Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens .....

We've left Spain, and we don't know when we're going to be able to return.  A sad moment, only relieved by the pleasure of getting back to France and looking forward to Italy.  Some of our favourite things:

Historical monuments
S and R – Mesquita in Cordoba (see Moors and More Moors)
Sc – The fort at Figueres – a nice long walk around the ramparts through scrub that smelled of rabbits. Rather windy and wild, but I don't mind that, it adds to the fun if things blow past you as you're walking!

Museum
S – Dali museum in Figueres. Fantastic place – partly in the old theatre and partly an ancient tower; all highly decorated by Dali in a surrealist style and it was where he lived before it was a museum.  It's such an amazing building from the outside, and inside it's packed full of unusual artefacts; both those created by Dali and ones produced by other people that he liked. It was a bit unclear how much of this museum was really his creation and how much was by others; all it says is it's developed according to his wishes.  Some pieces are clearly by others (eg the Mae West living room reconstructed in 3D from his painting). Many of his most famous works are not here, but there was plenty to keep us occupied for a couple of hours.Some things were quirky and fun, others very clever, and some quite disturbing.           The artwork was really interesting, but I'm glad I never met the man; he was clearly bonkers!
R – The Fallas museum in Valencia. The museum keeps bits of examples of fallas dating back to the 1920s.  From the photos you can see that what they've kept is just small parts of the overall display.  It's fascinating to see the uncannily lifelike early fallas changing in the 1970s to a more caracature, cartoon- like designs they favour today.  The techniques have changed too, with wax and papier mache giving way to plastics and carved polystyrene.Wonderful, exuberant ephermeral art. 
Sc – '¡Perros No!' I stay in the van and keep guard while they look at stuff.

Meal
S – Tapas in San Sebastian. The selection was great but the service in one place was amazing – the place was so small and crowded that you had to shout your order over the heads of people standing at the bar and when it was ready the barman gave you a nod and passed it over people's heads to you, while you hunted for a flat surface to lean on. When you finished eating & drinking the barman would just remember what you'd had and tell you the total price (very cheap!) I'm sure he couldn't really keep everyone's order in his head as the place was frantic and everyone, including us, ordered a few things at a time and kept going back for more. However, our bill seemed right and he certainly didn't have time to write it down.

R – Simple menu of the day at a roadside 'truckers stop' in Catlaonia. Just a dull '60s concrete building with a similarly dull looking hotel behind it, surrounded by a rutted unsurfaced lorry park full of cars, trucks and horse boxes.  Fascinating mixture of customers; truck drivers, men in fluorescent trousers, hunters in muddy boots, horsey people in riding boots and Andalucian jackets and people who'd obviously dressed up to go out as a family for Sunday lunch.  There was a choice of half a dozen entrees and a similar number of mains.  Simple, unpretentious but delicious.  Total cost  24 euros for two of us for three courses with wine and coffee and unlimited people watching.
Sc – Being fed my tablets wrapped in expensive Serrano ham in Calpe.

Food discovery
S – Cardo (called cardoon in UK but a very old fashioned allotment vegetable, not really eaten any more). It looks like celery, but tastes like artichoke and is delicious. It seems to be grown on every allotment in Spain (especially the North) and is sold fresh or in jars in grocers and supermarkets. We're going to have to have a go at growing it when we next have an allotment or a big enough garden.
R – Serrano ham bought from the delicatessen counter rather than in a plastic packet. If you get the stuff that's 30 to 40 euros a kilo (or more) but ask for just 10 wafer thin slices it isn't very expensive but is a delicious treat. 
Sc – Sometimes people drop bits of tapas on the floor outside bars – I like that.

Walk
S – Climbing up the red rocks – 'los Mallos de Riglos' in the foothills of the northern Pyrenees. Hard work and very steep but worth it for the views and the sense of achievement when it was over! We took about 4 hours to do the walk (3 to get up and look around, 1 to get back down!) and the weather was perfect. As we walked we could see (and sometimes hear) climbers making their way up what looked like completely sheer rock faces whilst we stuck to the walking tracks and wound our way up to the peaks.
R – Walking up the riverbank near Monte Perdido along a beautiful and incredibly clear river  tumbling through a green woodland.  You could see straight to the bottom of pools several meters deep, with trout hanging suspended like a child's mobile.  There were a series of pools and waterfalls in steep gulleys and we could often hear a waterfall thundering completely out of sight.

Sc – Playing in the thick snow in the Pyrenees. It's hard work chasing your toy when the snow is as deep as your legs are but it's great fun and you can pretend that you've lost your toy and then dig it up again.


Animals
S – Not really wild, but the 'dancing' horses at Jerez were amazing. I'm not a 'horsey' person but the strain on the faces of the riders, and the sweat and steam from the horses (even though the areana was freezing!) showed what hard work it was to get such huge beasts to prance about, walk diagonally or backwards and stand on their hind legs.
R – Red squirrels. In Spain they're still the standard squirrel you see in the park.  They're so familiar from Beatrix Potter and the Tufty Club but I've never seen one in Britain.
Sc - The wild boar that had been digging up roots alongside the path when we walked in the hills above the orange groves at Carcaixent. I didn't see any actual boar, but they smelled delicious! Apparently the people saw wild boar snuffling at the side of the road and running across the road away from hunters, but I must have been sleeping at the time!

Birds
S – I was going to say storks, but then I remembered the Hoopoe. I had previously thought that these were mythical birds – included in bird spotting books as an ornithologists joke. We saw a couple in the bushes of the carpark outside the Valor chocolate factory in Vilajoyosa and I was delighted. As if the chocolate wasn't enough to make my day!
R –  A lone Lamegeyer sitting in a field on the way to Monte Perdido National Park, looking absolutely unlike anything else.
Sc – Chicken!

View
S – Waking up and opening the skylight above the bed to see the red rocks at Riglos lit up by the morning sun. We had parked alongside some other vans in a carpark at the foot of the rocks quite late on in the evening and it wasn't until the morning that I realised how lovely the rocks were. The view through the front windscreen was pretty special too – looking down over the tree filled valley below us. One of the great things about this trip is the ever changing views through your bedroom windows!
R – Looking down over Rioja from Puerto de Herrera, a high mountain pass on the way to Vitoria. The Rioja vineyards in autumn look fantastic.  The different parcels, and presumably the different varieties, of vines take on different shades from red to yellow.  Some parcels are neatly pruned and look stripey, others are a smooth block of colour.  Here and there smoke rises. The countryside is dotted with bodegas all shapes and sizes and vintages.   Quite a few have pools of water to keep the wine at a stable temperature, which glitter in the distance.

Sc – Any stretch of beach without a '¡Perros No!' sign.

City
S – Granada. I've visited it three times now and would still go back again. I love the Alhambra, but am just as happy wandering through the old winding streets filled with Moroccan shops and stalls. Each time I go I find another part of the city that I've never seen before – this time it was the old gypsy quarter, where the cave houses are. I'd like to go back there again and maybe see if we can find some authentic flamenco to watch / listen to.
R – Valencia. The town is full of life, culture and architecture.  We had time for a good look around without having to worry about Scooby being bored (thanks Mum and Dad!) so we got to see a lot of the city's cultural and material riches. While we weren't there for any of the big festivals, the town's museums give you a taste and there's no shortage of shops selling the magnificent clothes that they like to wear on special occasions.
Sc – San Sebastian. There is the most fantastic soft, sandy beach right alongside the city and lots of doggy friends to play with. For a Spanish place it's really very French in attitude (i.e. dog friendly!)

Campsite
S – Puerto de Santa Maria on the South West coast. The perfect place to relax (and recover from illness!) The site was lovely and sunny, busy but not noisy, just across the road from a lovely stretch of beach and within easy reach of Jerez and Cadiz. 
R – The campsite at Navarette in Rioja.  It was nothing fancy, but a simple family run place with a friendly relaxed atmosphere and all the essentials; peace and quiet and hot showers.  The campsite bar was open to the whole community, so was normally serving a couple of guys who worked in the fields.  ... and Reception sold wine from the local Bodegas Navajas – an old favourite from the UK.
Sc – Christmas at Camping La Merced in Calpe. I could spend many happy hours lying on my bed in the warm sunshine while nice German people made a fuss of me.

Free parking spot
S – Almeria. It's a surprisingly lovely town (well it surprised me – I'd been influenced by the Pogues song 'Fiesta' and thought it was a  resort like Benidorm – full of drunken Brits; but it's not at all like that.)  We spent a few nights alongside other motorhomes in a quiet carpark right by the the promanade and the beach, only a short walk from town. Every morning and evening we could sit in the van and watch hundreds of Spaniards, of all ages, walking along the prom; some with dogs, some without, some walking for 'fitness', others strolling and chatting to friends, as well as young people rollerblading, skateboarding, cycling .... Fascinating to watch – it's no wonder they have a lower rate of heart disease than the British, as it's usually too cold and wet to take a walk for pleasure twice a day in Britain.
R – After a stressful drive trying to battle our way out of Cordoba, we drove to the end of the road at the top of the hill in the forest above Medina Al Zahara.  We could see the lights of the outskirts of Cordoba stretching out infront of us, trains passing silently in the distance.  Then cloud would blow over and there would be total darkness.
Sc – Cabo de Trafalgar. Lovely and warm, right by a huge beach and loads of doggy friends and doggy smells to sniff. The surfers reminded me of my old friend Gary the dogwalker too.

Gran Fiesta De La Calçotada' in Valls, Tarragona

As some of you are aware we have just had a mini 'holiday' (I know ... for those of you with jobs our whole life at the moment is one long holiday!) This entailed leaving Scooby and the beautiful, big blue van in Calpe; Scooby was comfy and warm with Richard's parents in a flat overlooking the sea, while the van had to make do with a side street. Meanwhile we travelled by train and bus to Valls (inland from Tarragona), staying in a hotel with unlimited running water and flush toilets – oh the luxury!

Calçots look like a huge spring onion or a small leek, raised using a technique developed by a farmer called Xat de Benaiges in the Valls area about a hundred years ago.  Onions are grown from seed, replanted and allowed to grow into tall straight sprouts rather than encouraged to form a fat bulb.  The shoots are gradually earthed up as they grow, to keep the stem pale and tender. The resulting vegetable is available throughout Spain, but particularly in Catalonia, between November and April.


Calçots appear on the menus of even the most dignified restaurants as a starter, but the popular tradition in its homeland is to eat them at a 'Calçotada', where mountains of calçots are griddled over wood fires, served in heaps (sometimes piled up on curved roof tiles) with grilled meat and sausages, and washed down with plentiful quantities of local wine. The freshly cooked calçots are black on the outside, but when the outer leaves are stripped away the inside is pale, mild and sweet.    Dipped in a little of the traditional Romesco sauce the floppy spears can really only be eaten by holding them up high and muching from below.  It's a fairly messy business, peeling ash blackened calçots by hand, dangling them into your mouth and drinking red wine from a shared 'porron', so bibs are also an important part of the tradition.

The 'Gran Fiesta De La Calçotada' in Valls seems to be struggling a little to decide what it wants to be in the twenty first century.  The local tourist board publishes a multi-lingual website as if they want to encourage outsiders to visit, but the town is very poorly geared up for tourism.  We made a brief visit last December to reconnoitre, but found the tourist office shuttered with no indication of when or if it ever opened.  We walked around town for a couple of hours without finding a single hotel or guest house.  The nearest camp site is twenty kilometres away.  By chance we found a free paper which listed Valls' two hotels, but didn't give any indication of where they were or give phone numbers.  I got the feeling that the Valls people were thinking 'But everyone knows where the hotels are!”, “Everyone knows when the Calçotada is, it's the Calçotada!”, not really used to having visitors.

In addition to that, Valls is in the Catalan heartland, and Calçots are one of their most treasured national traditions.  Life in Valls seems to be lived entirely in Catalan, and we met a few people who seemed a bit unhappy to have to speak Castillian to us.  Some of them may fear (as I do) that too many foreign visitors will dilute the Catalan nature of the celebration.  On the other hand, the Catalan language and culture seems to be in very good health (particularly compared to Welsh), so I don't think they need feel too insecure.

We arrived the day before the event and checked into the Hotel Class, on the industrial estate about a half hour's walk north of town.  It's a modern business hotel with anonymous characterless furnishings, but after months on the road it seemed like the height of luxury.  With the help of the English speaking reception staff we finally got hold of a map of the town and a timetable of Calçotada events.

The heart of the festival is the calçots, their sauce, associated competitions and a parade, but these are accompanied by lots of other less relevant but fun events.  Last year they combined it with a dog show, this year a display of vintage cars.

On the day of the festival the first things we visited were the craft market and the artisan food market, where stalls laden with cheeses, cured meat, salt cod, cakes, bread and sweets were lined up along a shady street down which an icy wind whistled.  Valls is a long way south, but it's also a long way up.  It's not a place to go for winter sun.  I learned my first phrase of Catalan - “Molt fred!”.

Walking back into Pati Square we finally found the tourist office open, now we no longer needed it, and bought red tickets for the calçotada lunch in Plaça del Oli.  Things were beginning to get busy now, so we headed to Plaça De l'Oli to see the demonstration of calçot cooking.  Sand had been spread on the square and wood fires lit on it.  A big (almost bed sized) metal grille was standing over one of the fires, piled high with calçots, smoke pouring off it and rising in a dense column up the face of the tall buildings lining the square.  Men in espadrilles and floppy red and black Catalan caps were tending the fires and the calçots, occasionally picking up the grille with metal hooks and turning it around.  A group of women at a table, also in costume, were working their way through a mountain of calçots, trimming the roots and green leaves off them ready for cooking.

The cooking area was fenced off with a picket fence, but wasn't much respected.  A film crew were interviewing one of the cooks, people were climbing all over the area for photos, including a deaf party who ended up having a blazing silent argument in sign language.

We seemed to have got the idea of how to cook calçots, it's not too subtle apart from the outfit, so we hurried back to Pati where they were due to dance the sardana.

A small band of teenagers were lined up on chairs; flutes, oboes, double bass and drums, and a group of elderly people in matching blue fleeces were milling about.  The band struck up a stately, slightly comical, tune, the blue fleeces joined hands in a circle and solemnly started making intricate steps.  After a while there was a change in tempo and they all bobbed up and down in unison, then another change and they all raised their hands.  Apart from that, there was little movement; no revolving and no 'hokey-kokey' in and out.



We noticed some spectators starting to join in the steps, then going and touching the hands of two of the dancers who opened the circle and let them in.  As the circle got too big for the space, another circle started nearby, where people would drop their coats in a heap in the centre and then join the dance.  A strange sight, hard to see the appeal but clearly they were enjoying it and danced for a long time.

The timetable was all in Catalan, so bits were hard to understand, but we could see that something was happening at mid day in Passeig dels Caputxins.  We found the street crowded with people, bands and painted giant figures; a grotesque anthropomorphic calçot giant, a very regal king and queen, a giant horse, small fierce warriors, a giant calçot farmer and his giant wife with a pestle and mortar making sauce.  As we walked around a trailer turned up with a model of a giant turkey.  Horse drawn carriages were lined up on the roadside and there was happy bustling chaos.



We went looking for a space where we could station ourselves to watch the parade go by.  The streets were crowded, with sunny corners being particularly popular.  At last the parade arrived, in a very informal array.  A crowd of tiny dancing children in costume was followed by a mass of parents in warm coats, half of them pushing pushchairs.  Several Catalan pipe bands were interspersed amongst all the various giants and monsters. A throbbing samba band was accompanied by a whirling monster and a long dancing dragon.   



The small warriors and big headed characters (the 'Nans' - dwarves) were worn by children (confusingly 'Nens').  It was very strange to see the characters, such as an elegant woman, a dignified old man or a fierce warrior, squabbling and pushing each other, or feeding crisps in through the mouth of the paper-maché head.



The big models were accompanied by supporters, some of whom carried pieces of pipe or trestles.  On the move they'd guide the giant or keep the spectators back.  When the parade stopped they'd put the pipe into sockets under the giant to make legs, or use the trestles to support it so the crew could swap over. Despite the cold weather there were some very hot looking people around!

It was time now to head back to Plaça el Pati for the calçot eating competition.  The square was packed with people and activity – the sardana dancers couldn't be stopped, the winning sauce maker was being interviewed for TV, wine tastings and sauce making were still going on.  The calçot eaters were lined up on the stage with a crowd of supervisors behind them, each separated from his or her neighbour by a metal partition.  Each had a heap of calçots, a porron of wine and a pot of sauce.

A rocket soared over the crowd with a bang and off they went; stripping off the burned outer leaves, dipping the soft pale interior into the sauce and necking it like cormorants.  Some were taking the competition seriously, quickly and methodically working their way through the calçots, others seemed more excited to be able to show off on stage.  We watched for a while, not wanting to see the  full 45 minutes as it wasn't that interesting and  it seemed someone was bound to spew.  Last year's winner managed over 355 calçots!



Suddenly there was a kerfuffle in the crowd as someone shoved past Stella, whirled around to take a photo and someone else behind us shouted “Mira!”.  We looked behind us to see two casteller human towers had sprouted in the middle of the crowd; trembling grimacing burly men at the bottom, working up perhaps five layers to a small child at the top, plus a gang of suppporters holding the base steady.  No sooner had we seen it and grabbed a photo than the top casteller scrambled down and the tower telescoped down back into the crowd.



We later read that Valls is where the 200 year old Casteller tradition started, and has now spread throughout Catalonia. We saw a poster in the streets advertising the fact that “All the world builds castles at Valls”.  Not strictly true, but if you are a casteller I'm sure Valls is a place you'd want to go.

By now we were late for our own calçotada.  We hurried to Placa de l'Oli where we joined a huge queue which ran out of the square, through an alley and up a side street.

We heard distant sounds of music, and the parade arrived, squeezing up our little street.  The giants' attendants tried to move people back against the walls of the alley, but there really wasn't much space.  A little way past us there was heavy duty scaffolding across the street, and they had to lay the giants down, carry them through and then stand them up again.

When the horse drawn carts arrived it got a bit dodgy.  Some of the horses refused to go slowly, perhaps because the street was a bit slippery and a little bit uphill.  The carriage drivers shouted for people to get out of the way, but spectators came close to getting crushed.  One carriage went past with its brakes on, wheels locked skidding on the paving slabs inches from the feet of people who were pressed up against the walls.

A north African looking couple appeared at an upstairs window to watch the parade.  Wonder what they made of it.



At last we got to the head of the queue in the square, where an exhausted team were frantically packing carrier bags and swapping them for the dinner tickets; a bundle of warm calçots in foil, bag of toasted hazel nuts, an orange, a piece of bread, a small bottle of wine from the Valls co-op, a bib and a pot of Romesco sauce.  Finally found out what “Hi haurà graelles preparades per a les persones que vulguin coure carn, llonganissa, botifarra de Valls...” meant.  A grille had been set up over a fire in the square and people were cooking their own sausages on it.  A nearby butcher was selling sausage as fast as he could wrap it.

We headed off to find a space to eat.  The streets were strewn with people eating from bags on doorsteps and corners.  We found a space at a trestle table.  The outside of the calçots was carbonised, which made it very messy to eat, but mild and sweet inside.

In response to Tony's comment, here are a couple of action photos:

With that, the party was more or less over; the crowds were thinning out, stallholders were packing up and the squares were strewn with blackened calçot leaves and crumpled wrappers. 


Practicalities:
The festival is usually held on the last Sunday of January (the 2011 event was brought forward due to a clash with another festival).  The next one will be 29th January 2012..

The event didn't really get under way until after 10am and was over by 4pm, so local hotels and accommodation weren't really critical after all.  It would be an easy day trip from Barcelona or Tarragona.

Valls has a railway station, but the connections were a bit tricky for us.  Buses run between Valls and Tarragona coach station every half hour and take about half an hour.  On the way most of them also stop at 'Camp de Tarragona', the railway station that serves the new high speed line.  There are also regular buses to and from Barcelona and Reus.

There are two hotels in Valls.  They appear to take bookings a year in advance for the festival.
Casa Felix is the older one, a couple of miles out of town on a busy dark road with no pavements.  I wouldn't want to walk it.  Casa Felix, Ctr de Tarragona KM 17, 43800, Valls.  Tel +34 977 609090
www.felixhotel.net


We stayed at Hotel Class, which is on the northern outskirts surrounded by supermarkets and factories, but only half an hour's walk (on pavements) from the town centre.  More expensive than Casa Felix, but modern, well located and unlike Casa Felix it had a room available.
Hotel Class, Pg President Taradellas, Ctra N-240, 43800 Valls.  Tel +34 977 608090
www.hotelclassvalls.com

The nearest camp site is Camping Montblanc Park, Ctra Prenafeta KM 1.8, 43400, Montblanc (Tarragona).  Tel +33 977 862544.  If you stay there someone will have to stay sober enough to drive you back.
www.montblancpark.com

Tourist Information is in Plaça El Pati.  Tel +34 977 612530. Good luck getting an answer though!

Almost every restaurant in town offers Calçotadas throughout the season, and certainly on festival week.  Eating at one of these would be a little more expensive but a lot more comfortable than eating from a plastic bag in the street. Both hotels offered Calçotadas, and Casa Felix in particular seems to expect you to include that with your stay.

Calçots are available in season at greengrocers throughout Catalonia and wherever Catalans are feeling homesick.  We took some back to Calpe and cooked them on a disposable barbecue, but they're not the same if they're not cooked on a properly blazing fire.