#world ensaladilla day

[azahar]

día mundial de la ensaladilla

Today is World Ensaladilla Day.

[ernestolive]

So many content is in the Internet about Valencia. An infinite number of books have been published – but still in fame and popularity of Spanish cities Valencia ranks behind Madrid and Barcelona. Indeed Valencia is “just” the 3rd largest city in Spain, it is not one of the prime business centers of Spain, its sister cities are smaller cities as well, their soccer club ends up mostly behind the clubs from Barcelona and Madrid. So – why focus and write another text about Valencia?

It´s just because in my eyes Valencia is the most attractive city in Spain. Being smaller than Madrid and Barcelona turns into an advantage in many ways:

Beachlife:

The numerous beaches in Valencia and surroundings are amongst the cleanest and most attractive. Whether you are looking for Sports activities, maritime ambiente to relax, good food or just a refreshing swim in the Mediterranean Sea, you will be delighted.

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People:

The people are just awesome. They are so friendly and kindly welcome everybody with their openminded characters. The poison of exhaustive touristic exploitation of visitors has not infected the population at all. (Yes – their is crime and also bad individuals, but given the size and compared to other places Valencia is totally visitor-friendly and safe)

History and Culture:

Valencia always has played an important role in Spain and the entire trading community of the Mediterranean Countries. Still many well maintained monuments, buildings and conventions are still alive. Numerous activities, like walking tours, museums, workshops are available to explore the Valencia culture in depth. To prepare your trip I recommend the site Valencia bonita. Uptodate information about activities and places to visit are of great value.

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Activities with kids:

Apart from extensive beachlife activities kids will be delighted spending a day in the beautiful Sea-Aquarium Oceanografic. Nearby you can stop by the Ciudad de las arts y las ciencias. A nice science museum, which allows children to explore the world in their very own way. Also the Bioparc is a great place if you love exotic enimals. Read my blog A day at the Bioparc Valencia for more details. Some kilometers away from Valencia you find many waterparks and  with Terra Mítica a gorgeous  Theme Park. We came so many times to this region that we saw them all and we always enjoyed it so much.

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Fiestas:

Like in most Spanish cities Valencia is celebrating all catholic holidays with processions, nice costumes, fireworks and dances. The major ones are Easter, Christmas, New year and Corpus. However FALLAS is THE outstanding celebration in Valencia and exclusively in Valencia. During a week the entire city puts itself in pretty decorations and each neighborhood  organized in Casals fallers is decorating their streets with carpets of flowers and thematic ornaments. It all comes to its highpoint the 19th of march on Saint Josephs day when they burn it all down and Valencia will be in flames. Some rumors say that FALLAS is the most exhaustive Fiesta behind Carnival in Rio.

Markets:

Valencia has many markets. Most of them are hosted in beautiful ancient buildings and surrounded by bars and restaurants, where you can enjoy the fresh ingredients from your market tour. My favorites are the Mercat Central, Mercado de Ruzafa and Mercado Colón. The first two are rich in all sorts of vegetables, fruits, meat, seafood, sweets, spices, vinery, beers, juices, etc. The Mercado Colon is slightly different. It is an awesome ancient building which hosts  various bars and restaurants – ideal to start the day with breakfast or to start the night with some copas before you get wild at one of the clubs or parties.

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Shopping:

Apart from all the Gucci, Armani, Adidas, Lacoste etc. outlets Spanish Retail Store El Corte Inglés will help to find the right dress for any event. Handy crafts, souvenirs and pieces of art you find everywhere from very cheap (mostly made in China and of poor quality) to Premium. Topics which represent all Spain and are perceived as soooo typical are sold everywhere. However I recommend to buy everything around Flamenco in Andalucía and not in Valencia. It is just not from here. True Valencia related items are for example: Fallas, Valencian ceramics, Abanicos (all Spain) Paella, Horchata, Fartons, Oranges.

Food:

Paella is the most known and popular dish from Valencia and its region. Many varieties are served in numerous places, of cause all homemade.  They are offered all day but as it is a heavy meal the natives prefer to eat it for lunch. In order to find out the real good ones by yourself follow my blog Delicious spanish food in Valencia. Of cause Valencia is not only Paella. A whole variety of other rice dishes, seafood, tapas, montaditos or fresh made bocadillos are the Spanish delights of your choice. All are described in my blog Delicious spanish food in Valencia and Ensaladilla rusa.

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Party:

Clubs, discotecas, beach-parties, concerts, festivals: Every night in many locations. Remarkable is that there are places and events to party for every one. It is not an exclusivity for teens and twens or the rich and Avantgarde.

Streetart:

See my blog Valencias identity found in Graffiti

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  Valencia in my heart So many content is in the Internet about Valencia. An infinite number of books have been published - but still in fame and popularity of Spanish cities Valencia ranks behind Madrid and Barcelona.

[silverhands-etcetera]

Up On the Roof.

They were all in a hurry this morning. I was on the roof watching the sunrise, when I heard the front door open below me. I looked down and saw the first of us cross himself and head out up the street in the shadowy cool of the dawn. It was predicted that we’d see 90 degrees or more today, so I had no questions for his wisdom behind such an early start.

Down in the kitchen, there were already too many cooks spoiling the toast and compromising the coffee, so I put my bag together, and filled my canteen. After idling for at least twenty minutes, the situation for breakfast was still much the same, three Spaniards in the kitchen, erupting every 30 seconds or less. Three Germans at the table apparently discussing the qualities of the marmalade, and one guy who I’ve pegged as an American, but haven’t broken my cover to yet.

When space in the toaster finally became available, I got my own food going. The group as a whole took down two loaves of sliced bread, myself putting away 4 pieces of toast, for lack of anything of real substance.

By the time I’d finished & cleaned up, I went downstairs to find the front door wide open, & nobody else home. Double checking that everything was accounted for, I pulled the door closed & took to the street.

The arrows continued on, down to the lower side of town, past the Plaza de Toros, (which is disguised into a row house on the edge of town) and toward the highway. The Via was passing directly through a start/finish line for a race of some sort. Runners were lacing up & pinning things on, and an underpowered PA was blasting out bad pop music. I couldn’t tell what distance they were setting up for, but aren’t enough streets in all of Guillena to make a marathon, so I expected that I’d still be walking by the time they were all having a beer.

The path guided me out of town on a gravel road, and pointed straight across a flowing stream, with no means to cross. Up to the north there was a bridge with cars passing in & out of town. But I could see arrows on the other side of the crick, and couldn’t be sure I’d end up on the right side of the fence if I crossed at the bridge. Besides, it was at least a quarter mile onward, & I didn’t like the idea of backtracking if it turned out to be a bust.

I rolled up my pants, took off my shoes & my fresh-this-morning socks and did it like they done in former times. On the other side, I felt pretty good, and considered going on shoeless, but for just then noticing the yards & yards of broken bottles scattered around the tree I was standing under, somehow walking to where I was without serving myself a filet of sole.

Re-shoed, I tackled the rest of the industrial outskirts of Guillena, with no sign of any of my fellow pilgrims. The path parted decisively with civilization, running up along groves of trees and fields of sunflowers, not a soul in any direction who could alter your good humor. Or save you, should you collapse from the scorching heat of the sun.

The road was getting steeper & washed out in a lot of places, so a traveler needs to watch their step upon the overturned rocks littering the path. Most of the day was similar to walking up to Haferbier’s cabin, except the cabin never appeared. By staying to the right, you can walk in & out of the shadows of the scrubby trees growing next to the path, taking the sun off of your arms momentarily, though shadows taller than this man didn’t appear until mid-morning, where I came upon the first group of pilgrims, taking a rest under a massive citrus tree.

It was the three Spaniards, (two young, one old, all moving at the old man’s pace) and el Italiano, along with another man whose only words to me have been “donde esta la guitarra?” -once yesterday at the hostel, and now again as I walked up with it hanging on my back. This was the same fellow I passed yesterday on the way into Guillena, and our conversation hasn’t progressed from him asking that question, and me answering it.

I stopped to see how the group was doing, and to ask them what method they had used in crossing the stream this morning, to which el Italiano replied “en il ponte, claro…” -the bridge, of course. Maybe they were all using the GPS-guided version of the camino, with up-to-the-minute data on the viability of all courses of passage. I’m just following arrows.

I sheepishly mentioned that I’d gone all Huck Finn on that arroyo (not in so many words), which they all found interesting, I guess. I bid a Buen Camino to them and took back to the trail, which was cresting for the first time today, looking down toward a new terrain about a hundred yards away.

At the top of the hill, it was still oppressive sunlight and heat, but I could see down into a small timber, and its welcome shade. In the weeds I caught sight of a tiny lizard, a split second before he identified me. His little arms & legs became a blur, and he turned into a snake as he shot away. It was all cactus & scrub, not a tree or mammal to be seen until I reached a fence & a cattle gate. This oasis was rich with shade, a beautiful heifer with one broken horn, and two curious young steers. There were people up ahead as well, a woman and two children, plus a small dog!

They seemed to be moving at the dog’s pace, so they were hard to catch. I was behind them, slowly gaining for over a half-hour before finally pulling even with them. We spoke briefly & soon discovered that the dog was not theirs, the pup just took to them and began walking with them. The boys had obviously already taken a shine to the little critter and held him back with them as he took to following me ahead -which is quite for the best, because I don’t need the moral dilemma of a dog following me home. Chances are, he’d end up in Seattle, through great expense & effort, and Faron would be giving me that questioning look every day, over having to share his full-size futon bed with a young pup, and having to learn dog-Spanish in his old age…

Crisis averted.

Now I’m not scared of bulls for the sake of them being bulls, and I’m happy to walk through a pasture of cows of any sort, but upon crossing the cattle gate at the other end of the wooded pasture, I was happy to find a fence between myself and the bulls just on the next hill.

Massive, massive creatures. Like bigger than a bison. Just sauntering around in the grass or lounging in the shade, looking calm & cool not the slightest bit perturbed. All the same, I blessed the distance and the fence between us.

An unknown pilgrim was ahead of me, with an oppressive-looking backpack. The Germans were in front of him. They all had their canteens out, examining the levels of the yellow fluid they were all carrying. (Which reminded me, I had no idea how much water I had left). The other pilgrim & I passed the Germans at the same time, and after a few minutes I overtook him. He’s young, and burly, so he’ll be fine with that giant backpack. He was also hatless, which is borderline insanity out here.

It was about at this point when the rough cow-path we were on met with a proper road, and then a paved highway. Smooth blacktop like you can only have in a place that never freezes. It was mostly a walk separated from the cars by a patch of tall grass, with just a footpath, and finally accompanied by a few clouds, bringing fleeting patches of shade. It was the outskirts of town, cars, horses, houses, and finally the arrow to the hostel.

Pilgrims entering the hostel are given a warm greeting, and a glass of a brown, room-temperature liquid from a clear unlabeled plastic bottle. It tasted somewhat like flat cola, with more syrup, I took in as much as I could, and abandoned my glass.

Once again, ditching my pack & changing my shoes, I felt like a million bucks. Down to town for una cerveza, some more chocos, some tortillas de camarones, & a little ensaladilla. I was lost in relishing the moment, when the young pilgrim with the giant backpack walked by, a liter of beer in one hand, a liter of water in the other. He wasn’t staying at the hostel, perhaps he was camping out with all the gear in that pack, and had all the provisions he’d need for tonight & tomorrow morning.

Castilblanco de los Arroyos. The town is all painted white, but there is no castle. The best explanation the locals can give is that Don Quixote was here once, or maybe just Cervantes (suspending the discrepancy between fables & history, if there is any) and the town itself followed suit by issuing itself a lofty title, despite having no castles or nobility. What the town does have is a constant clacking echoing across the rooftops like low castanets. I couldn’t place this until I walked to the tallest building in town, the church. In nests on all sides of the of the steeple, and at all the high points of the roof, were huge bird nests, each holding a pair of what I’d call herons, if you asked me to name them. They made no clucks or chirps, but they clapped their beaks at each other incessantly- saying what- I have no idea. Filling the town with birdsong, but just the percussion score.

There’s a beautiful terraza here at the hostel, we all sat watching our laundry dry for a while, and then broke off into discernible factions. The “young” pilgrims accepted me into their ranks, and the “old” pilgrims went to take naps while we played cards, learning a game from Riccardo, (el Iltaliano) called “escala quarenta” that bears a strong resemblance to Rummy, but with more rules. Afterwards, one of the Spaniards (Catalan, actually) named Ignacio walked with us to the plaza for a sit & a beer. (an American, a Catalonian & an Italian walk into a bar….)

Riccardo is on his third Camino, Ignacio is much like myself, and has no strong feelings one way or the other toward the importance of reaching the supposed destination. He’s thinking of stopping in Mérida, I have no idea. Solid Italian and broken Spanish translates just fine, and we find we share a lot of opinions. If not exactly a lot of tastes.

But everywhere in the world there are people who lament the disappearance of presence and fluidity in human interactions & awareness. Ironic that this is what a group of people who made an active decision to depart from regular civilization end up talking about.

I had some supper in town, & when I got back home, Riccardo handed me a giant plate of pasta. So it’s a 2-supper kind of night.

We ate in the dark on the terraza, and everyone sat in communal excitement/dread for the morning. Stage 1 was 13+ miles, today was roughly 11, tomorrow will be around 18, and the sun will be cooking us all day. I’ll need to pace myself. I’m not good at that at all. Slow down, take breaks. Be the tortoise. Everybody here is bracing themselves for the worst. We’ve all chosen to be here…

[azahar]

It’s #ManzanillaMonday 🥂 and the first day of #SherryWeek! Starting things off with chilled Leona #manzanilla by @leona_sherrywines. Dry, fresh, delicate and delicious 💛 Somewhat more delicate than its sister wine fino, but equally super dry, manzanilla is only produced in one town in the whole world, Sanlúcar de Barrameda, where its distinct microclimate ensures that the all important flor stays quite robust year round. Fresh and salty, manzanilla pairs well with all kinds of seafood. Today I've chosen crispy tortillita de camarones @labarradeinchausti, ensaladilla with mojama and grated tuna heart @laatrayana and perfect puntillitas @bodega_la_hermandad_ #sevilla #sherryweek2021 #sherry #sherrylover #azaharsherry #tapas #sherrytapastour #sherrytapastasting #sevilla #sevillatapas #sherrypairing #sherryeducation #sevillasherrytasting #sherrytapastasting (at Seville, Spain) https://www.instagram.com/p/CWAr4XlsRdo/?utm_medium=tumblr