Lest We Forget

The night air was surprisingly mild as we left our beds at 2.30am on Anzac Day to drive the 90 kilometers to Villers-Bretonneux.

Traffic restrictions were in place to prepare for the numbers expected to attend the dawn service, which meant we parked our cars in the village and walked the two kilometers out of town to the Australian National Memorial and War Cemetary which sits on the high point of the landscape.  As we walked through village there were a few residents standing on their front steps in their pyjamas offering a welcoming 'bonjour' as we passed by.

It was eerie walking along the unlit country road, the distant lights of the Australian Memorial our guiding beacon and I don't think any of our group will ever forget the feeling as we arrived at that sacred place.   When we arrive we are flanked on both sides by rows of white head stones detailing the epitaphs of men who didn't come home.  Our arrival felt like a pilgrimage and that we were being 'welcomed' by these rows of young diggers who forever lie in this now green and beautiful corner of northern France.  On this Easter Monday morning we were also welcomed by Australian service men and women distributing the commemorative order of service and small pins.  So strange to hear so many Australian voices.

With the moon low in the south-east sky, at 5.30am the flood lights dimmed and the ceremony began with the bugler's call to stand to arms - to remember and to honour.

The ceremony was elegantly MC'd by our Canberra friend Chris Appleton and moving commemorative address made by Foreign Minister,  Kevin Rudd (who had stopped to say hello to us as he arrived),  As the sky lightened behind the great monument, the temperature dipped and all that could be heard were birds trilling in the distance.  It was impossible not to think of what these young lives would have been like if they had lived. 

Then the first rays of sun shone over the monument.

There were hymns and prayers and the ceremony concluded with official wreath laying and of course, the Ode of Remembrance, Last Post and a minute's silence. 

My thoughts then were with my grandfather, Roland George, and his three brothers.  Four sons, men of the Australian Imperial Forces, fighting a war in this corner of France 93 years ago.  Miraculously four sons returned alive.

On 29 July 1915,  Roland George travelled to Toowoomba, Queensland and enlisted in the 5th Light Horse Regiment of the AIF.  On 4 October 1915 His Majesty's Australian Transport ship Mashobra took Roly and several hundred young recruits from a wharf in Sydney to Cairo, Egypt.   During the first half of 1916 he was in Maadi with the 13th Field Artillery Brigade - 49th Battalion.

Many Australian troops returned from the disastrous Gallipoli campaign to Egypt where another three infantry divisions were raised, the 3rd, 4th and 5th. And from March 1916 the infantry units were transferred from Egypt to Europe for service on the Western Front.  Itwas with the 5th Division, 14th Field Artillery Brigade, 55th Battalion that Roly embarked for Marsailles, France and then north to the Western Front.

This is what the Australian War Memorial says about the 55th Battalion:
The 55th Battalion was raised in Egypt in 1916 as part of the 'doubling' of the AIF.  Half of its recruits were Gallipoli veterans and the other half, fresh reinforcements from Australia.  Reflecting the composition of the 3rd, the 55th was predominantly composed of men from New South Wales.  The battalion became part of the 14th Brigade of the 5th Australian Division.

Arriving in France on 30 June 1916, the battalion entered the frontline trenches for the first time on 12 July and fought its first major battle at Fromelles a week later.  The battle was a disaster, resulting in heavy casualties across the division.  Although in reserve, the 55th was quickly committed to the attack and eventually played a critical role, forming the rearguard for the 14th Brigade's withdrawal.  Despite its grievous losses the 5th Division continued to man the front in the Fromelles sector for a further two months.

After a freezing winter manning trenches in the Somme Valley, in early 1917 the 55th Battalion participated in the advance that followed the German retreat to the Hindenburg Line.  It was spared the assault but did, however, defend gains made during the second battle of Bullecourt.  Later in the year, the AIF's focus of operations switched to the Ypres sector in Belgium.  The 55th's major battle here was at Polygon Wood on 26 September.

With the collapse of Russia in October 1917, a major German offensive on the Western Front was expected in early 1918.  This came in late March and the 5th Division moved to defend the sector around Corbie.  The 14th Brigade took up positions to the north of Villers-Bretoneux and  held these even when the village fell, threatening their flanks.

Once the German offensive had been defeated, the Allies launched their own offensive in August 1918.  The 14th Brigade did not play a major role in these operations until late in the month, but its actions were critical to the capture of Perrone, which fell on 2 September.  The 55th fought its last major battle of the war, St Quentin Canal, between 29 September and 2 October 1918. 

The battalion was resting out of the line when the Armstice was declared on 11 November.  The progressive return of troops to Australia for discharge resulted in the 55th merging with the 53rd battalion on 10 March 1919, and the combined 53rd/55th Battalion,  in turn, disbanded on 11 April.

From Weymouth, England the Royal Mail Steamer Orontes set out and my great grandmother Mary was advised on 12 June 1919 that Roly would be returning to Australia. The Orontes delivered him safely back to Australian shores on the first day of July 1919.

The National Anthems of both countries were sung and the ceremony was over.  It was wonderful to sing enthusiastically the rousing La Marseillaise.  In a touching gesture the village of Villers-Bretonneux provided and served breakfast of coffee and croissants. 

Together, in the early dawn, alongside the heavily dew-laden fields we slowly walked back to the village. We gathered in a cafe and discussed the experience we had had.  Unanimously, we felt privileged to have attended, to have paid our respects and to have remembered.

Australian National Memorial
Villers-Bretonneux

Arriving at the memorial visitors are flanked by white headstones

ANZAC Day 2011 wreaths

Looking over the green fields of France to the
village of Villers-Bretonneux

As E has spent Anzac Day in hospital, we returned later in the week.

"They rest in peace, while over them all Australia’s tower keeps watch and ward"

Urgences!

Urgences is the French work for emergency department, and it was at Urgences that we sat  and waited with a very sick E to see a doctor.  We were glad to be shown to an examination room where a nurse monitored her temperature, pulse etc.  Soon after a doctor who could speak some English arrived.  He checked E's glands, lungs etc and when he looked into her throat he jumped back, his face in a pained grimace.  He said nothing, quickly left the room and returned with two doctors who also looked into E's throat.  "Merde!" exclaimed one.   They took throat swabs and blood samples, and wasted no time explaining why E would need to be admitted.

It was after 1am when E was settled into her room, and as she hadn't eaten for now almost 24 hours I asked if there was some food available.  'D'accord' said Claude the nurse indicating that he understood my halting French.  I was imagining that E might be able to manage to eat a little yoghurt or jelly, but with a flourish of French style Claude returned 10 minutes later with a tray containing a delightful three course meal!  Roast meat and vegetables no less, E  however was already alseep.

And so for four days our poor E lay in a French hospital bed receiving intravenous antibiotics, pain relief and fluids.   She was so sick that she was actually content to be there.  What a way to spend Easter!  She had a steady flow of chateau visitors and after the whole ordeal was over and she was finally discharged her French seemed so much better than ours!

Post script:  After E was discharged, she continued to recover back at the Chateau for two days before, unfortunately, she had to return to work in the UK.  She has now made a full recovery.  We have only praise for the French hospital system, and we are grateful to Claude for his kindness, good humour and professionalism to our E.  Merci beaucoup, CHAM et Claude! ( And thanks to you too  Howard Florey.)

The Chateau

After leaving the farm, monsieur, S and I stayed the night in the charming Burgandy town of Saintes, before heading to Nantes to rendezvous with E, who had been travelling in France on her mid-term break.  We met E at the train station and spent a blissful afternoon together wandering Nantes old town.  E had a ticket to a music gig that night and after dinner I found myself doing what I have long been familiar with at home....delivering teenagers to music venues and collecting them late at night.  I  enjoyed the opportunity to drive around Nantes late at night listening to my newly acquired Chansons Francaise cd.  E  enjoyed the gig and kept me entertained on the drive home with her  interesting comparisons between French and Australian gigs.

From Nantes it was six hours drive to the chateau that monsieur had rented for us all for a week over Easter, and only six hours until we would meet up with the newly engaged couple!  We were excited to arrive at the chateau and to all be together again and to also have brother-in-law B from Carlilse join us.  It was an interesting six hours - our expanded touring group of four tested Cecile's capacity of people and luggage; 28 degrees and a traffic jam on the autoroute which had us progress only three kilometers in 60 minutes;  one passenger with a sore throat and developing temperature and another who had a mild claustrophobic attack in the back seat of 2-door Cecile!

Despite the challenges of the journey we arrived at the beautiful chateau at the arranged time of 4pm and any discomfort was immediately forgotten when L, PJ and B arrived and our group for the week was complete.  So lovely to see beautiful L and PJ - they looked so radiantly happy.  And so lovely for monseiur to have some male company -  a change from our usual family holidays!

We made a visit to the supermarket in nearby Hesdin to stock up for the Easter week ahead - French wine, champagne and ingredients to indulge our desire to try some Julia Childs recipes in the large and well equipped country kitchen.  By the time arrived back at the chateau  we were seriously concerned about E.    She was weak, her temperature was horrendous and was not responding to panadol, her throat was so sore she could not speak or swallow.   Unanimnously we agreed that it was too late to find a doctor, and friendly locals provided us directions to the nearest hospital.  At 6pm on Easter Saturday we arrived at CHAM - Centre Hospitalier de l'Arondissement de Montreuil-sur-Mer.

The Chateau

Spring lunch

Dancing and cooking, we did lots of both

French doors thrown open - we settled down to Easter dinner.

Happy Easter!

Games in the garden.

In the bulbs at the Jardin de Valloires

The local restaurant, opposite the Chateau. 

The beautiful Abbaye de Valloires, Argoules.

Sarah's Garden

With intricate directions we made our way through the lanes, villages and over stone bridges of the Haute-Garonneto the farm.  We were excited to see S again.  She was sun-kissed, tired and happy.  She gave us an expert tour of this organic farm - the summer plots and the resting winter plots.  Of particular interest to us were 'her salades' - the crops she'd planted during her time on the farm and the leeks and strawberries she harvested for the local market.  Stella and her hospitable family insisted that we stay for lunch - French farmhouse style - the table laden with produce from the farm.  The family have farmed this area for 25 years and we loved hearing about their lives and about the history of the Cathares.

We left with jars of Stella's vegetable chutney and frambois confiture that S had made during her stay.  As we waved goodbye, grateful that we knew a little more about the organic farmers of the Garonne, it was too early to know that I was holding the finest rasberry jam I was ever to have tasted!

On the way to the farm

From Cazeres sur Garonne

The farmhouse

Paille the farm dog

S's salades

Parle-moo Française?

Organic salades

The best frambois confiture ever!

Breakfast in Biarritz

Three weeks in Spain came to an end with our stay in beautiful San Sebastian - that most gentrified of coastal towns.  We walked in the fine sand of the large crescent-shaped Playa de Concha and dipped our toes in the Atlantico.  We walked the old town and took the opportunity to have a final paella.

Sad to be leaving Spain it seemed Spain was sad we were leaving too, as later that night a soft warm rain fell.  It has been a joy travelling this rich and spectacular country and to learn a little of its history, to observe and engage in some Spanish customs, and to improve our vocabulary.  Moi beno.

Next morning, an early sunny departure as our mission that day was to meet S in the south of France where she had been working on an organic farm.  We crossed the border and couldn't resist the opportunity to leave the autoroute and have breakfast in Biarritz. Delicious crepes and coffee.....and then we turned right for Cezares sur Garonne.

The Picos de Europa

We had never heard of the Picos de Europa when booked to stay two nights at the Parador de Fuente de.   We said farewell to Monforte de Lemos around mid morning and the only clue that we were heading somewhere very special was that Dotty had calculated that our short journey of 200 kilometers would take much longer than we'd anticipated.

It wasn't long before the reason for this became apparent.  The change in scenery was dramatic.  Almost suddenly we were faced with steep, towering mountains and plunging, green valleys and gorges.  The windy roads and switchbacks took us higher and higher -  we had arrived in the Picos!  We stopped in the village of Potes for afternoon tea and some supplies at the delicatessan for another of our favourite picnic dinners on the balcony of our room at the Parador.

The last part of the journey from Potes to Fuente de was spectacular.  Even more narrow, winding roads, with sudden drop offs to the side.  The tiny hamlets we passed took on an Spanish 'alpine' charm.
Finally, at the end of Potes Road we arrived at the Parador which sits at the foot of the massive vertical slope of the moutain.  The Parador is reminiscent of a rambling country house or hunting lodge and the view from each window was breathtaking.  Behind the door of each room were two pairs of wooden hiking sticks and a note with the gentle warning that the area around the Parador is very steepand guests are encouraged to take the hiking sticks with them when they venture outside!

A short walk from the Parador is a cable car that in three and a half minutes takes you to Aliva, 2000m almost vertically up the mountain.  For there you can walk and hike to your heart's content.
Back at the Parador and in the evening's cool mountain air we had our picnic on the balcony and watched the mountains disappear into the darkness as we planned our next day in the Picos.

It is no wonder at all that the Picos de Europa were declared a UNESCO world heritage site.

High up in the Picos - Collado des Llasba look out

The Parador de Fuente de

Almost vertical cable car

Big Love

 They took with them to Kensington Palace Gardens a picnic box packed with delicacies - salmon, cheese, French champagne and a special berry tart.

As they walked together in the warm spring sunshine they shared the weight of the box.  What the beautiful princess didn't know was that her prince held in his coat pocket another box - a small velvet one.   This box contained something far more precious and enduring.

And, in the shadow of the sculpture loved by so many, surrounded by gardens of spring bouquets, he knelt and she said 'yes'.

Puebla de Sanabria, Montforte de Lemos, Leon

We spent a week in the north of Spain staying in the Paradors of these towns and each Parador was spectacular in it own way.

From Puebla de Sanabria, located near the peaceful Lago de Sanabria, we took a day trip to Portugal via the mountain pass to the old walled city of Braganca.  I can now testify to the fine quality of the delicate Portugese tarts.  We were able to add a few words to our Portugese vocabulary, however the one word we knew held us in good stead for the day - obrigado!

(Medical side note:  My newly-diagnosed-pesky-autoimmune-condition requires 8-weekly blood tests until I return home, and as we arrived at the Parador in Puebla de Sanabria I noticed a small sign above a nearby building, "Labatorio de Analisis Clinicos'.  Next day, after coffee in the morning sunshine we paid a visit.   In precise English the tall, dark and handsome white-coated Spaniard confirmed that his rooms were indeed what in English we would call a pathology lab.  I produced my Australia doctor's pathology request form and Dr Jose promptly removed a sample of blood from my vein, recorded my details and promised to email the results to me within five days.  Eighteen euros and five minuters later the first of my European blood tests was completed - simple as that! )

Monforte de Lemos -The drive from Puebla de Sanabria to Monforte took us through eastern Galacia and through the beautiful Ribeira Sacra  - one of Spain's stunning wine producing areas.  Vineyards on every available piece of land - ancient terraced slopes apparently first cut by the Romans - all the way up the impossibly steeps slopes from the river.  Crumbling stone farm buildings dotting the scene.

Ribeira Sacre

At Monforte we stayed in the Parador which in the 9th century began life as the Monsaterio de San Vicente do Pino.  It is located on top of the San Vicente hill above the town of Monforte de Lemos.  The rooms of the Parador are situated around a beautiful central cloister, finely carved stonework at every turn.  We stayed two nights, and it was here that we received L and PJ's glorious news.  Senor and I celebrated their engagement with dinner at Restaurante O Grelo (www.resgrelo.com), a delightful cocina con tradicion tucked into the side of the San Vincente hill, just a short walk from the Parador.  Senor had the opportunity to taste the wine produced in the region we'd driven through the previous day.

On Sunday morning we went into town - it was Palm Sunday and we joined what seemed to be the whole town in a procession across the town square to the cathedral where mass began.  We slipped out the side door and over to the pestilleria for breakfast and a read in the sun.  An hour or more later we watched as many of the congregation - senors, senoras and senoritas - filed into the pastry shop to buy cakes and biscuits - all packed, parcelled and ribboned - and I imagine all destined for Palm Sunday lunch tables.

Leon was spectacular for a number of reasons.  The first one is self explanatory. Look at the Parador!
The 16th century Monasterio de San Marco is another living museum. Our room and balcony was so beautiful we didn't want to leave - one night we had a dinner picnic on our balcony while enjoying  the golden sunset.

The Parador de Leon

The other reason, Friday was our 32nd wedding anniversary, and Leon was a beautiful city in which to celebrate.  Senor and I exchanged Spanish anniversary gifts- the result of our independent shopping expedition the previous day - and celebrated in style with a romantic dinner and then breakfast.  It is unique and very special to be in Spain during Semante Santa - Holy Week - and observe the many rituals and traditions in this most religious of western countries.

Corrida!

Warning - if you´re horrified by the bull fight you´d probably best skip this post.  I thought I´d be horrified by the corrida, that is until I sat mesmerised by it.  I couldn´t look away.

Corrida de toros - I hadn´t much though about the bull fight when we arrived in Spain. If I had, I think I would have thought it was an old form of entertainment, now mainly staged for tourists.  Oh no!  Incorrect, as I discovered after we arrived in Zafra, with its ancient bull ring.

The tradition of the corrida is still very alive.  Here in Spain, many toreros are celebrities, much like Formula 1 drivers, or soccer players.

The corrida is a magnificent performance that I couldn´t take my eyes off.  We know what happens to the poor bull - there´s no competition really - it´s a certainty.  However every other aspect of the corrida had me spellbound.

Let's talk about the toreros!  In their attire of peacock blue and gold, or lavender and silver, or red and gold - all colours really - but always tasselled and elaborate, and always with bright pink socks and pretty black ballet flats!

First of the toreros into the ring is the picdaor on his well-protected horse.  His job is to lance the bull to determine the bull´s strength and range of movements.   Bull successfully lanced and blood flowing from the back of its thick neck, next in the performance are the banderilleros whose job is to pierce pairs of flagged banderillo (long barbs) into the bull´s neck.  They dip and dance around the bull trying to correctly place their banderillo.  The assistant toreros are never far away, participating when necessary with their large pink capes with bright yellow lining.   With sometimes six banderillos hanging from the bull´s neck it´s time for the master - the leader of the toreros.  In English we call him the matador.

Most elaborately dressed of all (but still with bright pink socks and black ballet flats) the master torero executes his fine performance (pun intended).  He takes to the centre of the bill ring, acknowledges the crowd and with an elegant toss of his head....throws down his pretty hat!  His movements begin, they are ballet-like - one hand on hip, chin tucked in, back arched in a graceful curve, toe pointed.  In the other hand is his small red cape which hides his sword.

Soon the bull is all blood, frustration and anger but still he charges the red cape with every movement.  The bull lunges and bucks within millimeters of the torero´s shins and calves.  Sometimes, amazingly, the maestro stands directly infront of the bull, as if he has it in a trance, and then.... another graceful pose and  a flick of the red cape, and the bull lunges his horns again. 

The torero simply steps, turns, avoids the beast and dramatically....throws his head back.

The crowd goes wild, cheering and waving their white kerchiefs in the air to show their appreciation of the performance.  The music rises to a crescendo.  Trumpets. I knew what was going to happen next, but still I gasped when it actually happened.

One quick, accurate lunge and thrust by the torero.

And it´s all over.

Until, that is, not long after when the flowers thrown from the balconies have been gathered and the next bull roars into the ring.

(With my apologies, the corrida is utterly mesmerising.  And I can´t wait to see it again next weekend.  Oh dear, I think señor is a bit worried!)

Photos to come.  Maybe.

Plaza des toros - Zafra
Buy your tickets to sit in either sol or sombra.

Teruel, Cuença, Albacete, Zafra and Oropesa

Since leaving Barcelona, we´ve stayed one or two nights in each of these five towns - all distinctly different and enjoyable. 

Teruel with its magnificent Mudéjar architecture, towers and churches which are UNESCO heritage listed.  We´ve happened upon so many world heritage sites that I´m now keeping a record.

Mudéjar architecture of Teruel, Aragón.

World heritage listed Mudéjar tower of San Pedro, Teruel.

The pretty town square and the statue of the little bull - El Torico. 
The small sculpture (atop the column) was claimed by soldiers
as an act of victory and liberation at the end of the Spanish Civil War. 
It has since been installed on this pedestal in the Plaza del Torico.

The painted ceiling of the cathedral, Teruel.

Magnificent Mudéjar painted ceiling.

Cuença with its ´hanging´ houses built on the top of the rocky outcrop, where we stayed in a 16th century convent.



We stayed at this beautiful Parador at Cuença, a 16th Century convent.



Looking back from the Parador across the ravine
to the town of Cuença - a 10 minute walk across the bridge, high above the ravine,
to the ´hanging´ houses of Cuença built atop and between the rocks.  Spectacular.

Pretty Cuença

Cuença town square -

Cuença cathedral

The corridors of the Parador

Not quite as austere as when this beautiful building was a convent.

Dining al fresco in the square at night.

Albacete where we stayed in the Parador with a pretty golf course.  Of course, we had to have a round - amigos v. amigos.  Spanish Masters we called it.  A perfect sunny day and an ideal activity while the rest of the country was having siesta.  It was close, however the Man of La Mancha won.  Just.

Zafra where we stayed in the old castle with its magnificent courtyard dining room.  Zafra with its old bull ring.

Oropesa - one of the oldest inhabited sites in Spain.  Apparently Hercules founded the town in 1716 BC!  It is a rural medieval village with such charm.  Again, we are staying at the Parador which began its life as a castle (14th Century this time), then it was a palace for the Count of Oropesa.  I´m typing this post sitting beside a beautiful wrought iron balcony, shutters and windows thrown open, and the sign on the wall next to me says ¨King Alfonso VIII stood at this balcony in 1930 and greeted the residents of Oropesa, just as the Count of Oropesa greeted his subjects some 500 years before´, living history.  The views are beautiful across the Castillian plain to the Gredos mountains.  There is no rain on the plain here in Spain, though.  Glorious spring.  Today it´s 27 degrees, the nights are pleasant and we sleep with the shutters and windows open.  In the evening air we can smell blossom, and can hear the choir rehearsing in the church, and when I woke during the night I could hear the church bells ring on the hour and half hour.  Same as they have rung each night of the past hundreds of years.

Oropesa and its neighbouring village, Largatera, are renowned for their traditional embroidery.  There are many small embroidery shops - bordodos - inside women sitting in groups happily creating their designs.  I was pleased to buy a small piece from señorita Garcia.


We´ve been in Spain now for almost two weeks and the weather doesn´t change.  It´s warm, sunny, perfect bright blue cloudless skies every day.   Around 23-25 degrees.  Today we thought we saw a band of cloud high up in the sky, until we realised it was the snow capped peaks of the Gredos mountain range!

It´s daylight until 9.30pm, and until 11.30pm the restaurants, outdoor bars, cafes, and taverna are lively and full even in the smallests of towns.

Desanyunos, almuerzo y cena

Breakfast, lunch and dinner. 

This past week we´ve learned how differently to us the Spainish organise these rituals. 

At home our favourite breakfast pastime is with a coffee and a newspaper, early.  Then, lunch in the middle of the day - midday-ish - sandwich or salad.  Dinner, also early-ish at 6.30pm or 7.00pm. 

Huh!  One of the great things about travelling is things are not like home and we´ve learned that we won´t be having meals that way while we´re in Spain.

Even on holidays we like to get up early, seek out a cafe for coffee and watch the town, city, village or street come to life. 

In Vielha we left the Parador at 8.00am, headed to the main square to find only the bread shop open.  In Spain the bread shops sell....bread.  Not coffee, not breakfast.  Just bread.  We looked, walked, and kept looking until we found a little bar open where we could order coffee.  Coffee, not breakfast, just coffee.

And so it has been like this for us in the mornings in Spain.  Nothing, apart from the odd bar, opens until 10.00am.  In the villages and small towns that we have visited Spaniards seem to have breakfast in their homes, never out in cafes.  At home from 7.30am on a week day, the cafes are full with pre-work breakfasters and coffee takers. 

At the Paradores the breakfast room opens at 8.00am, so sometimes we´ve taken to having our morning coffee where we´re staying and then we head out. 

For Spaniards, lunch is usually at least a two course affair.  Cafes, bars and restaurants offer menu del dia - a two or three course meal for as little as 8 or 10 euros.  Our observation is that the tables are most busy late in the afternoon after siesta.  Shops close from around 1.30pm until at least 5.00pm.

However, it´s dinner that has surprised me most of all.  Earliest we´ve seen restaurants open is 8.30pm - after the shops have all closed.  At 8.30pm we´ve often been the only ones in the restaurant, though not for long. Most diners seem to arrive around 10.00pm - babies, toddlers and children in tow.

We´ve sat at tables next to 2 or 3 year olds eating their dinner at 10.30pm - perfectly happy they are.  It´s señor and I who have been yawning as we finish our meal. 

Things finish up and close by 11.30pm, tables are chairs are secured, shutters are closed, and then the streets are quiet again.

Until 10.00am when the daily cycle begins.

The food in Spain is incredibly good, and incredibly well priced.   We´ve tried to eat regional food as we travel around which has included some choices that we would probably not make again.  Pig´s ears come to mind. Pig´s trotters also come to mind.

We´ve had delicious paella for two, pa amb tomàquet (a rustic bread, toasted and rubbed with tomato pulp), octopus, jamón ibérico, olives of every variety, and of course everthing anointed with olive oil that tastes like sunshine itself.

When we´re walking along a cobbled street and señor turns around to find I´ve disappeared, he can guess that we must have just past a pasteleria (pastry shop).  Sure enough I can be found choosing a couple of the beautiful tiny morsels on offer.  The pastereria do not sell coffee though, only pastries.  And there is no take-away coffee.  In our weeks in Spain I have not come across a take away coffee.  Always taken sitting down or standing at the cafe bar.

During the day we snack on olives and oranges.  Beautiful, juicy oranges.  In the east we drove past orange orchards as far as the eye could see.  Olive trees everywhere, and of course grape vineyards.

 Photos will describe more beautifully than I.

Barcelona´s beautiful food market.

About 1€/kilo.

Would need to follow a recipe to cook these delicacies.

The best white asparagus.

Juicy Valencia.

Olives - be prepared to make a choice.

Always olives.

Spain loves cafe con leche.  So do I.

Picnic.

Even the smallest cafe or bar has fine jamon.

This is a ham sandwich.  The jamon is cut finer than tissue paper.