening.  It's part of a hotel that started as a convent in the 14th century and has been a garrison, a prison and a hospital. The croquettes were fabulous and the cod very nice.

A kareoke kind of holiday

It started in Paris.  They played 'Stand by me' on the cruise and we just had to sing along.  There were further signs on the trip to Spain.  A foot tap here, a line sung there.  Then in San Sebastian it became a Thing.  The taxi driver clearly decided we were that kind of girls and turned up Born to be Wild when it came on.  Dutifully we sang along.  Later that evening, after we had done a little jail-breaking, we joined the crowd surrounding a busker (crowd surfing included) singing 'Imagine' and similar songs from that era.

But I promised my sister descriptions of food.  I didn't tell her there was wine as well. San Sebastian is known for its Pinxtos.  A little pub crawl was called for, starting with a wine and this fabulous smoked salmon and cheese on bread.  At the next stop, we tried (and failed) with the famous flat cider.  The food was more of a success: battered fish, prawn, and some other stuff that I have no idea what it was (British woman: what is that?  Me: I have no idea. Brit: that's very ambitious of you), but it was very nice.  Janice suggested dessert to finish.  I was dubious that we would find anything, but there's a whole store dedicated to dessert pinxtos.  The lemon meringue tart I shared with Mum was surely made by angels it was so good.

I seem to be telling this story backwards but I'm just going to go with it.  Our evening had started with a walk up the hill to see the sunset.  We got a little list and missed the sunset, but saw some lovely old ruins and a large statue of Jesus looking across the town (it's way cooler if you pronounce it 'Heysuse').  The police drove by and told us the park was closing.  We must have been too slow navigating by torchlight as the gate was closed when we reached the bottom.  Faced with having to climb back up the mountain to find another exit, I jumped up on the wall and over the fence.  I think it was easier for me than for the slightly shorter mum and Janice.

I think I should have been born Spanish.  The cafe con leche  (like a flat white) and croissant for breakfast this morning was perfecto.  After this interlude in our morning constitutional along the beach, past old buildings,  and along the river we arrived at a cathedral  (there are of them in Europe).  I timed my peek inside perfectly to see the sun shining through the stained glass windows onto the stone and the organ.  Very pretty.

After picking up our rental car, I drove us to Haro.  Candice, Mum's GPS, really let us down here.  She took us onto what looked like a footpath, but Janice got out and navigated me round dome tricky turns.  Until we reached a spot where I was a number of turns into a 378 turn corner.  When the locals walked by shaking there heads and saying 'no way' it was time to admit defeat and reverse back the way we came.  Which was not easy.  I was quite keen for a large whiskey when we made it back to a real road but settled for parking the car and walking to our accommodation  (aided by a very friendly local).

Our reason for visiting Haro was the Bodegas  (wine makers).  But I'm sleepy again so I'll leave that, and our visit to a convent, for tomorrow’s post.

Last train out of Paris

Ok, so it wasn't quite the last one, but we caught the 9.40pm train last night headed for Spain.  Things have not gone well and we're now on a bus to Toulouse.  It does, however, mean I can catch up on my blog for yesterday.

We had a very relaxing morning at the apartment with a little adventure out for coffee at our local.   The handsome young waiter convinced us to order orange juice as well.   It was a very expensive little adventure, but well worth it for the ambience and people watching.  We dropped our luggage at the train station, and headed for the Eiffel Tower....

...which was closed at the top.  As I'd done it before,  mum had been to the second level, and Janice was a wuss, we went to la trocadero for lunch instead.  Croissant bread and camembert bought from our local market earlier was a very nice meal.  Next, for our entertainment was a bunch of protestors against fossil fuels.   They all had black masks on, a sign addressed to President Hollande, and a super large black and brown beach ball which they tried unsuccessfully to throw in the air.  At one point I had to push the ball away as it was about to land on top of me.

* we interrupt this blog for a short update on our journey to San Sebastian*

We were advised to catch a train from Toulouse to Hendaye via Bayonne.  I rushed us onto the train only to discover as it pulled out if the station that it was the wrong one.  Fortunately the train to Bayonne was delayed and we made it back in time.  I redeemed myself by getting us seats in first class which saved us from standing.  The draw back of the delayed train is that we may miss the connection to Hendaye. 

*back to your regularly scheduled viewing*

I suggested a very expensive coffee might be in order.  This was unsatisfactory and mum suggested a wine instead.  We drank a bottle of Savignon while watching the crowds go by.  (The waitress was unimpressed that we didn't order food.)  A man in a suit with a walkie talkie kept us intrigued for some time.  James Bond?  Drug dealer?  No, he was just parking cars for the customers.

Notre Dame was crowded and hot.  I left mum and Janice to climb to the top and found myself a park bench to lie down on.  Music playing in the background, sunlight through the tree leaves, and a nice frenchman to talk to made for a pleasant hour.  Medhi works at Musee D'Orsay and gave me his email address for next time I'm in Paris.  He'll give me the VIP tour.  (I decided to ignore the 'Taken' scenes flashing through my head and just enjoyed talking to him.)

We'd decided to push the boat out and have a dinner cruise along the Seine (pun courtesy of Janice).  The food was average, the bubbles and red wine very nice, and the scenery spectacular.  I gave up trying to remember what we were seeing and just made shit up when mum and Janice asked.

A wander along the Seine to the train station was our final adventure of the day.  It's a very popular spot with little groups drinking wine and eating, damn tourists on their rental bikes, and a large number of runners.  When I live in Paris, I'm going to spend every evening as part of the eating and drinking crowd.

And now, here we are, the last train out of Paris taking us on an unexpected adventure through the countryside.

Mum's tour of the metro

On instructions from my sister, we were limiting exercise to help with Janice ' s blood nose.  To the metro! 

Restaurant Chartier was out first destination.  After walking up 600 stairs to get out of the metro station (buns of steel, four more steps, buns of steel), we arrived at the 100+ year old restaurant that was originally set up to serve the working classes and has had only four owners in its lifetime.  The decor and waiters' uniforms was actually quite posh and I felt a little under dressed in shorts and a t-shirt.  The meal itself was nothing to write home about (salad followed by chicken and chips for mum and Janice, and veal in white sauce for me), but the atmosphere was very pleasant.

Next, the Sacre Coeur to see the sunset.  We pulled out mum's map and as I'm the only one with decent eyesight I determined the best metro route.  To limit the number of changes, mum told us we were walking a few stops.  Unfortunately, that metro line was closed so we had to recalculate.    Several changes later, we were finally in the right region.  Upon eyeballing the steps up to the Sacre Coeur, we decided we would take the funicular.  Just because of Janice's nose of course. 

The church itself was very nice, but we were too late for sunset and too late for the dome.  We sat for a bit listening to an accordion playing busker, and then moved to the front steps where the police and the hawkers put on a nice show of cat and mouse.  There was also fire dancers, a nice looking moon, and lovely views of the city all lit up.

We were too tired so skipped our planned visit to the Eiffel Tower and hopped on the metro home.

My feet hurt

The day started slowly, but mum and I were walking down the Champs-Elysées by 10 am ( Janice stayed at home as she had a blood nose).  There weren't many people about so it was a very pleasant walk despite the heat.  It's been about 30 degrees the whole time we've been here.  Even at night.

  Monet's water lilies at Musee de l'orangerie lived up to the hype.  The Renoirs were the other highlight.  One painting (Yvonne and Christine at the piano was very clever with a couple of Degas paintings on the wall behind them.  Renoir dies a fair Degas forgery....  The also rans were paintings by Picasso, Matisse, Durain, and a very nice Monet Argenteuil.

We wandered back along the Seine and, stumbled across a nice white ferrari outside a very nice hotel, followed by a visit to the American Cathedral of the Holy Trinity. I couldn't figure out why they were having a party in the courtyard.  Then I realized it was Sunday.  The Cathedral was nothing special but it was very cool inside.

Our apartment is in the middle of a street market so we shopped for lunch: pull apart bread made from croissant mixture, brie, strawberries and a nice red wine ( Clara Minervois).  It was pretty damn good.

After a siesta, all three of us went to the Arc Triomphe, climbed a gazillion stairs for views across the city, and a nice little exhibition of photos of uniforms of WW1 soldiers including one from Otago.  The photographer is known for his portraits so these photos without faces were very symbolic of the unknown soldier. 

There's more to tell about the day, but I'm sleepy so it will have to wait for tomorrow.

Chasing daylight

As I sat on plane above the Tasman watching the long sunset as we sat on that line on the map between night and day, I wrote my first blog in my head.  It was poetic, it was witty, it was possibly even profound.  But after two days with no sleep, I'm rather jetlagged and all there is in my brain is emptiness. 

We have however arrived in Paris, navigated the trains and roads to our lovely apartment and had eight hours sleep.  Some highlights from the flight:

1.  Janice bought a set of eye cover thingys.  They had me in hysterics (you'll have to ask her why)
2.  At Dubai airport: Me: shall we travelator?  Janice: no, let's travel now.   (As our flight had been delayed, this was particularly amusing)
3. The poor man's first class visit the the spa in Dubai airport.

Today we're off the see the Arc de Triomphe and then wander from there....