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.


Puerto Deportivo, Gijón.

El Molinón
The profoundly ugly home of Sporting Gijón football club.

St Peter's Church, on the opposite (east) side of the promontory from the Puerto Deportivo

Gijón. Can't remember where exactly.

Ditto

Looking north-east up the coast from El Rinconín

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)


Sad Hill Cemetery
\m/

El Escorial, eastern walls

South face of El Escorial - the Garden of the Friars

El Escorial, north entrance

Valley of the Fallen - Santa Cruz Basilica

Lake Riaño, in the Picos de Europa

Lake Enol, up in the clouds

Looking north-west from Bulnes

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.)

Looking east. Guggenheim on the right.

'Flower Puppy' statue by Jeff Koons, outside the Guggenheim.

Athletic Bilbao football club.
In this city, even the football stadiums are arty-farty.

Town hall

Plaza Nueva

Looking south-east from the top of the cable car.

Looking south-west from the top of the cable car.

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.

Wednesday, 15 March 2017

Pamplona, Spain

Effectively there are two Pamplonas. Firstly, there is the nice quiet sleepy Spanish town, wreathed in sunshine but also suffused with cool air (it's 1500ft above sea level), with spacious plazas and lush greenery throughout, and mountains all around. Secondly, during one week each July, there is the world-famous home of the San Fermin bull-running festival, when dingy hotel rooms change hands for hundreds of euros, and the streets throng with maddened bulls chasing nutjob Spaniards in white outfits with red scarves...

I'm overwhelmingly glad to be visiting the former and not the latter. Not just because doing so is about fifty times cheaper, but because frankly I think the whole bull-running thing is just colossally stupid, even while I concede that the festival as a whole must be quite a spectacle. And the vaunted bravery of the participants is somewhat overstated. Only fifteen people have been killed since official records began in 1910. That's about the same as the number of fatalities in Yosemite National Park every single year.

The festival ends, as you might expect, with a big bullfight. Notwithstanding my disdain for the whole thing, I suppose I'd be interested to attend a corrida just for the sake of trying to understand its appeal. Sadly the bullfighting season doesn't start until summer and I'll probably be back in a job by then. It's an experience that will just have to wait.

A different experience came my way in a very sudden and unexpected fashion, at 7.43am on Friday March 10th. Specifically, a magnitude 4.3 earthquake, with its epicentre just a few miles away. It woke me up abruptly, in my room on the fourth floor of a rickety old hotel - not the best place to be during an earthquake - and for a moment it felt like the whole hotel was about to fall down. Thankfully it didn't. There was a smaller and shorter aftershock the same day at 4.21pm, just as I was taking my first sip of a beer in a bar downtown. All very exciting.

It's really quite bizarre how few tourists I've encountered in Pamplona. (Maybe the whole world assumes that Pamplona is good only for bull-running? Maybe everyone else already knew about the earthquakes?) I almost felt a bit self-conscious about walking around with a camera. I giggled inwardly at the locals for wearing winter boots and coats when it's 25 degrees C outside, but the flipside is that the locals were probably giggling inwardly at the weirdo ginger foreigner in shorts and sandals. As is so often the case.


Plaza del Castillo

Town Hall

By the cathedral walls.
Note the absence of people. I like it.

Palacio de Navarra

The bullfighting arena

When Ernest Hemingway was covering the bull-running in Pamplona in the 1930s...
...this is where he used to come for a kebab.
Presumably.

San Fermin chapel
Edd vs Food #56
Bar Casa Jesus Mari, Calle San Agustin 21, Pamplona.
Pasta salad...containing just about enough mayo to be getting on with.

Unfortunately the Spanish seem to be very keen on sweetcorn.

Friday, 10 March 2017

Berlin, Germany

A little temporary change of scenery for a (belated) joint 40th birthday celebration. I'm here in Berlin with four very good friends for five days of non-stop drinking. German beer is a lot better than Spanish beer, even if it's not as good as Belgian beer, or indeed - sticking my neck out a bit here - contemporary American craft beer.

German food is also pretty good, but it doesn't really compare with Spanish food. When did you last go out for a German meal? Exactly. Having said that, the kebabs here are absolutely first-class. See photo below.

That's all I've got to say in public about my time here. Was passiert in Berlin, bleibt in Berlin.

Edd vs Food #55
Dürü
m Doner Kebab, with feta cheese.
From Prime Kebap, Freidrichstraße 100, Berlin

Sunday, 5 March 2017

Barcelona, Spain

In the whole of my first month in Spain, I have not so much as looked at a McDonalds or a Starbucks or a Subway or anything else of the kind. I've even walked straight past four separate Taco Bells. And I'm feeling smugly proud of myself as a result. Having said that, it's hardly a temptation where Starbucks is concerned. It amazes me how they get away with charging three euros or more for generic coffee, in a country where you can get something twice as good for half the price pretty much anywhere you look. A quick peek inside any Starbucks reveals why: they're always full of shy tourists who just want to stick to what they know. Nothing wrong with that, of course. But if you just want to stick to what you know, then why bother leaving home at all? Just for the selfies?

I booked my tickets in and out of Barcelona some time ago. Only after I was committed to these specific dates did I realise that I'd be here during the annual Carnival, as well as the World Mobile Congress (it's a thing). The penny dropped when I searched online for sensibly-priced hotel rooms and what did I find? Absolutely diddly-squat. By good fortune I managed to secure what I think was the last available hostel bunk in town.

When I arrived, the Carnival was already in full swing and indeed my hostel was full to the brim of nutty youngsters, all on a mission to drink their body weight in alcohol and then vomit themselves inside out. Unpacking my stuff amid the tumult, I felt like Lady Macbeth: "Methought I heard a voice cry, 'Sleep no more!'" And indeed my sleeping here has been somewhat punctuated, to say the least, although nobody has actually vomited over me just yet. There's an English lad on reception, a weedy little posh white boy of about twenty, who uses Australian-style rising intonation at the end of every single sentence and addresses me as 'bro'.

Barcelona is, I regret to say, my least favourite of all the places I've visited so far on this trip. It's just too intensely tourist-oriented for my liking. Strolling along the Ramblas, even in February, every single person around me was either a tourist or someone actively trying to sell stuff to tourists. It didn't feel like travelling. It didn't even feel like being on holiday. It just felt like being stuck in an airport. And I can't say I'm a fan of Gaudi's Sagrada Familia cathedral. It's undoubtedly spectacular and unique; I just don't think it's all that pleasing to the eye. The way the sunlight plays around the interior is spectacular, but the achievement there is technical rather than artistic. Gaudi's other works around the city (see pictures) struck me in the same way. They're interesting, but the novelty soon fades.

Some might say I'm being an iconoclastic contrarian. Most people would say I'm just being a grumpy old git.

The one concrete triumph of my time here was a trip to the Nou Camp - not for a stadium tour, but for a proper La Liga match. Barcelona 6 (six) Sporting Gijón 1. Lionel Messi, who may yet go down in history as the greatest ever to play the game, scored the opening goal. It was worth coming to Barcelona just to see the match, and I didn't need selfies to commemorate it. See pictures. I promise not to mention football again for at least the next month or so.

Half-time at the Nou Camp.
My seat was level with the halfway line in the very top tier.
I didn't have my glasses with me...it's a good job footballers have distinctive hairstyles.

Sunset, pre-match

The Sagrada Familia, seen from the far side of a pond.

Inside the Sagrada Familia

Second dose of Gaudi:
Casa Milà, Carrer de Provença

Third dose of Gaudi:
Casa Batlló, Passeig de Gràcia

Edd vs Food #54
Cafe Menssana, Carrer de Sardenya, Barcelona
Chicken wrap with guacamole, lettuce, tomato and feta cheese.