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.

Born this Way (Olèrdola, Sitges, Catalonia)

We had a more relaxed start to the day. Breakfast was the usual fresh, luscious fare. The NRL semi-final was on and delayed our departure somewhat, after which we drove into Sitges and were dropped by the beach. We had free time until 5:15pm when there was a wine tasting. Mmmm, wine (say it like Homer Simpson). We strolled the promenade or boardwalk and checked out the markets. At the end of the line, we turned back towards the main beach and the town. It was time for an Aperol Spritz.

A white wagtail.

The first place only allowed guests who were eating, to sit with a view of the beach. The second place was reasonably crowded and was situated on the beach. Unfortunately the 'up close and personal' placement of the tables made a group of 5 almost impossible. Jayne and I left our friends at the table to go in search of a pharmacy to purchase some strapping tape. Now there's an interesting conversation to have in a foreign language.

The church across Sitges beach.

After several discussions we were successful. It would have been a lot easier if the chemist stores were larger. A lot of stock is not on display and is hidden away. Tape secured, we wandered back toward the beach looking for a bar. We found one where no-one was smoking and settled down. I didn't recognise any of the beers and chose one of the draught beers at random. Clara was its name. I reveal this, dear reader, because if you like a beer that is like an orange flavoured shandy this one's for you.

Tiled street signs.

Jayne was particularly disappointed. And then the smokers commenced. Lucky Strike, not a brand we're familiar with in Australia. The smell was disgusting, like burning rubbish. His second cigarette saw us sufficiently motivated to leave the bar and hit the boardwalk again.

The Catholic church dominated the headland at the northern end of the beach. The boardwalk and park that led up to it was dotted with statues. My Catalan is not so good so I have no idea who or what they were commemorating. Curious, I watched two pre-teen boys approach the nude. One kissed it on the right breast, the other went for a grope lower down. Weird.

The nude the young boys liked.

On we went to the church because we had time to burn. Apparently the church was open but we missed the side door. Around the lee side of the church there was a water fountain at which people were filling their bottles. I really love this aspect of Europe. The old town section of Sitges is all shops. They generally don't open until 4 or 5 in the afternoon and then close around 10pm.

The water fountain.

We crossed paths with others from the group as we walked the town. Eventually we met up at a wine shop at the prescribed time. This was no Dan Murphy's. It was a one room establishment, with bottles lining the walls like books in a library. Johannes, our host, seated us at the end of the shop where we would be tasting 5 wines and eating charcuterie and homemade hummus.

Impressive.

Wine tasting.

Next stop was a tapas restaurant. Surprise! No dear reader this one was different. There was a man on the jamon carving station. That is his job, to carve paper thin slices of jamon. He then plates the ham. Not so simple, it was a work of art. 

An artist at work.

As we were leaving the restaurant, we saw a man with a very interesting T-shirt. Sitges is the gay capital of Spain and last week hosted a Bear festival. Even the town symbol has a bear on it. For those of you who aren't sure what I'm talking about you can Google it (I'd use incognito). To honour Sitges our title today is  Born this Way by Lady Gaga.

Read the caption on the shirt.

Because we hadn't eaten enough food, Matt had organised a gelato for dessert. It was about a five minute walk away from the restaurant, not long enough to walk off all the food and wine we'd consumed that day. The shops and bars were all open now and the previously quiet town of Sitges was buzzing. 

There is a section of one street in the gay quarter where a café purposely has tables lining both side of the narrow thoroughfare. The seats are arranged so that each set of patrons can sit and face the other side of the street. This way they can size up the potential on offer across the way, as well as perusing the passing traffic. 

The church at night.

After another night of gastronomic feasting,  it was back into the vans to the villa. The night continued for the stayers till the small hours, even though they knew tomorrow was designated "Wine Day".

Until Wine Day.

Tubular Bells (Sitges and Montserrat, Catalonia)

Last night was a quieter night. The realisation that we couldn't party as hard as we did on night one was recognised by everyone in the group. Maybe every second night would be party night.

Our boats.

Breakfast was the usual array of fresh fruit and muesli with the addition of eggs. At 9:15am we were back in the vans and heading for Sitges marina. Today we were spending time on cruising up and down the coast with a swimming stop included.

On the cliff edge with a great view.

Looking back at Sitges.

We boarded our two boats and headed out of the marina toward the southern end of Sitges and then turned the boats north to locate a protected spot to swim. It was breezy on the water and there was a small swell running. Nothing major, but enough to cause some discomfort for those who are prone to seasickness.

Madness.

Much like Cinque Terre, the rail line appears to be carved into the mountainside with a series of exposed trestles that would make the journey quite picturesque. The mountains come right down to the sea with little place for human habitation. However, it does attract abseilers and rock climbers, dear reader, two pastimes I will never understand. We were all quite amazed to see three separate groups clinging to the rock face at varying points. Discussion turned to how they actually got there in the first place.

Similar to the Cinque Terre rail line.

The ride back to the marina was a little more bumpy because we were heading directly into the wind. Aside from a few splashes as the boat slapped into waves, we all arrived safe and mostly dry.

We returned to the villa for lunch and some down time before the first cooking class of the week.  In the early afternoon, we were involved with the preparation of the three desserts we would be enjoying in the coming nights: saffron panna cotta, cream Catalana and Spanish burnt cheesecake. As well as something I would be steering well clear of, Sangria.

Matt had done all the prep and the ingredients were laid out on the table. He explained each step as different members of the group were encouraged to take an active part in the creative process. Knowing my love of eggs I was asked to whisk the 22 egg yolks for about five minutes. Fortunately it was an electric whisk.

Everything came together in a matter of minutes. The cheesecake went into the oven and the other two desserts, once placed in individual ramekins went into the fridge. Then there was more free time to relax and enjoy the villa and the company of the other guests.

Dinner was a seafood paella. Matt has a portable paella dish that is heated by bottled gas. We all gathered around the dish to watch or participate in the cooking. The other Matt had done all the prep work with the seafood so this was a cooking demonstration.

While it is not difficult to cook paella, the need for a proper, sizeable dish will relegate it to restaurant food for me. Once the ingredients had been added and stirred and the seafood artistically arranged the dish is covered in foil. Time for a relaxing drink.

Seafood paella.

The end product, unveiled after the stock had been absorbed was absolutely delicious. As was the pannacotta. The wine flowed and the laughs continued well into the night.

Breakfast the following morning was termed a 'king's breakfast' - the special addition was sourdough toasties: ham, cheese and tomato. An excellent way to begin the day and fortify ourselves for the longish drive ahead. 

Today the destination is Montserrat, that mass of conglomerate rock that dominates the skyline. The towering pink granite cliffs glow in the evening sun. There is a monastery atop the craggy peak and access is via a funicular. You know I love a good funicular ride, dear reader so I was looking forward to the experience. It is not everyday you ride a funicular.

The peak in cloud.

Before we commenced the road up the mountain, we made a slight detour through the village to get a better view of Montserrat itself. There are many adjectives that could be used to describe the mountain, but, it changes frequently with the weather conditions. It can be moody with dark clouds circling the peaks. It can sparkle in the morning sun. It can glow at sunset. And when we were there, it was all hustle and bustle with tourist coaches.

No words.

There is a cable car from the village to the Cathedral. One look at the cables spanning the valley and I was confident I would not be taking that ride. The vans were parked and we wandered the lookout taking photos of the landscape below. The view went on forever.

The cable car on the way down the valley.

It was soon time to jump onto the funicular and we strolled down the pathway to the station. And then I saw it. The funicular track. OMG! Decorum prevents me from actually recording what was going through my head. From our vantage point the track looked almost vertical. I understand a funicular is used to go up, but straight up? Jayne immediately asked me if I would be ok. "No, probably not", I responded but I was going to do it anyway. There was no way I would miss a 7 minute ride on a funicular. It would certainly stimulate my fear of heights.

The steepest funicular track I've ever seen.

The sense of anticipation grew as we waited for the lift to take us the ground floor. My heart was pounding and I was feeling a little light headed. Excitement or fear? I wasn't sure. I'd never been this worried about jumping onto a funicular before. The carnage of the Lisbon funicular accident flashed through my mind.

The lift doors opened and I looked straight up the funicular track once more. It was longer than Hong Kong, so the ride would be briefer but the gradient was brutal. Then came the news. The funicular was not functioning today. Many people had made the trek up Montserrat specifically to enjoy a ride on the funicular. They would be disappointed. I was thrilled.

Our new destination.

Instead of a death defying funicular ride, we opted to walk the 1km to the cross on the point. Much safer. In an unusual moment in Europe, people queued politely at the cross waiting for their turn to take a selfie or group photo. As we neared our turn, some clown pushed past everyone and walked out to take his time photographing the valley below, deliberately photo bombing the couple standing at the cross.

One of our number made a comment, as did the people at the cross. I couldn't hear his reply but he was clearly not going to cooperate and instead of leaving lingered to take more photos. As he left Jan, the life and soul of our group, gave him a clap. He spat "bitch" back at her as he was next to me. "Wanker" I replied. 

The group shot, well most of the group.

The group in front of us re-shot their photos and then it was our turn. Once done, we walked back down the path to the Cathedral to line up to see the Black Madonna. The Cathedral was as opulent as you would expect, with several side altars and some serious artworks by the likes of Caravaggio.

A relief in the side entrance.

The Cathedral façade.

The Cathedral proper was packed with worshippers as we conga lined our way closer to the statue, through an antechamber with reliefs on walls and ceiling, adorning a number of side altars. There was a school excursion from France and one student obviously wasn't keen to be there, emblazoned across the back of his T-shirt was "All Hail The Six Pointed Star".

We climbed some stairs and then suddenly she was there in front of you. Surprisingly I found myself standing in front of the Madonna, obscuring the direct view of the hundreds of worshippers in the Cathedral. 

The Black Madonna.

The walk out the other side was quicker and we soon found ourselves in the forecourt where we tried to listen to the last segments of the audioguide we had downloaded before we left the hacienda.  Suddenly the Cathedral bells started to peel thunderously. And then they rang and rang and rang - 78 times in fact, because I counted them. No idea what it was signifying - Mass was already underway and it was 12:50pm. Anyway, we could neither finish the audioguide, nor converse so we left the echoing forecourt and moved out into the square in front of  the Cathedral façade to wait for the group to gather.

The bells inspired today's title Tubular Bells by Mike Oldfield from way back in 1973. It was a bit of a sensation then.

One of the market stalls.

We strolled back past the market stalls on the way to the vans. Each stall appeared to be selling the same produce, honey, cheeses, cheesecakes and the like. Then it was down the mountain and into the national park to a restaurant for a very enjoyable tapas lunch, under the vines and the scrutiny of an ever-hopeful cat who waited patiently under the tables and on the seats to see if it could score some morsels.

It was out of the way, but an excellent spot.

There were a few nodding heads on the way back home, perhaps as a result of last night's efforts. Dinner tonight was perfectly cooked pork loin, potatoes, salad and a to-die-for peach relish, finished off with the Catalana crème brulée.

We retired reasonably early and left the stayers to solve the world's problems.

Until tomorrow.