Interesting tidbit from Diario 16: Galicia had the largest number of overseas voters: 83755. (As I noted in 2009, the hard mountainous terrain caused many Galicians to emigrate, such that the generic term for a Spaniard in Argentina is gallego.) It was the morning rush hour but soon we were on an artery heading south. We passed a puzzling huge billboard of a silhouette of a black bull with no text. (One features prominently in Jamón, Jamón, which was released soon after my trip. I later found out that they are Osborne Bulls, a trademark of a sherry firm.)
We descended the meseta to the plains. Madrid's elevation is over 600m which modifies its climate. Many people are surprised that Spain has the second highest average elevation in Europe at 650m, after Switzerland. It's not mostly plains as one might imagine. La Mancha is wine country, not flat like the Australian outback; it seemed that we were always within sight of distant hills.
At Valdepeñas, 2.5 hours into the trip, there were religious trinkets in the shop of the highway roadhouse. At the border with Andalucia, we ascended into the mountains, the roadside vegetation became tall forests, and the terrain was rocky. We tailed slow trucks across minor sierras. Sporadically the highway threaded through tunnels. In places the two halves of the road bifurcated. At Bailén, the highway became permanently divided. Approaching Granada villas blancas came into view.
My first impression of Granada was favourable. Clean streets, whitewashed walls, decorative tiles everywhere, Moorish origins in street names. Unfortunately the rain had followed me to Granada. As I was leaving the station a woman helped me with my umbrella. Nice people. I had a lunch with large portions which was cheap despite not including a drink or the IVA (Value Added Tax) in the price. The customer at the table next to mine had a large chop. A woman at a nearby table who could be a young Helen Mirren looked pensive. Desert was fruit, better than ice cream. The muzak could be described as rap meets flamenco. I liked the eatery so much that I came back for lunch the next day.
After lunch I checked in at the Hostal Gomérez. It was a great deal, clean room and floor, bath included, as good as Barcelona. It was still raining when I went walking around the neighbourhood. At the tourist office I obtained photocopied maps and information. The centre looked very touristy, shops with postcards, trinkets, the lot. There were panhandlers in the street. A poster announced a Pat Metheny concert, alas the next Monday when I would be gone. I gave up walking around in the rain and went back to nap.
When I emerged for dinner the streets were still shiny with water. The prospective dining spots were either too formal or the bar type. A pizzeria was full; they said 20 minute wait. Finally I settled for a bar and had a bocadillo ternera (veal) which was juicy and tender. Spanish cooking even when sparsely garnished can be tasty and I think that is due to fresh and natural ingredients. I washed the bocadillo down with a beer. On the way back I bought a cone of turrón (nougat) ice cream. It reminded me of marzipan.
Back at the hostal I paid for 3 nights and got my passport back. The owner was an amicable chap. He was wistful when he heard that I came from Malaysia. He imagined it must be like the Caribbean. The Spanish were starting to expand their horizons. The landlady at Cuenca had also been wistful when I wished that they would be able to see the world some day. Veremos, we will see, she said.
We descended the meseta to the plains. Madrid's elevation is over 600m which modifies its climate. Many people are surprised that Spain has the second highest average elevation in Europe at 650m, after Switzerland. It's not mostly plains as one might imagine. La Mancha is wine country, not flat like the Australian outback; it seemed that we were always within sight of distant hills.
At Valdepeñas, 2.5 hours into the trip, there were religious trinkets in the shop of the highway roadhouse. At the border with Andalucia, we ascended into the mountains, the roadside vegetation became tall forests, and the terrain was rocky. We tailed slow trucks across minor sierras. Sporadically the highway threaded through tunnels. In places the two halves of the road bifurcated. At Bailén, the highway became permanently divided. Approaching Granada villas blancas came into view.
When I emerged for dinner the streets were still shiny with water. The prospective dining spots were either too formal or the bar type. A pizzeria was full; they said 20 minute wait. Finally I settled for a bar and had a bocadillo ternera (veal) which was juicy and tender. Spanish cooking even when sparsely garnished can be tasty and I think that is due to fresh and natural ingredients. I washed the bocadillo down with a beer. On the way back I bought a cone of turrón (nougat) ice cream. It reminded me of marzipan.
Back at the hostal I paid for 3 nights and got my passport back. The owner was an amicable chap. He was wistful when he heard that I came from Malaysia. He imagined it must be like the Caribbean. The Spanish were starting to expand their horizons. The landlady at Cuenca had also been wistful when I wished that they would be able to see the world some day. Veremos, we will see, she said.
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