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| "No hay lugar como el hogar" |
Thursday, 13 April 2017
Tuesday, 11 April 2017
Lisbon, Portugal
All good things must come to an end, and this one ends here. Lisbon seems to have a lot of construction and roadworks going on, but in amongst all the cranes and brickdust there are plenty of nice things to look at. See photos below.
My third and final football match of this trip was Sporting Lisbon 4 Boavista 0. Unfortunately I don't have any photos to show for it, because they wouldn't let me take my camera into the stadium: I had to leave it with an attendant in a cloakroom. The language barrier prevented me from finding out why. It's a fairly nice camera, a Canon EOS1100D, but it's nothing especially big or powerful.
Maybe the Sporting Lisbon security staff imagined I was somehow going to infringe the copyright of their licensed photographers? Or maybe they were worried that I was going to try and throw my camera with lethal force at the referee? Not that it matters. They have made a mortal enemy of me. I now count myself a lifelong supporter of their local rivals Benfica, and not just because Benfica play at the Stadium of Light.
There will be quite a long delay before my next epic travel adventure. Mid to late 2018 at the earliest, I think. Amuse yourselves as you see fit in the meantime!
My third and final football match of this trip was Sporting Lisbon 4 Boavista 0. Unfortunately I don't have any photos to show for it, because they wouldn't let me take my camera into the stadium: I had to leave it with an attendant in a cloakroom. The language barrier prevented me from finding out why. It's a fairly nice camera, a Canon EOS1100D, but it's nothing especially big or powerful.
Maybe the Sporting Lisbon security staff imagined I was somehow going to infringe the copyright of their licensed photographers? Or maybe they were worried that I was going to try and throw my camera with lethal force at the referee? Not that it matters. They have made a mortal enemy of me. I now count myself a lifelong supporter of their local rivals Benfica, and not just because Benfica play at the Stadium of Light.
There will be quite a long delay before my next epic travel adventure. Mid to late 2018 at the earliest, I think. Amuse yourselves as you see fit in the meantime!
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| Camara Municipal (City Hall) |
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| Arco da Rua Augusta |
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| Mercado de Fusão, looking north |
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| Rossio Square |
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| Santa Maria de Belém church |
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| Padrào dos Descobrimientos (Monument to Discoveries) |
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| The national parliament building |
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| The Stadium Of Light. No, the other one. This is the one that features European football, and home wins. |
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| Parque Eduardo VII |
Friday, 7 April 2017
Porto, Portugal
I went to Santiago bus station to catch a ride to Porto. A bus pulled up, but it wasn't clear from the departure board whether it was for Porto or the local airport. This brought about a prolonged, confused and rather anguished discussion with a Portugese baggage handler, both of us speaking bad Spanish, about the difference between 'a Oporto' and 'aeropuerto'. It didn't help that my Porto bus was also going to Porto airport (Oporto aeroporto, in Portugese). Remember that scene in the John Cleese film 'Clockwise' about asking for directions? "Left?" "Right." "Right?" "Left." "Left?" "Right." And so on. This was basically the same, but with more syllables.
Porto is a very pretty place and I'm beginning to regret that I tagged Portugal onto the end of my Spain trip as something of an afterthought. I should have stayed here a bit longer. And not just because my very first Portugese craft beer (see Edd vs Food picture) was better than anything I found in all my time in Spain.
Other than the sandwich in the picture, my culinary highlight was the Gazela Cervejaria. There's no menu - they only serve one thing, cachorrinhos, a.k.a. posh spicy hot dogs - but they do them to absolute perfection. Anthony Bourdain, the chef off of the telly, was there earlier this year and will back me up on this.
I didn't get to see any football while I was here, but I did take a stroll around the outside of FC Porto's stadium, the Estádio do Dragão, which is stunning. Situated on high overlooking the east of the city, and thus awash with cool breezes, it has an airy and open design which blends in nicely with the surroundings. A sharp contrast with the ghastly Casa da Musica. See pictures for both.
The Portugese language is a total mystery to me - when written it looks like Spanish and when spoken it sounds like Russian - but I've been coping by simply pointing at things and saying obrigado at regular intervals. Admittedly on a few occasions, forgetting where I am, I've accidentally addressed people in Spanish. That doesn't go down too well. I'll probably find myself doing the same thing when I get my celebratory homecoming sausage roll. If only Greggs served cachorrinhos...
Porto is a very pretty place and I'm beginning to regret that I tagged Portugal onto the end of my Spain trip as something of an afterthought. I should have stayed here a bit longer. And not just because my very first Portugese craft beer (see Edd vs Food picture) was better than anything I found in all my time in Spain.
Other than the sandwich in the picture, my culinary highlight was the Gazela Cervejaria. There's no menu - they only serve one thing, cachorrinhos, a.k.a. posh spicy hot dogs - but they do them to absolute perfection. Anthony Bourdain, the chef off of the telly, was there earlier this year and will back me up on this.
I didn't get to see any football while I was here, but I did take a stroll around the outside of FC Porto's stadium, the Estádio do Dragão, which is stunning. Situated on high overlooking the east of the city, and thus awash with cool breezes, it has an airy and open design which blends in nicely with the surroundings. A sharp contrast with the ghastly Casa da Musica. See pictures for both.
The Portugese language is a total mystery to me - when written it looks like Spanish and when spoken it sounds like Russian - but I've been coping by simply pointing at things and saying obrigado at regular intervals. Admittedly on a few occasions, forgetting where I am, I've accidentally addressed people in Spanish. That doesn't go down too well. I'll probably find myself doing the same thing when I get my celebratory homecoming sausage roll. If only Greggs served cachorrinhos...
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| Porto city centre, seen from the south riverbank |
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| As above |
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| Our very own Duke of Wellington. Long story, but basically the Portugese don't like Napoleon any more than we do. History lesson here if required. |
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| Casa da Musica Opened in 2005. Profoundly ugly. Even the Geordies managed to do better than this for a music venue. |
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| Cemitério de Agramonte |
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| Estádio do Dragão |
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| Liberdade Square This photo contains the statue of King Peter IV, the Câmara Municipal, and two fat lasses. |
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| Edd vs Food #60 A Sandeira do Porto, Rua dos Caldeireiros 85. 'Douro' sandwich with chicken, goat's cheese and apple. Washed down with Letra D Red Ale. |
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| Palacio da Bolsa Built in the 19th century to impress investors and attract foreign capital. It worked: Portugal now has sovereign debt equivalent to 130% of its GDP. |
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| North riverbank, seen from the Luis I high bridge. |
Monday, 3 April 2017
Santiago de Compostela, Spain
Ever since I got here, I've been unable to stop humming to myself the words 'Santiago, Baby' to the tune of the Human League's "Don't You Want Me Baby". That's what we used to sing to former Sunderland defender Santiago Vergini (important to get the vowels right in that surname), scorer of possibly the most spectacular own goal in the history of football.
The Camino de Santiago trail, which terminates here as the name suggests, is a pilgrimage to the supposed tomb of the apostle St James. (Last time I did a pilgrimage in the direction of St James, Sunderland got a 1-1 derby draw and I drank myself almost into a coma.) The city centre is stuffed full of earnest North Face-clad eco-veggie hikers and wild-eyed Jesus-bearded religious nutters. I do not care to mix with either type.
But the locals are alright, and as with pretty much everywhere else in Spain, you can hardly turn a corner without chancing upon somewhere nice for a coffee, a wine or a beer. Unfortunately it's piddled down with rain for most of my time here and that's why the photos are somewhat greyer than usual. Also I have to apologise for the fact - which you may or may not notice - that my photos are a tiny bit blurry at present. This is due to an unfortunate recent incident where I accidentally, and tragically, and bizarrely, and indeed literally, managed to kick my own camera out of my own hands. (Don't ask.) The camera itself is OK but I need a new zoom lens. That will have to wait until I'm back home and in gainful employment.
Random interlude: here are four animals with amusing Spanish names:
Sloth: oso perezoso (literally: "lazy bear")
Woodpecker: pájaro carpintero ("carpenter bird")
Peacock: pavo real ("royal turkey")
Seal: foca (no particular translation, but ha ha anyway)
OK OK I admit it. I've run out of things to write. It must be time for a change of scene.
The Camino de Santiago trail, which terminates here as the name suggests, is a pilgrimage to the supposed tomb of the apostle St James. (Last time I did a pilgrimage in the direction of St James, Sunderland got a 1-1 derby draw and I drank myself almost into a coma.) The city centre is stuffed full of earnest North Face-clad eco-veggie hikers and wild-eyed Jesus-bearded religious nutters. I do not care to mix with either type.
But the locals are alright, and as with pretty much everywhere else in Spain, you can hardly turn a corner without chancing upon somewhere nice for a coffee, a wine or a beer. Unfortunately it's piddled down with rain for most of my time here and that's why the photos are somewhat greyer than usual. Also I have to apologise for the fact - which you may or may not notice - that my photos are a tiny bit blurry at present. This is due to an unfortunate recent incident where I accidentally, and tragically, and bizarrely, and indeed literally, managed to kick my own camera out of my own hands. (Don't ask.) The camera itself is OK but I need a new zoom lens. That will have to wait until I'm back home and in gainful employment.
Random interlude: here are four animals with amusing Spanish names:
Sloth: oso perezoso (literally: "lazy bear")
Woodpecker: pájaro carpintero ("carpenter bird")
Peacock: pavo real ("royal turkey")
Seal: foca (no particular translation, but ha ha anyway)
OK OK I admit it. I've run out of things to write. It must be time for a change of scene.
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| Church and convent of San Francisco |
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| Plaza Obradoiro |
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| Plaza Mazarelos (1) |
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| Plaza Mazarelos (2) |
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| Museo del Pueblo Gallego (Museum of the Galician People) Santiago is the capital of the Galicia region. The Galicians are of Celt stock. Bagpipes are sometimes to be heard here. |
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| Parque de Bonaval |
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| Edd vs Food #59 Churros This is a very popular breakfast delicacy in Spain. They're like doughnuts, except thinner and straighter and crispier and much nicer. You dip them in hot chocolate, to get that perfect sugar/fat combo double whammy. |
Thursday, 30 March 2017
Gijón, Spain
Gijón is a low-key, post-industrial city on the northern coast, neglected and overshadowed by its more famous southern rivals, with a wet & windy coastline and a relegation-threatened football team. All I need is a Greggs and I'll feel right at home.
The name of the place presents something of a dilemma. It'd sound a bit pretentious to try and pronounce it like the locals do - vaguely like 'Heehon' but with varying amounts of phlegm in each 'h'. (In the local Asturian dialect it's spelled 'Xixon'). On the other hand, I'm reluctant to say it in flat English, ie rhyming with 'pigeon'. I think I'll compromise and call it 'Gee-hon'.
So, what's happening in Gee-hon? Not a lot, if truth be told. It's one of those places that I'm visiting only because it was there on the map as I happened to be passing. There are no particular tourist attractions of note. The one thing that sets Gijón apart from other Spanish cities, from my own personal perspective, is that it has a very promising little craft beer scene. Just along from my hotel, for example, is a bar with three obscure Brewdog bevvies on tap. This is pleasing and should be encouraged. It made up for a disappointing kebab.
The name of the place presents something of a dilemma. It'd sound a bit pretentious to try and pronounce it like the locals do - vaguely like 'Heehon' but with varying amounts of phlegm in each 'h'. (In the local Asturian dialect it's spelled 'Xixon'). On the other hand, I'm reluctant to say it in flat English, ie rhyming with 'pigeon'. I think I'll compromise and call it 'Gee-hon'.
So, what's happening in Gee-hon? Not a lot, if truth be told. It's one of those places that I'm visiting only because it was there on the map as I happened to be passing. There are no particular tourist attractions of note. The one thing that sets Gijón apart from other Spanish cities, from my own personal perspective, is that it has a very promising little craft beer scene. Just along from my hotel, for example, is a bar with three obscure Brewdog bevvies on tap. This is pleasing and should be encouraged. It made up for a disappointing kebab.
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| Puerto Deportivo, Gijón. |
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| El Molinón The profoundly ugly home of Sporting Gijón football club. |
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| St Peter's Church, on the opposite (east) side of the promontory from the Puerto Deportivo |
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| Gijón. Can't remember where exactly. |
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| Ditto |
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| Looking north-east up the coast from El Rinconín |
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| Edd vs Food #58 Tortilla. This is how I begin pretty much every day here in Spain. We Brits use 'tortilla' in the Mexican sense, ie a thin wrap made from corn or flour. But in Spain it's an omelette, bulked out with potatoes. |
Saturday, 25 March 2017
North & central Spain
Another cheap rental car, and another few days of driving around rural Spain. I spent most of it in the Picos de Europa, a spectacular mountain range near the north coast. At this time of year the mountains are shrouded in mist, with snow in the lowlands as well as on the peaks. That doesn't make it any less pretty. It just means things are less crowded and the hotels are cheaper.
Three other places of interest. Firstly, Sad Hill Cemetery. This is where the climactic scene of 'The Good, The Bad And The Ugly' - with its famous Ennio Morricone soundtrack - was filmed in 1966. The music in question, titled 'Ecstasy of Gold', is used by Metallica to herald their arrival on stage whenever they play live. So this was a little rock pilgrimage for me.
Secondly, the Royal Site of San Lorenzo de El Escorial. A huge 16th-century palace, about 30 miles northwest of Madrid. The history of the Spanish monarchy, like that of all monarchies, is essentially a squalid tale of uninhibited greed, religious intolerance, disastrous inbreeding and loveless marriages of convenience; the interiors of these palaces are at times scarcely less gaudy and self-aggrandising than any shagpiled footballers' mansion in Alderley Edge or Darras Hall. But good architecture is good architecture, and El Escorial is a magnificent spectacle both from miles away and up close.
Finally, the Valley of the Fallen (Valle de los Caídos). This is Spain's foremost official monument to those killed in the Civil War (1936-38). It contains the world's largest free-standing Christian cross, three times as high as Nelson's Column, atop a huge basilica carved into the side of a mountain. The interior of the basilica, in which photography is not allowed, is dark and silent and cavernous; frankly it's like being in a big-budget film set for Star Wars or Indiana Jones or whatever. Less pleasingly, in its scale and Spartan starkness and over-ambitious neo-classicism, it proclaims its origins rather too loudly: it was built in the 1940s, under a Fascist government. It feels like the kind of thing Albert Speer would have put together if he'd had the chance. Clearly a lot of Spaniards feel the same way about the monument. It was pretty deserted when I was there.
In Spain nowadays there seem to be two main schools of opinion about the Civil War. One that says hey, let bygones be bygones and we can all move on; another that says no, let's not forget that the atrocities were mostly committed by one side, that the bad guys won, and that as a result the Spanish spent 36 years under Fascist rule. I'm inclined to side with the latter perspective. But then, we don't know what Spain would have looked like if the Moscow-backed Spanish Communists had gained power. Perhaps it's better to let such debates simmer without ever being completely resolved.
“I would rather have questions that can't be answered than answers that can't be questioned.” (attributed to Richard Feynman)
Three other places of interest. Firstly, Sad Hill Cemetery. This is where the climactic scene of 'The Good, The Bad And The Ugly' - with its famous Ennio Morricone soundtrack - was filmed in 1966. The music in question, titled 'Ecstasy of Gold', is used by Metallica to herald their arrival on stage whenever they play live. So this was a little rock pilgrimage for me.
Secondly, the Royal Site of San Lorenzo de El Escorial. A huge 16th-century palace, about 30 miles northwest of Madrid. The history of the Spanish monarchy, like that of all monarchies, is essentially a squalid tale of uninhibited greed, religious intolerance, disastrous inbreeding and loveless marriages of convenience; the interiors of these palaces are at times scarcely less gaudy and self-aggrandising than any shagpiled footballers' mansion in Alderley Edge or Darras Hall. But good architecture is good architecture, and El Escorial is a magnificent spectacle both from miles away and up close.
Finally, the Valley of the Fallen (Valle de los Caídos). This is Spain's foremost official monument to those killed in the Civil War (1936-38). It contains the world's largest free-standing Christian cross, three times as high as Nelson's Column, atop a huge basilica carved into the side of a mountain. The interior of the basilica, in which photography is not allowed, is dark and silent and cavernous; frankly it's like being in a big-budget film set for Star Wars or Indiana Jones or whatever. Less pleasingly, in its scale and Spartan starkness and over-ambitious neo-classicism, it proclaims its origins rather too loudly: it was built in the 1940s, under a Fascist government. It feels like the kind of thing Albert Speer would have put together if he'd had the chance. Clearly a lot of Spaniards feel the same way about the monument. It was pretty deserted when I was there.
In Spain nowadays there seem to be two main schools of opinion about the Civil War. One that says hey, let bygones be bygones and we can all move on; another that says no, let's not forget that the atrocities were mostly committed by one side, that the bad guys won, and that as a result the Spanish spent 36 years under Fascist rule. I'm inclined to side with the latter perspective. But then, we don't know what Spain would have looked like if the Moscow-backed Spanish Communists had gained power. Perhaps it's better to let such debates simmer without ever being completely resolved.
“I would rather have questions that can't be answered than answers that can't be questioned.” (attributed to Richard Feynman)
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| Sad Hill Cemetery \m/ |
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| El Escorial, eastern walls |
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| South face of El Escorial - the Garden of the Friars |
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| El Escorial, north entrance |
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| Valley of the Fallen - Santa Cruz Basilica |
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| Lake Riaño, in the Picos de Europa |
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| Lake Enol, up in the clouds |
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| Looking north-west from Bulnes |
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| Looking south-east to Bulnes and beyond |
Monday, 20 March 2017
Bilbao, Spain
For centuries, the great buildings and monuments of European civilisation were mostly consecrated to the glory of God and kings. In our own enlightened age of secularism and equality, we have abandoned such injustices, and now our great buildings are instead consecrated to the glory of architects. The Guggenheim museum in Bilbao, designed by Frank Gehry, is a case in point. It is officially 'iconic' and 'innovative' and therefore we are all obliged to admire it, even if we all probably created prettier things with Lego when we were kids.
Bilbao is the largest city in the Basque country, and Basque separatism is rife. Near my hotel is the local office of the national (meaning Spanish) Guardia Civil, rather in the manner of a British Army HQ tucked away in West Belfast; accordingly it's a very small and modest building, guarded around the clock by a soldier carrying an assault rifle. The Basque language, like its Catalan and Valencian equivalents, resembles a peculiar cocktail of Spanish, Albanian and Klingon. I haven't bothered trying to learn any of it.
However my studies in regular Spanish are going well, and I continue to enjoy watching 'Big Bang Theory' dubbed and subtitled in Spanish. Even if it's an episode I haven't seen before, and even without visual props, I can still understand the jokes. It makes me laugh and yet at the same time it gives me a smug feeling of shallow self-satisfaction. (Now I know how all you lefties feel when you watch 'topical comedy' panel shows on the BBC.) They have to be careful how they pronounce Penny's name, because in Spanish pene means something else, and it's nothing to do with pasta.
On a related note, there's a nice bar in central Bilbao called La Roca, where the men's room has a single urinal situated in a little alcove with full-wall mirrors either side. The mirrors are slightly angled, for that 'reflections repeating to infinity' effect that you sometimes see in elevators. I found it slightly disconcerting. It's not that I object to the sight of the masterwork of Nature's ingenuity and generosity that is my own generative member; it's just that I'm not used to seeing fifty of them at once. Nor is it easy to micturate when fifty faces are watching, even if they're all my own. See below for pictures. (Just kidding.)
Bilbao is the largest city in the Basque country, and Basque separatism is rife. Near my hotel is the local office of the national (meaning Spanish) Guardia Civil, rather in the manner of a British Army HQ tucked away in West Belfast; accordingly it's a very small and modest building, guarded around the clock by a soldier carrying an assault rifle. The Basque language, like its Catalan and Valencian equivalents, resembles a peculiar cocktail of Spanish, Albanian and Klingon. I haven't bothered trying to learn any of it.
However my studies in regular Spanish are going well, and I continue to enjoy watching 'Big Bang Theory' dubbed and subtitled in Spanish. Even if it's an episode I haven't seen before, and even without visual props, I can still understand the jokes. It makes me laugh and yet at the same time it gives me a smug feeling of shallow self-satisfaction. (Now I know how all you lefties feel when you watch 'topical comedy' panel shows on the BBC.) They have to be careful how they pronounce Penny's name, because in Spanish pene means something else, and it's nothing to do with pasta.
On a related note, there's a nice bar in central Bilbao called La Roca, where the men's room has a single urinal situated in a little alcove with full-wall mirrors either side. The mirrors are slightly angled, for that 'reflections repeating to infinity' effect that you sometimes see in elevators. I found it slightly disconcerting. It's not that I object to the sight of the masterwork of Nature's ingenuity and generosity that is my own generative member; it's just that I'm not used to seeing fifty of them at once. Nor is it easy to micturate when fifty faces are watching, even if they're all my own. See below for pictures. (Just kidding.)
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| Looking east. Guggenheim on the right. |
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| 'Flower Puppy' statue by Jeff Koons, outside the Guggenheim. |
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| Athletic Bilbao football club. In this city, even the football stadiums are arty-farty. |
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| Town hall |
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| Plaza Nueva |
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| Looking south-east from the top of the cable car. |
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| Looking south-west from the top of the cable car. |
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| Edd vs Food #57 Dürüm kebab with chips, from my local pizza shop. Apologies for repeating the Berlin Edd vs Food, but I do love a good kebab. Only in the UK are they derided as fodder for drunken peasants. Everywhere else, the US included, they're a delicacy. |
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