Pressure (Valencia - Alicante - Cartagena)

And so, dear reader, we have arrived at another transit day. In an attempt to break up the drive from one destination to the next, we are intending to explore places along the way. It will also help justify having the car and not travelling by train. The scheduled stop today was Alicante with its Castillo de Santa Barbara.

Using Apple Maps proved to be a better option than Waze, up to a point, but we are not at that point yet, dear reader. The map guided us on and off particular roads, dropped us onto a toll road where we had the joy of two tolls within 10km of each other on a fairly average road. It is what it is when you don't know what to expect or where to go.

We had a few interesting moments in and around Alicante where we were directed from the main road to rejoin it within a couple of kilometres and we did successfully arrive in Alicante. I may mentioned previously that signposting is not a strong point of the Spanish and so it was proven again today.

Driving blind, so to speak, and following instructions never fills me with confidence, but we were turned onto the beachside drive through very touristy Alicante, with the words "your destination is in 1.8km". At no point did the words "you have arrived at your destination" reach my ears. The next instruction, "complete a U-turn," filled me with dread. How? Where? The traffic on the other side of the road was bumper-to-bumper, even though we are definitely into shoulder season now.

U-turn successfully completed, we headed back the way we had come. Again, no comforting message to say we had arrived. At some point I was able to pull over. The Castillo was towering above us but we had seen not one sign denoting its entrance or the recommended free parking area we had put into maps as our initial destination.

The Alicante waterfront.

Finally Jayne resorted to putting the map coordinates into one App and was able to discern where the car park was. Off we went, confidence flagging with the rising heat. One more wrong turn and a correction and we were in car park B. Read vacant land being utilised by locals to park their cars. Whatever. Car parked and locked, we set off in search of the lift that provides access to the castillo, perched above the town.

It wasn't quite The Man from Ironbark stuff, but we wandered here and wandered there, following Google Maps this time. We had risen above sea level and eventually had to get back down to the main road where we espied people milling around. Jackpot! We had found the lift entrance and were only about half an hour behind schedule.

Apparently you can walk up to the castle on the other side, but beachside access requires the use of the lift at the end of a very long tunnel, dug into the hill underneath the castillo. We joined the relatively short queue and the guy in front of us asked if I was over 65. Yes I replied. No need to queue, entrance is free, head straight in, he said, lamenting the fact that he is only 61. Cool. We checked with the attendant as we reached the front of the line. Yes free entry - no proof, except our aged visages, required. Excitement. We saved €5,40.

Looking back toward the lift.

We walked to the end of the longish tunnel to abruptly come to a halt outside a lift door which suddenly opened and an operator invited us to go up inside the castillo. We found ourselves expelled into a complex of stone halls decorated with family crests of those who had occupied the castle from its earliest iteration in the 16th century. From there, we stepped out into brilliant sunlight in the castle compound with its turrets, open areas, seating and of course, the ubiquitous gift shop.  

Weathered limestone in the wall.

Again, the place was not overly crowded so we wandered around to take in the 360° views of Alicante and the seafront with its sandy beaches which make this place a huge drawcard in summer. The castillo was constructed in three eras and the architecture reflected this. It did not take long to traverse the grounds so it was then time to depart, not via the lift but through the gift shop and down the pedestrian path that leads into the top of the old town. 

Looking down on the city.

The view from the top.

The aim was to follow a suggested walking route that took us to various points of interest, all the while working our way down the sloping old town site to the beach level. On the way, we saw the church, a square complete with fountain and old fig trees and a street that has been rejuvenated by the installation of large statues of mushrooms that sport faces (think Alice in Wonderland), with various insects sitting atop them. Unsurprisingly it is now called Mushroom Street.

Mushrooms. Magic.

Leaving the old town precinct, we headed back along the foreshore towards our car, via the Avenue de Espana. This is another well-known Alicante point of interest, not because of its fountain or palm trees, but because of the path itself which is a wide promenade, tiled to create the optical illusion that the surface itself is undulating. Rather off-putting to walk on something that looks like it is curving to find it is flat as a tack.

Tricky. Watch your step.

Anyway, once this was negotiated, we located the car that was happily still where we had parked it. It was now time to resume the drive to our next destination, Cartagena; specifically our hotel, the Puerto Cartagena. What should have been a relatively easy exercise to put the name into Maps, turned into a 15 minute guessing game as the app would not recognise any variation of the hotel name. 

We started to doubt if the hotel existed, but eventually we put the side street address in to Maps to at least bring us into proximity of where we thought we should be and drove out of Alicante in a far less frantic manner than how we had arrived.

Again the suggested route seemed to avoid petrol stations. This will be a problem on the next leg of our journey. The roads continued to be good with light traffic and we were soon driving down the waterfront of the port of Cartagena to an unknown destination. The map deposited us outside the AC Hotel, not a name we were familiar with.

Given I was in a no parking area, Jayne ventured into the hotel to see if this was where we were staying. She returned minutes later. Yes this was our hotel, apparently known by many names. Momentary relief. And I mean momentary. You need to go inside, the receptionist needs to know how big the car is ... parking is via a lift. WTAF! Seriously? Oh, yes, dear reader. As if trusting your life to automated mapping systems and driving on the wrong side of the road (in a manual car) wasn't enough, I now had to negotiate a car lift.

Someone else driving into the lift.

Inside I went, produced the passports  and informed her that the car was considered a 'compact' one by the car hire company. Okay, she said, level -2 when parking. Park anywhere. As the keys were with Jayne because we had parked in a 'forbidden area', I returned to the car while the lift door was opened.

Hmmm. Define tight fit, dear reader. Middle-aged men in skinny jeans? A pair of leather pants a size too small? Anyone in Speedos? Not pretty pictures and neither was the one I had in front of me.

The sides of the lift were marked by the misjudgements of previous guests. I have no room for error, it's a hire car with an horrendous no claim bonus. In we guide the car, pull the side mirrors in manually, and continue in a cold sweat. The lift begins to move and after a minute or so shudders to a stop. The doors open and the first thing to greet us is a sign, "the swinging of cats is not allowed". Clearly, I thought, there is not enough room. I edge the car forward, still sweating and survey the available car spaces in the garage. It may have well been designed by Gaudi. Straight lines were scarce, car spaces were at strange angles and there were pillars supporting the building above just about everywhere I looked.

We selected a spot that was vaguely angled toward the lift we had just exited and performed a complex, but graceful 27 point reverse to park the car. No pressure. Thanks to Billy Joel for today's title, Pressure  from 1982. High on adrenaline and paranoia, I re-parked the car move the nose in about 2cms. "Pretty sure we'll be exploring Cartagena on foot," Jayne quipped as we searched to locate elevator to reception.

Check-in completed, we went to unpack to discover our west facing room had the curtains open and no air conditioning on. I dialled the air con down to 19° and the fan to maximum and closed the curtains.  Unfortunately the bed, although comfortable was covered in a doona/duvet that would not look out of place in a Norwegian winter. This is not the first time we have encountered this issue. What a day! We headed down to the bar for a nerve calming beer. 

Cartagena is surrounded by fortification.

There was little left to do but explore a little of Cartagena before dinner. We walked along the waterfront and discovered a burger competition sponsored by Uber Eats. It was a little early for any self-respecting Spanish person to be out dining but there were a few tourists checking it out. We didn't buy anything but it smelt really good. Back near the town hall, a protest on behalf of Palestine was gathering with a series of speakers; it was a peaceful protest with a minimal police presence.

Arteries harden while reading the menu.

We wandered around the town to see where things were located and then eventually settled for dinner around 8pm at La Taranta. The waiter spoke a little more English than we speak Spanish but dinner was ordered and it was lovely. The star of the show a local dish of octopus. Highly recommended. We sat outside the restaurant because it was such a lovely night.

There are some beautiful buildings.

The walk home was less than 10 minutes. The room was cooler but still on the hot side. It would be a night of wrestling with the doona, on again, off again.

Why are transit days so routinely difficult?

Until tomorrow.

The Holy Grail (Valencia Old Town)

And Hurricane Gabrielle has left the building, dear reader. The day dawned bright and beautiful with cracking blue skies. The perfect day to visit Old Town of Valencia. We had discussed this previously with the conçierge and he recommended the Metro as the walk could take around 50 minutes. On such a stunning day and still needing to work off the excesses of the Catalonia tour, we opted to walk. After breakfast of course.

The walk to the second gate of the Old Town took a little over 35 minutes but no doubt, more time would be required if we walked to the far end to work our way back home. The gates, like many of the buildings in Old Town, are difficult to frame in a photograph because of their size and the need to shoot long and wide. Clearly that is not always possible and it introduces the problem of too many people in my photos. Still, I did the best I could.

Shell marks are clearly visible.

The gates are all that remains of the old fortification. The city walls have come tumbling down but two of the original gates remain. The other is in better condition. This one bears the scars of warfare.

We went old school and used a paper map to navigate the precinct. First stop was the Silk Exchange. What a grand building to be conducting trade in. The garden was tranquil, well, it would have been if not for the multiple school groups and coach tours. 

The contract room.

The chapel and its stained glass window pale into insignificance next to the contract room. A space with vaulted ceilings and massive columns. Silk was obviously big business. The Consulate of the Sea, whatever that means, was upstairs and had an ornate carved ceiling.

The ceiling in the Consulate of the Sea.

Again, the building was on such a grand scale that it was impossible to capture in one photo.

The Silk Exchange.

From the exchange we explored the Central Mercado or Central Market, another huge building. It is, as the name suggests, a market for fresh produce. There were stalls selling fresh meats, seafood, nuts, sweets, fruit, vegetables, cheese, cured meats, bakery items, gelato, and premade rolls. I'm pretty sure if you can eat it, you will find it here.

The market.

The centre ceiling is a dome, of course, and is magnificent. It was reasonably crowded with tourists although there were plenty of locals shopping for their dinner.

The cupola in the centre of the market.

At this stage, it was necessary to pause momentarily for a lunchtime beer in the shade. As welcome as the sun was, it was getting quite warm. We found a less crowded café not far from the markets and settled in to regather our energy. Happily no one smoked. Unhappily a man arrived with a guitar and shattered the peace by serenading the tables. Rock Around the Clock and Love Me Tender, not quite our demographic. He departed after two songs. I'm not sure how successful he was, I didn't see anyone contribute to his waiting hat.

The Old Town is really quite grand and everywhere you looked was a photo opportunity. Many of the old buildings have been well preserved and are beautifully presented. There are parks and gardens and a rather statuesque Town Hall building, complete with the batman symbol. Not really, but the emblem for Valencia is a bat and it does look like the one used by Commissioner Gordon or on a bottle of Bacardi.

The Town Hall.

Beyond the Town Hall were the former bull fighting ring and Central Station North. They were on the very edge of the Old Town. Traffic, cars and people, had notably increased in this area.

The bullfighting arena.

Turning our backs on bullfighting as the Spanish did in the 1970s, we mapped our course for the Cathedral and came across more spectacular buildings. Mostly they were banks. That figures, plenty of cash to splash.

The Bank of Valencia.

There were a number of churches passed before we made it to the Cathedral. Well, we are in Spain. One, the church of San Juan De la Cruz had the usual domed ceilings, but had around 9 side altars. Five down one side and four on the other; one gave way to become a doorway. The church itself contained numerous ceramic tiles, one of the most important collections in Spain.

Ceramic tiles depicting a story.

We edged ever nearer to the Cathedral past the bell tower of another church. Finally we arrived to discover there was a €10 entry fee. That was general entry, if you wanted a guided tour the price doubled. That's about $36 for both of us to walk around inside a Cathedral. Yeah, nah.

The Cathedral.

We sat in the shade to reconsider our plans. I wandered away to snap a few more photos while Jayne eavesdropped on the English tour guide, speaking to the couple seated nearby. From memory, everyone is searching for the Holy Grail. Certainly Monty Python were, as was Indiana Jones and I believe Dan Brown in the Da Vinci Code - never read it or saw the movie. I have standards to maintain. Anyway, they should have looked here, it's in the Cathedral, the Holy Grail. Hence today's title by the Hunter's and Collectors.

I know you are sceptical, dear reader, but no, it is true. Google has verified it. And so has the Vatican, allegedly. I struggle with the concept of a golden chalice decorated with pearls in the time of Jesus. I mean, using something like that instead of stone or wood rather flies in the face of everything for which he stood. Just saying.

Roman ruins below?

From the Cathedral precinct we walked towards the other gate in the former wall in order to orient ourselves to find Plaça del Carmen, an area of street art and quaint shops. On the way we passed a viewing platform that was covered in water that protected the site of some Roman ruins. Well, that was the story, we couldn't see through the water so I'm not sure what was underneath.

The gate appeared beside one of the main thoroughfares and as I indicated, it had been restored to its former glory. It was getting late in the afternoon and we had decided not to eat dinner tonight so we went looking for El Tap, a restaurant that had been recommended by friends. It was found, but alas, it was not opening until 8pm, by which time we would be long home.

Gate number 1.

We did discover Plaça del Carmen but the street art? Well, there is a fine line between street art and graffiti. After a while, we did see murals that we would consider street art but the quaint shops eluded us. Either that or they weren't open.

We were now in the university sector and stopped at a Tapas bar for another beer, hydration purposes only, and a couple of plates, before we made the ill considered decision to walk back to the hotel. It was about 3km, but it was quite hot and while the Spanish sun doesn't burn, its heat bites deeply.

Street Art.

Anyway, we survived and recovered in our air conditioned room before venturing up to the rooftop bar to watch the sunset on Valencia and our time here.

Tomorrow is a transit day. Yay. On a positive note, I have rejigged the system in the car so it now speaks English and have synced my phone so we can use Waze for navigation on the big screen. 

Until next time.

 

Cabaret (Valencia)

A life travel lesson, dear reader. Don't hire a car and stay in hotels in the cities. Parking per night in the hotels of Spain starts around €25. That could pay for a lot of taxis, not to mention the reduced stress of being on a train or coach and not having to battle the traffic, driving on the other side of the road. I hired a car this time because I felt we missed getting out to the country in Tuscany when we were in Florence years ago. That said, Hurricane Gabrielle certainly made her presence felt and the train we would have caught from Sitges to Valencia would have certainly been cancelled, if not significantly delayed. Still, my current belief is hire a car when necessary for day trips.

The day dawned with Gabrielle still hanging around. The rain was strong at various stages overnight and there were some major episodes with lightning. We slept late without an alarm for the first time in a week. Bliss. We wandered down to breakfast around 10am to discover The Level has a separate dining area where you can order food beyond the buffet offering. Nice. Jayne opted for an omelette and I had Iberico ham, accompanied with bread and a tomato mix - definitely not Catalan tomato bread as we are no longer in Catalonia. However, once the tomato was spread on the bread, if the light was right and you squinted, it looked like Catalan tomato bread.

Yum.

We also had a double espresso, twice. Morning coffee. Yes. There were also the buffet offerings, fresh fruit, breads, pastries and the like. The staff were lovely and it was a delightful way to commence another rainy day.

Back in our room, we pondered what might be possible while looking out the window at the clouds. Once we had made the decision to venture out, the skies opened up again and kept us firmly indoors. Perhaps the weather was forcing us to do something our bodies required, after six weeks of travelling; rest. Message received. We gave up any attempt to leave the hotel and went downstairs to sit in the massive bustling lobby area for a people watching session.

There was a young man in soccer kit, sorry, football kit, standing outside the doors of the hotel, waving his flag while being filmed. Eventually he came inside and sat, waiting, patiently, flag draped across his knees. And nothing happened. I Googled the flag and his colours to discover he was a Real Oviedo supporter. The game was scheduled for yesterday but was postponed because of the horrendous weather. The good news is that he may not have been able to see his idols, but they beat Valencia 2-1.

This is near our hotel. I have no idea.

We whiled the day away in our room or on the 26th floor in The Level lounge until it was time for dinner and the rain had ceased. The time was not misspent, dear reader, as we researched places for dinner. Deciding Tapas was not required, we settled on one of the pizza places nearby. While the overwhelming number of reviews were positive, there were many that were negative. almost all of them focussed on service or the attitude of the wait staff. Too interesting not to explore, I booked.

In a fascinating turn of events, we scored dinner and a show, a Cabaret, the clear link to today's title. Also, both ends of the review spectrum were accurate, although I feel the one star people were a little precious. We had a great night.

The restaurant is Il Cortile and they are a chain, sort of. They have a number of locations throughout Valencia and purport to uphold Italian values in the craft. You can decide what that means.

We made a reservation for 7:30pm and arrived at 7:35. The waiter in the green shirt appeared very grumpy. He was busy attending to a table of 6, the only other patrons. Eventually he acknowledged our existence with a head nod. We waited. He came over and I informed him we had a reservation and we were pointed to a table. He returned to the other patrons. Finally he walked past and threw two menus onto the tabletop.

Ten minutes later, he returned, took our order and we requested the wine list which was also thrown onto the table. The wine arrived and we poured a glass and then the floor show began. A table of Americans who had walked in after us decided this was the wrong pizza place and departed. Green shirt man remonstrated with another patron, waiting for take-away and we watched everything happening.

A random flower to break up the text.

Then Jayne noticed some action outside. A parking dispute. Sorry, no pictures. A man, also in a green shirt, (it must make you angry), was gesticulating wildly at the driver of another car who was parked. He got out of his car and went to the window of the parked car, arms flailing like a windmill in a hurricane, presumably expressing his unhappiness with the theft of his car spot. The other car did not give ground. He stormed back to his double-parked car and reversed it so as to block the other from moving and then put on his hazard lights.

The driver of the correctly parked car got out and came inside Il Cortile. Her partner was at the counter waiting to order, but green-shirt waiter was yet to engage with him. He provided solace to his upset wife/girlfriend until the door opened and green-shirt driver stormed in, still with arms waving and the argument recommenced. The couple then placed their order and sat at the side counter with a beer. Green-shirt driver placed his order and stayed at the main counter, also with beer in hand. Stalemate.

Our food arrived and we tucked in keeping a close eye on proceedings. The couple left the restaurant without food and before green-shirt driver who had parked them in. We're not sure where they went. A short time later, he left with his two takeaway pizzas and disappeared into the night.

Lantana grows everywhere. It's a weed at home.

While all this excitement was happening, green-shirt waiter's demeanour had improved when additional staff arrived to share the 'load'. He decided we were OK. We scored a smile and Jayne got a hand on the shoulder. She was then invited over to the bar counter where there was a digital clock, mounted on the wall, showing 10:00 with the word 'gratis' underneath. When we first came in, we had assumed that the 10 referred to a promise that if you had to wait longer than 10 minutes, you would get your takeaway pizza for free. No - there was a red button on the bar top and the waiter indicated to her to push it to start the countdown from 10:00. If she could push the button to stop the clock at 7:00, our dinner would be for free.

After 2 failed attempts, he laughed heartily and patted Jayne on the shoulder once again. Clearly we were now family - no one else had been invited to stop the clock. He was even happier when I paid cash and gave him a small tip. 

Surely he must own the place, otherwise why would any employer keep someone at front of house if they were damaging your reputation. I can understand they would not be keen on tourists and they don't need to be. The area is mostly high-rise residential with restaurants and other commercial premises occupying the ground floor. The take away trade was brisk - the pizzas were excellent and the restaurant itself kept filling till there were very few vacant tables. 

Anyway, after dinner and the show, we walked back to our hotel, happy that the weather forecast promised a return to sunshine so we would finally be able to explore Valencia's old town.

Until tomorrow.

A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall (Olèrdola, Sitges, Barcelona Airport, Valencia)

You may note by the bracketed destinations that today's post covers more than one day, dear reader. It spans the last full day with Matt's Produce Tours and a dreaded transit day. As an aside, if you like a food and wine tour with excellent company, check out Matt's itineraries. We're off to Tuscany next year with him.

Our hometown for the week.

It was free time after breakfast with a planned trip to the local Roman ruins. Jayne opted out of visiting the ruins on the premise that she'd seen ruins before, in no specific order and not limited to, England, France, Switzerland, Slovenia, Croatia, Italy and most specifically and unsurprisingly, Rome. What did the Romans ever do for us? She remained at the hacienda and continued her chat with our children who are still in Australia. I opted for the ruins.

Wild alyssum.

The first stop was to the communal recycling bins in town. Staying within the confines of the National Park means disposing of all rubbish generated. Olèrdola was obviously preparing for some sort of bullfighting festival. There were a number of people sporting matador capes, a bin full of swords with which to depose the bull and a couple of people wearing bull costumes with horned head pieces. Anything to pass the time until the bars open I guess.

The remnant ruins were on a hilltop outside the town. I realised on arrival that the belltower we could see from the hacienda was a part of the ruins. Entry cost was €5 and walletless, Tim spotted me entry. Champion. 

Part of the entry to the ruins.

Map in hand, we commenced the walk up the hill toward the church, obviously a part of the later Roman Empire. The inside was sparse and I imagine the walls were once covered with frescoes. Now it contained an altar and a number of pews. 

The church on the hill.

Outside in the grounds were burial sites. The graves were not deep because the soil on top of the hill is shallow, barely covering the limestone. I doubt the bodies were left in the graves for long but there was no indication of what might have happened to the bones. However, Romans often used ossuaries after cremation or decomposition of the bodies.

Graves in the church grounds.

The other areas of ruin were unremarkable. There was no grand wall or amphitheatre, just low walls or depressions in the limestone with a cursory explanation. Evidence of the local wild pig population abounded and not just in areas that had been dug over. Aromatic would be the more polite way to describe it.

The hacienda from the Roman ruins.

Heading back to the house, a few of us opted to walk from the nearby village. While it provided some much needed exercise and an opportunity to take photographs back toward the ruins, it meant we missed out on the cooking class.

Looking back to the church on the hill.

An old watchtower at the nearby village.

We returned to find Jayne, Mick and some of the others aproned and up to their elbows in preparation. Our light lunch today was stuffed squid, baked fish on potato with a sauce, anchovies with pickled onion, razor clams and a side dish of white beans and chorizo. Really, I'm over-simplifying the menu. It was amazing. And that was, apparently, a light lunch.

Anchovies and pickled onion.

Tuna and avocado bites.

The sauce for the fish.

The fish.

Stuffed squid.

The white bean mix.

A few of our number drifted off for a quick nanna nap prior to dinner in Sitges, but not before a group photo. Vivero was the destination and we arrived for an Aperol Spritz around sunset. Sadly the weather was uncooperative, but the spritz and the rooftop bar overlooking the beach were lovely.

A farewell photo after the 'light' lunch.

Downstairs in the restaurant, we enjoyed tapas (of course) and then mains of seafood rice or sea bass followed by lava cake. There may also have been some wine consumed.

Sitges by night.

A church near the restaurant.

Back at the hacienda it was time for last drinks and some more packing before tomorrow's departure. I had one beer and retired. Others, well, next morning at breakfast, let's say you could tell who partied on.

Dinner at Vivero.

Packing was finalised next morning and then we were in the van with the first group heading for the airport at 8:45am. We bid farewell to Matt, Raylee, Kristin and Tim at the airport and picked up our hire car which we will keep for the remainder of the trip.

The processes at Europcar could do with some refinement. You are required to head into the terminal to complete the paperwork there, then go back to the carpark and collect the key. It sounds fine in theory, except the guy who hands out the keys went m.i.a. When he returned, he was in no rush to engage with clients. Out to the back room, adjusting the air con, checking the computer screen and finally, he morosely acknowledged our presence.

The 12 year old girl who served me at the first counter, was more efficient but dismissive of my choice of car. She informed me to drive from Valencia to Madrid required a much larger engine than the 1.2 litre - my car of choice. A larger engine would cope much better she scolded. What absolute bullshit. I hire a small car because of the narrow roads in older areas.

In the car, I discovered that the USB cables I bought with us to connect our phones, don't work because Europe has already upgraded their cars to USB C. Excellent. Not. Out came the powerpack to keep the phone charged and use Waze because the navigation system in the car speaks Spanish (until Jayne somehow changed it to German. Still not helpful) and wanted us to detour away from the toll roads. It was like being in Sydney, except you still had to stop and pay at a toll booth.

We received a road warning at one point, informing us the road we were on was closed and there were no alternate routes. The sky was black and the rain commenced about 45 minutes into the drive and continued for the next 2 hours, with intermittent lightning cracking across the sky. There was a slight pause as we arrived at the hotel. The news that night reported mass storm events and flooding across a vast area of Spain from Alicanté to Valencia and up towards Barcelona. And that brings us to today's title A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall, yes I'm aware it's a Dylan song but the Bryan Ferry version is superior - and I'm generally not one for cover versions.

The rain recommenced after a brief hiatus. We were tired anyway and opted to eat in. Thankfully, my travel agent and I had discussed a luxury stay after completing two tours and had booked The Level - we'd refer to it as the Executive Floor back home. We had a quiet, comfortable lounge to repair to where we enjoyed tapas and maybe a glass of wine before retiring for the night.

Tomorrow's weather doesn't look a lot better so we might not be moving far from the hotel room. However after 6 weeks on the road a day off won't hurt.

Until next time.

Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous (Wine Day, Catalonia)

The day we've all been waiting for, dear reader, 'Wine Day' (because god knows we haven't had enough wine yet). Except for those amongst us who stayed up till the wee small hours imbibing. 'Twas not I and I shall not name names.

Breakfast today was the usual array of delicious fresh fruit and jamon and cheese toasties. Yum. The day was off to a belated start because the NRL major semi-final was on. Again. This time it was Penrith and Brisbane. I've never cheered for a Brisbane team before and I wasn't keen on doing that today, but the thought of Penrith winning another grand final ... I'd rather have explosive diarrhoea on a plane. Thankfully the football god was smiling and and Penrith managed to turn a 14 point winning margin into a 2 point loss. Quality.

An olive tree ... over to you Raylee.

Sorry, that has nothing to do with today's activities but it was so good to write it. We piled into our respective vans and headed for the first of two wineries, Jean Leon. The name might not ring a bell, that is Quasimodo's job (eh, Jan?), but Jean Leon was the owner of the ultra famous restaurant La Scala in the Hollywood hills.

Most of the gang at Jean Leon.

To complement his superb food offering, he wanted to craft his own wine. The search for land brought him back to his native Spain where he cleared the land of Spanish vines and planted the French varieties; Chardonnay, Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon. 

Hmmm. Grapes just waiting to become wine.

After the obligatory tease of a winery tour and a walk through the pictures of the rich and famous from the 1960s and '70s, you know, Marilyn Monroe, Frank Sinatra, Marlon Brando and a couple of dead Kennedys, we finally got to the tasting. Cue the link to today's title Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous by Good Charlotte. 

There were five wines, three whites and two reds, with matching cheeses. These were sampled in the aptly named, 'tasting room', surrounded by the original artworks that grace the labels.

The tasting.

The backstory to Jean Leon's life would make him a worthy entrant on any reality TV show. There would be equal parts admiration, sympathy and amazement. Anyway, he's gone now but his restaurant continues under the guidance of his daughter and the winery was sold to a close friend. The labels have changed but the idea and passion behind the wine remains the same.

Yep, the barrel room.

Feeling like it was an episode of Idol (whatever, you know I have no clue, dear reader) I turned my chair and raced for the shop to purchase a couple of wines.

The real backstory to this part of the day was Jayne's Pandora bracelet coming open and depositing her Spain charm in parts unknown. A search of the van revealed little but small pieces of limestone picked up in our shoes. The day and the search continued.

Next stop was Can Rafols Dels Caus. Another winery. Well, it was Wine Day. We were welcomed with an excellent glass of bubbles which was enjoyed al fresco. No. Seriously. This was a glass of bubbles as close to anything French I have ever tasted. The drawback was the price €30,50 or about $55 AUD. Given the other wines we had tasted, it was difficult to justify the price. Although I did have a second glass when it was offered.

See how restrained I've been? The wine was orgasmic.

Can Rafols Dels Caus needs to be congratulated because, unlike the other wineries we've visited, they put  a glass in hand as soon as we arrived. No big hour long tease about terroir, wine making processes and grape varieties. Warmed by the sun and the bubbles, we went for a tour of the historic house and the winery. The scale of each winery we have visited varies greatly, Can Rafols Dels Caus produces around 320,000 bottles per year and they emphasise quality not quantity.

The house.

That being said, the scale of their enterprise is mind blowing - our tour of the new cellaring facilities and function rooms left us all calculating the cost of the engineering feat to construct the massive space within the limestone and granite sub-structure, supported by huge concrete beams.

One of the spaces where concerts are held.

Lots of space and lots of concrete.

Once the tour was concluded we retired to the blue room for lunch. I know right, more wine and more food. Well, it is a wine and food tour so it makes sense. The lunch featured magnificently curated local dishes, accompanied by matching wines.

The blue room.

After the feast, it was back to the villa for a 'light supper' of Valencian paella with chicken and rabbit, followed by the burnt cheesecake we had created a couple of days ago. This tour is not for the faint hearted or those with dodgy digestion - it requires staunch commitment to over-indulgence and excess of every kind!

Let's change the world.

Happily, the day finished with Kris locating the missing Spanish charm on the floor of the hacienda so Jayne's prayer to St Anthony was successful and all was once again right with the world.

Goodnight.

Until tomorrow.