Andalucía Later
April 13-25, 2017
Easter is an especially festive time in southern Spain. For the week preceding the holiday, the entire Andalucía region is bustling with ornate religious processions that fill the streets day and night. We were lucky to be able to consult with our good friend Jesus, who comes from the town of Almeria on the southern coast of Spain, on his must-visit cities for a two-week trip through his homeland. He warned us that Semana Santa, or Holy Week, can be an intense time to visit the region, due to the throngs of tourists from not only aboard but from throughout other parts of Spain as well. Properly forewarned, we decided the lure of these unique cultural experiences outweighed the downsides of overcrowding.
We planned our trip to begin and end in Madrid, embarking almost immediately to Seville by train after arriving in Madrid by plane. Met by intruiging architecture and delicious-looking food at every turn, it was clear we would enjoy Madrid from the first moments we walked though the city. We stopped for Spanish-style empanadas and cold Estrella beers for lunch, excited to begin our adventure through the world of tapas. After lunch we had just enough time to stop at a craft beer shop and grab a few cans for the road before making our way to the train station for a high-speed jaunt down to Seville, covering over 500 km in just around two hours. Our Spanish friends are particularly proud of this train - there may be a lot of things wrong in the country, but for some reason they're not particuarly sure of, they have one of the fastest trains on the planet.
Seville is an epicenter of Semana Santa festivities, so it was particularly hard to secure an affordable Airbnb in the city, even months in advance. Rates for the Holy Week were significantly jacked up, but we eventually were accepted at an apartment located just a stone's throw from the main cathedral for a price we were willing to pay. More often than not we have luck with the places we stay on Airbnb, but this one turned out to be awful in just about every possible way. We were met at the door by three tiny yapping dogs, and found that the apartment was inhabited by a couple around our age and a set of elderly parents, with all of the "common areas" either filled with people, yippy dogs, or piles of laundry, relegating us entirely to our tiny room. This room was filled with stuffed animals and trinkets from the host's childhood, and stunk of stale cigarettes and old pet urine. There were two single beds crammed into the claustrophobic space, barely leaving room to walk around them or put our bags on the floor, and arranged in a way so that the beds couldn't be pushed together. The little bit of carpet you could see was stained black and covered in dark hair. If you left the room, say, to go to the bathroom, all three of the dogs started barking, alerting the entire apartment to your every movement. We tried not to be visibly bummed to our host, dropped off our stuff as quickly as possible, and hit the town.
One of the most iconic sights of Semana Santa are the people dressed in robes and pointed hats called capirotes that look just like those worn by the Ku Klux Klan. Though these outfits outdate those worn by the American bigots and have nothing to do with racial intolerance and everything to do with religious fanaticism, it never quite seemed normal to walk down the street and casually run across a group of people who looked like they were about to commit a hate crime. It is also common to see groups of women dressed in black skirts with black leggings and lace veils called mantillas, adding to the surreal atmosphere on the streets.
It became clear quite quickly that moving through the town in any direction was going to be a slow endeavor. The streets were completely packed no matter where you were trying to go. Even if there wasn't a procession on that particular street, there was always a mob of people between where you were and where you were headed. Occasionally we would stumble across a huge, intricately designed float called a paso being carried down the street, accompanied by horn players. These huge and ornate floats depict different scenes from the gospels, and some have been passed down by religious brotherhoods for centuries.
After multiple attempts trying and failing to get close enough to get a good look a paso, we stumbled on a small street where we were able to score a front-row spot for an oncoming stream of robed and hooded figures carrying large candles. Kirb noticed that one of the children in the procession was giving out candy, so he walked up and scored a piece. Local kids were building balls of wax from the candle drippings, and would walk up to the hooded figures asking them to dip their candle down to add to their multi-colored balls.
We wandered the streets for hours, taking in the floats and processions and moving very, very slowly from place to place. Whenever we picked a destination and tried to walk there, there was invariably another procession blocking our path that made us take a lengthy detour; the detours usually were blocked by another procession. Every restaurant we wanted to eat at had lines of people out into the streets, and when we did finally find a place that was recommended on the Internet the tapas were decisively mediocre. We headed back to the apartment exhausted.
Unfortunately, we didn't get a whole lot of sleep that night. The room was infested with mosquitos, which would wake us up buzzing in our ears. We diligently hunted and killed about a dozen of them before finally falling asleep, shutting the window to prevent more from entering but making the room uncomfortably hot in the process. The horns and processions were still blaring in the distance in the middle of the night. We woke completely covered in bug bites.
Typical breakfast in Seville is a bocadillo, consisting of nothing more than jamón and maybe a little olive oil on a fresh roll. We found some particularly good ones at a shop that sold nothing more in the morning than bocadillos and coffee. Luckily for us, that was all we wanted. We planned out our day at the restaurant using the data on our phones, as even though the apartment we were staying in had Wi-Fi, it didn't work in our bedroom, and obviously there wasn't cell service in there because why would such an awful room give us anything we wanted or needed. If there was cell reception we might have been able to call for help. The bocadillos were delicious, so we made a point of returning to the restaurant the following night for dinner where we were pretty underwhelmed by their version of the local specialty called solomillo al whisky, a pork tenderloin in whisky sauce.
The streets were easier to maneuver in the daytime, so we made our way to a monastery that was supposed to be beautiful only to find it closed for the Holy Week. Exploring the area, we found a new kind of procession going on, with the streets full of men dressed in Roman soldier garb. A nearby bar was filled with people drinking tiny beers called cañas and eating tapas snacks, so we decided to join in. Everyone was eating plates of snails, so we ordered some for ourselves with our cañas. Neither of us particularly liked the texture and couldn't make it through the entire serving, but it was fun to try something new and sort of gross.
Next we made our way across town to Parque de María Luisa to see the stunning Plaza de España, a massive building built in the 1920s for the Ibero-American Exposition World Fair adorned with canals, a huge fountain, and intricate tile work. After marveling here for a long while, we casually strolled through the rest of the lush, meticulously manicured park filled with orange trees and palms. We relaxed by a picturesque pond and watched the wild parrots fly around the trees.
After waiting a long time in a crowded restaurant to eat some upscale burgers and tapas, we took the advice of Jesus and made our way to a local flamenco show at a bar by the river. The show, which was just two gentlemen playing guitar and banging on a percussion box while singing, was clearly more for locals than tourists, which we appreciated. The small crowd danced with friends and sang along to the traditional songs, and everyone in attendance seemed to be smiling the whole time.
When we returned back to the apartment we found that our host had gone into our room while we were gone (she would also just walk in while we were inside, to get underpants from a dresser) and opened up the window we had closed to keep the bugs out. The room was once again full of mosquitos. We tried in vain to sleep but were again forced in the middle of the night to hunt and kill for our right to peaceful slumber.
By this point, we had had enough of Seville. The town was beautiful, and there was a ton we had yet to see, but the crowds were just too much. So, we hopped on a morning bus to the coastal city of Cádiz for a day on the water. Beautiful and not nearly as crowded as Seville, this was exactly the sort of calm and relaxing day we needed.
We had read great things about La Tapería de Columela, so we made that our first stop and got in line at the busy restaurant. Though it took a while to be seated, the tapas here were more than worth the wait. We ordered deep fried eggplant sticks with salmorejo and treacle sauce, avocado and fresh anchovies, cuttlefish ink rice with garlic aioli, pork cheek stew, and fried baby shrimp with an egg on top, all of which were excellent. The rest of the afternoon was spent shopping, walking by the water, and drinking wine looking at the water. It was sublime.
Back in Sevilla that evening, the crowds had diminished significantly, to the point where we could actually go inside a bar, order a drink, and enjoy it for the first time in three days. After some wandering we found an incredible Belgian-style beer bar called Cervecería Internacional with a massive selection. We happily planted ourselves on stools for the rest of the evening and sampled a variety of tasty brewsfrom all across Europe.
We were so excited to leave Seville, specifically our terrible Airbnb in Seville, that it felt like a whole new vacation was starting – a vacation from the first part of our vacation. Getting to Ronda, our next destination, hit a bit of a snag when everyone on our train was forced to disembark and board busses halfway through the trip, but it was a minor inconvenience that gave us ample time to write a thorough and scathing Airbnb review. Unfortunately, as if knowing a verbal apocalypse was upon them, the hosts stopped offering the apartment as soon as our stay was over, and our wrath was for naught.
If Sevilla had the worst Airbnb we'd ever stayed in, Ronda may have had the best. Though we also shared this place with a family, we had the entire 3rd story of a house to ourselves, with our own private deck offering a breathtaking 180-degree view of the Andalucían countryside. The room was cute and clean, the host was nice, and we both breathed a huge sigh of contented relief. Then we opened a bottle of wine and drank it on the deck.
Ronda is a small town, but Jesus had it at the top of his list of places to visit in Andalucía. The town itself is built on top of a plateau overlooking a gorge, with the two sides of the town connected by three beautiful bridges. Perched on top of a cliff and surrounded by canyons, Ronda is a stunning sight. Exploring the town, we came across a smaller procession of capirote-clad locals and a beautiful paso being carried by a legion of strong humans to a church on the edge of the city. On the other side of Ronda, there was a steep path that took us down to a clearing with panoramic views of the largest bridge, Puente Neuvo, with the sprawling countryside behind.
On our way to dinner we were treated to a vivid sunset that painted the valley below in pinks and purples. Every few minutes we were compelled to take more pictures to try and capture the beauty unfolding all around us, until we finally had to force ourselves to stop or we were going to be late for our dinner reservation on the other side of town. Restaurante Almocabar serves high-quality and forward-thinking versions of local dishes, and we were delighted by the weird but tasty foie gras French toast with fresh berries and the perfectly cooked confit leg of lamb.
After some breakfast bocadillos and coffees the next morning, we hopped on a bus to the nearby town of Setenil de las Bodegas. People have been living in this area for longer than anyone really knows, and the prehistoric custom of living inside of caves to beat the oppressive heat has been adapted over time into a somewhat-modern town that is literally built into the rocky hillsides. Huge swaths of bedrock protrude out of the edifices of the homes, bars, and restaurants everywhere you look. We hiked to the top of the hilly city for panoramic views of the all-white buildings, then walked back down around the outside of the town to explore the different cave dwellings.
Though unique and exceedingly cool, there wasn't enough to do in Setenil de las Bodegas to justify spending an entire day there. One cave shop was filled with barrels of local wines and liqueurs, and after sampling some of the wares we bought a 1-liter plastic bottle full of strong and sweet wine simply called "Cream." We started drinking it at the bus stop like bums waiting for our ride home, and were entranced by the only other person waiting there with us – clearly a wizard - who was carrying a small dog in a sling and speaking softly to a trained cockatiel that sat patiently on top of the dog. They got on the bus back to Ronda with us, and we couldn't help but laugh at the idea of a bird riding on the bus. Like bums, we continued to drink the plastic bottle on the bus ride home, and before we knew it all the delicious booze was gone.
Back in Ronda, we stopped at a small tapas place our host had suggested called Bar El Lechuguita, which had a huge variety of tapas all priced around €1 apiece. We ordered around 10 with some beers and were pleasantly surprised by how good everything was for the price, so we ordered all our favorites again. We spent the rest of the afternoon on a terrace drinking sangria and admiring the landscape while a man in a nearby park played soothing songs on his guitar.
Now firmly ensconced in tapas life, we headed to another well-regarded tapas bar called Entre Vinos for dinner and more wine. Here we slowly made our way down the list of wines from the region while snacking on tiny burgers with foie gras, grilled mushrooms, and plates of jamón iberico. Though it probably doesn't need to be stated, we will anyhow: Spanish wine is goddamn delicious.
The next morning we realized we hadn't actually seen one of Ronda's main sights, we had only walked past it. Not far from our Airbnb on the edge of town, there is an incredibly well-preserved Arab bathhouse from the end of the 13th century. We spent the morning exploring the ruins and walking in the surrounding gardens before heading to the station to catch a train to Granada.
In Granada, pretty much no matter where you go, you are immediately given a free tapa if you buy a drink. It's amazing. Order a caña that is less than half a pint and costs €1 to €2, and the bartender will hand you tasty snack. Buy another caña; get another snack. It's customary to only stick around one bar for a few drinks and tapas, then move on to another bar and repeat the process. Between bars, we stopped by some churches and looked at opulent God stuff.
For dinner we decided to try the tapas at a seafood restaurant called Cunini, which according to the Internet, gave you better and better tapas the longer you stayed and ordered drinks. We posted up at the bar and started ordering beers. The first dish was fava beans with bits of pork, which was good, and was followed by fish and potato croquettes and some potato chips. Ready for the good food to start ramping up, we ordered a third round and received... a potato. A plain baked potato, with nothing on it. Total bullshit. Now to continue on to possibly delicious free seafood, we were forced to choke down an entire dry potato neither of us wanted to eat. It was like a mean joke, but we did it, begrudgingly. We ordered a fourth round, and were finally given some fish. Deep-fried hake bits, the bad bits, full of bones and not particularly flavorful. That was enough. We should have quit after the potato. The food was free, and we got what we paid for that night.
Multiple people warned us to get reservations at La Alhambra with plenty of time before our trip, as it sells out quickly in advance. Considered one of the most intricate and beautiful buildings in the world, it is the must-see destination in Granada, and the most visited tourist destination in all of Spain. We had tickets open and ready to buy on our computer when we first planned the trip, but were unsure about the different ticket options and decided to research a little more before purchasing. Time passed, and when we tried to buy the tickets again, they were all sold out. The only chance of getting in was to show up early in the morning and wait in line and hope you score some of the few tickets available day-of.
So, we woke up at 5am, drank some coffee, and started walking up the huge hill that leads to the palace. By the time we got to the ticket area around 6am, there were already hundreds of people in two different lines, one to pay with cash and one with card. Mazz got in one line and Kirb got in the other, and waited. As the hours passed, hundreds more arrived and the lines grew and grew. The ticket windows opened at 8:30, and the lines started to slowly inch forward. After around a half an hour, it was announced that tickets to the Nasrid Palaces, the most beautiful and strictly regulated part of the complex, were sold out. We continued to wait, hoping just to get access to the rest of the grounds, but those tickets were dwindling. Kirb's line was moving fairly swiftly, but then the single credit card ticket machine broke, and the line stopped moving altogether with only 20 people in front of him. Mazz's cash line continued to move, and she made her way to the ticket counter. The person in front of her had bought the final tickets for the day. We woke up at 5am and waited in line for nearly 4 hours and got nothing.
The only silver lining was that Kirb got to crack a great joke to the people standing in front of him in line. After hours of waiting, when the machine broke and the line had stopped moving and everyone was becoming despondent, Kirb turned to his neighbors, whom he had not spoken to the entire time, and asked, "What's this line for?" The look of puzzlement and sheer confusion on their faces was worth something, at least.
Dejected but not broken, we set out to go see some less-opulent but still over-the-top God stuff that Spaniards are super good at. The Basilica de San Juan de Dios is about as over-the-top as you can get when it comes to flash and lavishness. All gold and red, it's almost too much to take in. The golden chamber above the pulpit area has human bones and skulls in glass boxes.
After such a feast for the eyeballs, it's a shame that something as beautiful as the Monasterio de San Jerónimo seemed like sort of a letdown. The monastery is more modest than the basilica but still a 360-degree architectural wonder, with open grounds and an orange tree grove you can wander around at your leisure.
Afterwards we made our way to the eastern part of town to check out an area where many people still live in caves in the hillside. Originally occupied by Roma, these caves are now largely inhabited by "feral hippies" who live off the grid. We stopped by a bar built into a cave with a spectacular terrace view that begged to be sat and drank on. Kirb went inside and ordered some sangrias, and the bartender poured him two beers. Kirb tried to explain that he didn't want beer, he wanted sangria, and the guy handed him both. It didn't seem like a thing to argue about, so he took the four drinks outside and got to work. Soon after the bartender appeared with a whole plate full of bread with tomato spread and delicious local cheese. We sat with our drinks and free snacks, looking at the Alhambra from a distance and not being too sad about having missed something nice.
After exploring the outskirts for a while, checking out the hillsides dotted with makeshift cave homes, we caught a bus back into town and started hitting some bars that Jesus had recommended. First on the list was El Labrador, with walls covered in eclectic knick-knacks and run by the same husband and wife team that had owned and operated the place for decades. Jesus had pointed out to us that free tapas are one thing, but a bar where they let you choose your free tapas is the best. El Labrador had a menu where you could pick from around 20 different snacks to accompany your drink, and the free chorizo we got with our "Labrador wine," a delicious house concoction of wines and liqueurs, was some of the tastiest food we ate on the whole trip. We watched in amazement as three girls sitting near us ordered their food and drinks, and one of them who paid for a Coca Cola got a free hamburger to go with it. This business model may seem questionable, but somehow it seems to work in Granada.
We made our way through Jesus' recommendations, and before long we were totally full from free food. At the last bar, La Sitarilla, we ordered some sweet local Spanish vermouth and were each given large plates of fried pork cutlets with gravy, fries, and bread. This tapa could easily be considered an entire meal, but in Granada, it was just another addition to the free food pile expanding in our bellies. We never actually paid for a lunch or dinner the entire time we were in Granada. It was boozy, and glorious, and we can't wait to go back.
Even though we couldn't get into La Alhambra, Granada made a huge and wonderful impression on us, possibly to the detriment of the next city we visited, Córdoba. Smaller and quainter than Granada, we had a harder time finding interesting things to do in Córdoba, and felt like we spent much of the first day aimlessly wandering without finding anything worthwhile to invest our time in. A local specialty in Córdoba is flamenquin, a flattened pork loin filled with jamón and cheese, rolled up, and then breaded and deep-fried. It's served with fries and a side of mayonnaise for dipping. Kirb enjoyed this heart attack on a plate far more than Mazz did.
With a less active nightlife to lure us into the bars, Córdoba seemed like the perfect place to finally take in a traditional flamenco show. Held in the open courtyard of a beautiful old building, we were treated to an evening of beautiful dancing and ferocious guitar chops that put most metal bands to shame.
We arrived early the next morning to wait in line at the Mezquita-Catedral de Córdoba, a particularly unique house of God-stuff, as it is both a mosque and a Catholic cathedral in a single building. The complex was used by the Islamic faith from 784–1236, until the city was conquered by King Ferdinand III and the building was claimed for some other God. Admission to the building was supposed to be free on the morning we attended, but we learned that was not true in this case because there was a "special event;" something to do with high school kids. All this meant for us was that there were hundreds of folding chairs in the way that we had to pay to walk around.
The combination of traditional Islamic and Catholic architecture in the same building creates strange and interesting dichotomies. Endless pillars and archways create the appearance of the room stretching to infinity. The intricate carvings and typical lavishness of the Catholic sections starkly contrasts the geometric design of the original Muslim sections. The perimeter of the building offers room after room of Christian oil paintings and statues, but each room is guarded by heavy steel bars, making it seem like everything is stuck in art jail.
The small neighborhood restaurants seemed to have limited menus, mostly favoring fried things, so we ordered more flamenquin and calamari, with trays of complementary olives coming out to accompany our beers. Once again full of greasy food, we made our way to a local market for the most important task of any trip to Spain: buying a jamón. There were several options in the market, so we tried samples and compared prices before settling on a jamón serrano. We spent significantly more on the first jamón we bought in Barcelona, a pata negra jamón iberico that was top of the line, but this time around we figured we should try a larger, cheaper option and see if we could really notice the difference. Though not quite as delicious as the first, we appreciated having more ham at a fraction of the price. The helpful guy at the bookstore next to the butcher shop served as a much-needed translator with the ham merchant, and let us borrow his tape measure so we could be sure the jamón would fit in our carry-on bag. His help was essential: the hoof needed to be sawed off for it to be the proper traveling size.
Ham safely secured and dropped off in our room, we spent the rest of the afternoon in the botanical gardens in the Alcázar of Córdoba. Historically used as the home of Kings and Queens while they visited the city, the castle grounds feature meticulously manicured gardens great for leisurely strolls. Kirb picked an orange from one of the trees to see how it tasted and was shocked by how sour it was. Worn out from sightseeing, we found a bench in the back corner of the garden and relaxed for a few hours with our books.
For dinner we did as the locals do and headed to Bodegas Mezquita, where we ordered fresh anchovies deep-fried with lemon, and slow-cooked oxtail. Covered in rich, delicious gravy with meat that fell off the bone, the oxtail was pure, savory enjoyment in every bite. We couldn't wait to eat it again.
The next morning we set out to take a bus to the train station, but the bus never showed up. We nervously waited for the next bus before deciding to hail a taxi, and tried to impress upon the driver that we were in a rush. Thankfully she drove like a demon, and got us to the station with just enough time to catch our high-speed train back to Madrid.
As part of Mazz's birthday present, Kirb got dinner reservations several months in advance to El Club Allard, an acclaimed Madrid restaurant with two Michelin stars. You never know exactly what you're getting into when you go to such a highly regarded eatery, other than the fact that it's going to cost a lot of money. Generally, Michelin stars are awarded for a combination of exceptional quality and exceptional creativity in the menu. Some restaurants try to make the best possible version of existing dishes. Others aim to create food no one has ever thought of before. The hope in eating at such a forward-thinking restaurant is that their ingenuity doesn't come at the expense of flavor.
The expanded 14-course menu we chose at El Club Allard clearly aimed at singular dishes with inspired presentations. The red king prawn bombon was served in a glass dish filled with dry ice that created plumes of white smoke. Some dishes, like the smoked eel with rocoto and white coconut, and the quail egg and truffle cupcake, tasted luxurious and delighted the senses. Other dishes were more challenging, like the white asparagus with a shot glass of liquid butter fish, or the "Sea Rice" which was made of different riced sea creatures to make an ocean-pungent risotto. The originality of the food and its presentation were undeniable, but the dishes trended harder towards being unique than tasting amazing, leaving the experience to feel more like a piece of art than a sublimely satisfying meal.
The streets of Madrid feel alive in a way that other cities do not. The city is vibrant and expressive, and it's easy to wander the neighborhoods and simply soak it all in. We spent hours in the massive Sunday street market El Rastro, walking from booth to booth and finding all sorts of treasures. In the afternoon we met up with our friend Ian, who was living in Madrid after moving there from Seattle with his wife Nicole the year before. He gave us a tour of the hip Chueca and Malasaña neighborhoods, where the streets were packed with people drinking daytime beers on patios and lounging in the sun. This was apparently the day that local street artists were commissioned to create pieces throughout the neighborhood, so we bought some cold beers in a market and walked through the streets admiring the colorful murals as they began to take life. For dinner we ate more decadent slow-cooked oxtail.
There's no shortage of fantastic cultural spots to hit up in Madrid, but Kirb was lured in specifically to an exhibit of one of his favorite artists, M.C. Escher. Held in the gorgeous Gaviria Palace, the exhibit featured room after room of original prints, following the artist's path from traditional landscape woodcuts to the mastery of geometric surrealism. A little extra sting came from learning that Escher's mathematical approach to his mind-bending imagery was profoundly influenced by his visit to La Alhambra in Granada. The exhibit did not allow photos of the artwork, otherwise this whole section of the blog would be nothing but photos of Escher prints.
Our final evening was spent on Cerro del Tio Pio, a destination recommended to us by another Spanish friend, David. This park sits at the highest point in Madrid and offers amazing panoramic views of the city. We brought a bottle of wine and drank it on the grass as the sun set. It's easy to fall in love with the lazy, sunny, wine-and-snack filled life of southern Spain. Every time we visit, we start thinking about where else in the country we need to go, and when we can come back again.