Pete & Jan in Andalucia, Part Three
Aug. 24th, 2008 02:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
peterbirksMonday:
“Shall I take the camera?” I asked, as we prepared for a trip into town to do some shopping.
“For goodness sake”, said Jan, “we’re only going shopping. What can there be to see?”
So I fear that I am unable to bring you picures af a veritable herd of beautiful cattle, doing what cattle do, being herded – on the main road. It’s not hard passing through a herd coming towards you, unless there happens to be a particularly stupid and/or curious cow who insists on staring at you through the window, or an aggressive bull who mistakenly but worryingly considers a Seat Ibiza to be a potential rival. Luckily, we suffered neither of these potential pitfalls.
However, not 500 yards further along the road to Jimena, well, heavens me to Wednesday and call me a turtle, we came across another herd, and this time we were following them. “There’s no way of getting past them”, Jan observed. For, being from near Manchester, she is wise in the country ways. What she had not reckoned on was the ingenuity of the Spanish road builders. The dog that was whatever the cattle equivalent of a sheepdog is, did a bit of running around and barking, and off the cattle went up a well-worn path to the side of the road. This, it transpired, was the equivalent of a cow overtaking lane. It went up quite sharply and widely, parallel to the road, and then narrowed and descended mildly so that 100 yards later the cows rejoined the road in single file, leaving enough time for a car waiting behind to pass. Ingenious.
Reminder to self. Take camera everywhere. And take more pictures of irrelevancies.
The “fruit and vegetable shop” mentioned by Jan as we were driving through on Friday turned out to sell electrical goods, thus proving Jan’s Spanish to be rather rustier than she had thought (another possibility, of couse, was that it had changed hands and purpose over the weekend, but I’m minded to discount this possible line and, thankfully, Jan didn’t think to propound it when we arrived in search of a courgette and were instead offered a kettle). But we managed a loaf and a half in the baker’s and a chicken in the butcher’s, plus the requisite stuff that you buy from those weird supermarkets which you get on the continent but which no longer exist in the UK.
Still hunting for fresh milk. I have come to the conclusion that all of the cows in the Cadiz region expectorate only UHT milk.
And the mobile phone can get the BBC on GPRS. This villa might not have a phone, and it might not have TV, but the proximity of a mobile phone mast guarantees that you are never out of touch. Apparently the Russians have invaded Georgia, England are going to beat South Africa, and at least one heroic Briton has won a medal in the swimming. The local cafeteria was showing women’s water polo at lunchtime – a sport that I found surprisingly easy to resist.
TUESDAY:
Although where we are staying is very pretty, it has one thing in common with East Dulwich – that being the motto, “if you want to get anywhere, don’t start from here”.
On this particular day, we were were going to Cadiz. This entailed driving north into a national reserve, gaining some spectacular views, and negotiating roads that could not in any manner be described as friendly. After reaching Alcala, things improved, and by the time we got to Medina Sidonia, a mere two hours after departing, the roads were positively motorway-like.
Medina Sidonia has one large very pretty square, mainly occupied by cafes and sweet shops. We drank drinks. We bought sweets.
__________
A Litte girl fetching water from the main plaza and Medina.
__________________
A view of the square from the mayoral building.
________________
We found Cadiz without much problem, and the lower temperature made life consderably more comfortable. The Spanish love their underground car parks, presumably because this is a good way to park your car without the sun turning the inside of the car into an inferno. This particular underground parking lot started just after the cathedral, and seemed to end just before the end of Cadiz.
Cadiz is a very old town that seems to have lost its way. Between the old town and the sea, some ghastly 1960s flats have been thrown up. The beach was crowded, mainly with locals. And it was the Atlantic! Hooray!
______________
Cadiz
_______
The small Cadiz beach within walking distance of the old town.
__________
After a stroll along the beach and into some gardens, we walked into the old town. You get the feeling that it is just waiting for money to discover it. Narrow alleyways, tall buildings, courtyards, all very North-Africa influenced. But I suspect that if you showed the flat to a modern Cadizian (most of whom seem to prefer the more modern district just to the south, or the San Fernando suburb south from the peninsula) he would most likely say “where is the lift?”. Cadiz was our first sight of a McDonald’s, a Burger King, a Lidl, a hypermarket, and a Ben & Jerry’s. Where, I’m not ashamed to say, I had an iced lemon “sorbete splash”.
__________
A typical Cadiz alley.
____________
I’m sure that it’s only a matter of time before hipsters discover the place, (Cadiz, not Ben & Jerry;’s) but, maybe not. The Spanish seem to be surrounded by heritage and history without showing much interest in it at all.
Our lunch on the beach terrace was, to be frank, a bit disappointing. We ordered the wrong stuff. Not that the mussels or battered tuna chunklets were unpleasant. But we could have done much better. So it goes.
_________
The view from the beach restaurant table.
_____________
We decided to drive back via the coast rather than negotiate the hills and mountain roads of the “direct” route. This had some positive and negative results.
On the plus side, we passed near Cape Trafalgar. The Battle of Trafalgar was not, as seems to be imagined by a large number of youngsters today, fought on a square of ground in London just south of the National Gallery. It was fought off a headland between Cadiz and Tarifa.
I also got to see Gibraltar, which looks rather impressive from the road between Algeciras and Estepona.
On the negative side, the time-saving proved to be illusory. We failed to calculate that driving along this straight but not-very-wide road from Vejer to Tarifa would take us past the windsurfing capital of Europe. Tarifa is apparently the windiest city in Spain and, quite possibly, Western Europe. Winds from the Atlantic and the Med battle it out, every day. In August, the windsurfers flock to the beach running north-west from Tarifa towards Vejer. And, at 7pm, many of them are driving back to Aleciras, or Tarifa. Net result, gridlock. Yes, our first serious Spanish traffic jam, which meant that we failed to get back any quicker than if we had driven via the hills. but, well, that would have meant us missing the view of Gibraltar.
WEDNESDAY
“I can’t see how you can sunbathe in this heat”, said I to Jan, taking her a poolside drink and preparing for a necessary dip to cool down. “This is just intolerable.”
“It’s just the same as yesterday”, said Jan. “You should be getting used to it by now”.
I shrugged an English shrug, deurred in my head, had my swim, retreated upstairs to the patio, still felt hot, had a nap. Rinse and repeat three times in the day.
At 5.30pm we drove into town to buy some provisions. The car’s electrics informed us that it was 41 degrees outside, about 105 fahrenheit. Or, in other words, about 14 degrees fahrenheit hotter than the day before. We now know the temperatre required to render me incapable of functioning. We also know that Jan has no sense whatsoever of how hot it really is. “Hot”=”good” for Jan, and that is that.
For dinner we had meatballs, pasta and salad. The temperature remained solidly in the 90s. There was no wind.
Incredibly, I didn’t have a lot of trouble sleeping. The old “wet towel” trick works for me. I only woke up once.
______________________
“Shall I take the camera?” I asked, as we prepared for a trip into town to do some shopping.
“For goodness sake”, said Jan, “we’re only going shopping. What can there be to see?”
So I fear that I am unable to bring you picures af a veritable herd of beautiful cattle, doing what cattle do, being herded – on the main road. It’s not hard passing through a herd coming towards you, unless there happens to be a particularly stupid and/or curious cow who insists on staring at you through the window, or an aggressive bull who mistakenly but worryingly considers a Seat Ibiza to be a potential rival. Luckily, we suffered neither of these potential pitfalls.
However, not 500 yards further along the road to Jimena, well, heavens me to Wednesday and call me a turtle, we came across another herd, and this time we were following them. “There’s no way of getting past them”, Jan observed. For, being from near Manchester, she is wise in the country ways. What she had not reckoned on was the ingenuity of the Spanish road builders. The dog that was whatever the cattle equivalent of a sheepdog is, did a bit of running around and barking, and off the cattle went up a well-worn path to the side of the road. This, it transpired, was the equivalent of a cow overtaking lane. It went up quite sharply and widely, parallel to the road, and then narrowed and descended mildly so that 100 yards later the cows rejoined the road in single file, leaving enough time for a car waiting behind to pass. Ingenious.
Reminder to self. Take camera everywhere. And take more pictures of irrelevancies.
The “fruit and vegetable shop” mentioned by Jan as we were driving through on Friday turned out to sell electrical goods, thus proving Jan’s Spanish to be rather rustier than she had thought (another possibility, of couse, was that it had changed hands and purpose over the weekend, but I’m minded to discount this possible line and, thankfully, Jan didn’t think to propound it when we arrived in search of a courgette and were instead offered a kettle). But we managed a loaf and a half in the baker’s and a chicken in the butcher’s, plus the requisite stuff that you buy from those weird supermarkets which you get on the continent but which no longer exist in the UK.
Still hunting for fresh milk. I have come to the conclusion that all of the cows in the Cadiz region expectorate only UHT milk.
And the mobile phone can get the BBC on GPRS. This villa might not have a phone, and it might not have TV, but the proximity of a mobile phone mast guarantees that you are never out of touch. Apparently the Russians have invaded Georgia, England are going to beat South Africa, and at least one heroic Briton has won a medal in the swimming. The local cafeteria was showing women’s water polo at lunchtime – a sport that I found surprisingly easy to resist.
TUESDAY:
Although where we are staying is very pretty, it has one thing in common with East Dulwich – that being the motto, “if you want to get anywhere, don’t start from here”.
On this particular day, we were were going to Cadiz. This entailed driving north into a national reserve, gaining some spectacular views, and negotiating roads that could not in any manner be described as friendly. After reaching Alcala, things improved, and by the time we got to Medina Sidonia, a mere two hours after departing, the roads were positively motorway-like.
Medina Sidonia has one large very pretty square, mainly occupied by cafes and sweet shops. We drank drinks. We bought sweets.
__________
A Litte girl fetching water from the main plaza and Medina.
__________________
A view of the square from the mayoral building.
________________
We found Cadiz without much problem, and the lower temperature made life consderably more comfortable. The Spanish love their underground car parks, presumably because this is a good way to park your car without the sun turning the inside of the car into an inferno. This particular underground parking lot started just after the cathedral, and seemed to end just before the end of Cadiz.
Cadiz is a very old town that seems to have lost its way. Between the old town and the sea, some ghastly 1960s flats have been thrown up. The beach was crowded, mainly with locals. And it was the Atlantic! Hooray!
______________
Cadiz
_______
The small Cadiz beach within walking distance of the old town.
__________
After a stroll along the beach and into some gardens, we walked into the old town. You get the feeling that it is just waiting for money to discover it. Narrow alleyways, tall buildings, courtyards, all very North-Africa influenced. But I suspect that if you showed the flat to a modern Cadizian (most of whom seem to prefer the more modern district just to the south, or the San Fernando suburb south from the peninsula) he would most likely say “where is the lift?”. Cadiz was our first sight of a McDonald’s, a Burger King, a Lidl, a hypermarket, and a Ben & Jerry’s. Where, I’m not ashamed to say, I had an iced lemon “sorbete splash”.
__________
A typical Cadiz alley.
____________
I’m sure that it’s only a matter of time before hipsters discover the place, (Cadiz, not Ben & Jerry;’s) but, maybe not. The Spanish seem to be surrounded by heritage and history without showing much interest in it at all.
Our lunch on the beach terrace was, to be frank, a bit disappointing. We ordered the wrong stuff. Not that the mussels or battered tuna chunklets were unpleasant. But we could have done much better. So it goes.
_________
The view from the beach restaurant table.
_____________
We decided to drive back via the coast rather than negotiate the hills and mountain roads of the “direct” route. This had some positive and negative results.
On the plus side, we passed near Cape Trafalgar. The Battle of Trafalgar was not, as seems to be imagined by a large number of youngsters today, fought on a square of ground in London just south of the National Gallery. It was fought off a headland between Cadiz and Tarifa.
I also got to see Gibraltar, which looks rather impressive from the road between Algeciras and Estepona.
On the negative side, the time-saving proved to be illusory. We failed to calculate that driving along this straight but not-very-wide road from Vejer to Tarifa would take us past the windsurfing capital of Europe. Tarifa is apparently the windiest city in Spain and, quite possibly, Western Europe. Winds from the Atlantic and the Med battle it out, every day. In August, the windsurfers flock to the beach running north-west from Tarifa towards Vejer. And, at 7pm, many of them are driving back to Aleciras, or Tarifa. Net result, gridlock. Yes, our first serious Spanish traffic jam, which meant that we failed to get back any quicker than if we had driven via the hills. but, well, that would have meant us missing the view of Gibraltar.
WEDNESDAY
“I can’t see how you can sunbathe in this heat”, said I to Jan, taking her a poolside drink and preparing for a necessary dip to cool down. “This is just intolerable.”
“It’s just the same as yesterday”, said Jan. “You should be getting used to it by now”.
I shrugged an English shrug, deurred in my head, had my swim, retreated upstairs to the patio, still felt hot, had a nap. Rinse and repeat three times in the day.
At 5.30pm we drove into town to buy some provisions. The car’s electrics informed us that it was 41 degrees outside, about 105 fahrenheit. Or, in other words, about 14 degrees fahrenheit hotter than the day before. We now know the temperatre required to render me incapable of functioning. We also know that Jan has no sense whatsoever of how hot it really is. “Hot”=”good” for Jan, and that is that.
For dinner we had meatballs, pasta and salad. The temperature remained solidly in the 90s. There was no wind.
Incredibly, I didn’t have a lot of trouble sleeping. The old “wet towel” trick works for me. I only woke up once.
______________________
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We're all going on a summer holiday
Date: 2008-08-27 05:02 pm (UTC)Up here in the Barcelona area, the temperature never goes above the low 30s, which is a bit too hot for comfort, but not unbearable. More commonly, it's just slightly below 30 in summer.
You could visit Spain and get almost any temperature you want by careful selection of place and time of year.
-- Jonathan