Flamenco y Tabancos

Pre-Script:

The five or six of you that the 'blogs analytics tell me have been following the blog may be wondering what has happened to it.  Fear not! It will continue! In fact, I'm (rather unusually) pretty much up to date on writing. I'm just so weeks or so behind on posting.  This arose to me getting behind on writing, finally breaking my long suffering phone irreparably and then having poor internet connectivity for a while.

The broken phone issue means I need to get to a computer to recover a couple of entries that I've already written.  But to prevent falling yet further behind on posting, I'll just skip over Valencia, Granada and Ronda for the moment and post a bit out of order.  End Pre-Script.

More than one Spaniard we'd met picked Cadiz as their favourite city in the country.  And it certainly does have a lot going for it.

New Cadiz occupies a narrow peninsula that stretches out into the Atlantic, with a busy port on one side and a fabulous golden sanded beach on the other.  And right out at the end sits the charmingly compact walled old city.

We were staying right in the heart of the old city in a four storey building with an atrium and stairways leading up to the apartments (very pretty, but dangerously slippery in jandals, even when completely dry!)

Our host, Juan and his wife Luisa greeted us with a coffee and Juan immediately took us out on a tour of the neighbourhood, showing off its highlights, pointing out good spots to eat and drink and concluding (it appeared to our basic Spanish ears) by saying “and that's pretty much all there is to see.”

Of course there was plenty more.  Cadiz is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities Europe, having been founded by the Phonecians in 1104 BC, and later became a Roman provincial capital.  Then, with its proximity to North Africa, was one of the first cities to fall to the Moors. Then, reclaimed by the Spanish crown, became the home port of the Spanish treasure fleet during the height of its New World richness.  All of this is, in one way or another, reflected in the city of today.

We visited (and sat down for a rest and a picnic) in the remains of the Roman theatre.  While there we learned about the provincial Governor who paid for the construction of the theatre, but ended his career somewhat ignominiously by embezzling from the provincial coffers and fleeing beyond the boundaries of the empire.

The Moorish architecture is obvious in the watchtowers near the central market which evoke both Moroccan minarets and cooling towers in Muslim nations further east.  

These were used to observed and communicate with the arriving galleons so that merchants could begin buying and selling their cargoes before the ships even arrived in port.

And for those who have been to Latin America, the influence of Cadiz on the architecture of colonial cities is obvious.  Parts of Cadiz (plazas, alleys, fortresses) could be transplanted into Cartagena, or vice versa and you wouldn't spot anything amiss.

Much of our first day in Cadíz was spent visiting these, and watching the sunset from old Cadíz's small Atlantic beach.

On day two we attempted a visit to the big beach in the new city, but were defeated by high (or “normal” of you're from Wellington) winds blew sand to and fro, spoiling our picnic and forcing us to head back to one of the plazas to eat our strawberries (these were in season, cheap and delicious… we ate loads of them over the coming days in Spain).

We'd picked these up at the market, along with some strong, crumbly Manchego cheese and olives pungent with garlic, cumin, sherry and vinegar.  

On the evening of our second night in Cadiz, we met with Gianluca.  He was a brewer originally from Italy but studying his second love (marine archaeology) in Cadiz.  Given that his third love was historical reenactment of Celtic tribal warfare it was pretty much essential that we meet.

We had a grand evening pub hopping and trying lots of Spanish cervezas artesenals.  All were good (notably a blonde ale made with a salty, lemony coastal herb) though not all intantionally so (a Brett infected lager).

When we asked his opinion, Juan had suggested that if we had to choose we should spend some of our limited remaining time in Spain in Seville rather than Jerez de Fronterra.  We were convinced and had booked a ride there. Gianluca was aghast. We positively had to visit Jerez! It was a beautiful town, with a great brewery and was packed full of wonderful bodegas (wineries).

Rather conveniently, our ride was cancelled and we were able to head to Jerez.  The winds were too high for our desired option of taking a ferry most of the way, but the hour long train trip was smooth and pleasant.

And Jerez was more than pleasant.  We stayed at the absolutely lovely Jerez Backpackers with some of the sweetest, nicest hosts anywhere.  They gave us a series of suggestions for great things to do in Jerez. The first was to check out the Alcazar (old Moorish fortress) and the cathedral.  Obligatory in Andalusia really, but the ones in Jerez were notable in being pretty much completely devoid of visitors.

Most of their other suggestions had to do with the big two tourist draws in Jerez: Vinos de Jerez (Sherry to the non Spanish speakers amongst us) and Flamenco.

Our vino experiences in Jerez began with a visit to a bodega (winery).  While wineries (especially old world ones) have, on average, a lot more individual character than breweries, there's still a certain degree of sameiness to them.  Not so with (at least your first) sherry winery. There were lots of technical details to geek out on. These started with the differences in the different sherry styles (Fino, Oloroslo, Amontillado, Pedro Ximenez… I'd heard all these names before, but never really had anything more than the vaguest idea of what they meant).  And then there were production details. How exactly does the oxidative aging that produces the distinctive character of many old sherries work? Interestingly, in two different ways: in all cases the barrels are left partly empty, with headspace leaving enough air to oxidize the wine. But in most cases a pellicle (impermiable[ish] membrane produced by the specific sherry yeast strains) prevents it.  In some cases the wine is nutrient poor enough that the yeast just can't make it and drops out of suspension, taking the pellicle with it. In others the wine is fortified by the addition of nearly pure grape alcohol until the point that the yeast can't survive, leading to much the same result. Plus, thanks to a cool barrel with a plexiglass end and a backlight, I got to take a photo of a pellicle from below.  (This is what you get from time to time when reading a travel blog written by a beer nerd).

And of course, as with any winery visit there was a tasting.  We'd signed up for the cheapo option: three standard sherries to taste with olives and bread.  Buuut, one of our tour mates had gone the whole hog and done the three standard sherries, five premium sherries and two brandies.  And she ran off with hardly a sip missing from most of the glasses! Sarah and I were both thinking the same thing, but before we said a word our tour guide beat us to it and suggested we not let these go to waste.  One of the sherries and one of the brandies were soleras (a process wherein a certain fraction [often half] of a barrel is removed every year and replaced with fresh wine) dating back to 1894 and with an average age of twenty years.  Both of these were amazing, but the brandy in particular was a revelation. I'd always actively disliked brandy, but this one tasted more like a beautiful old whisky, with heaps of tobacco, vanilla and shoe leather (flavours also present in the syrupy sweet Pedro Ximenez solera).

The other classic bit of Jerez wine culture that we enjoyed was in the Tabancos.  The name is a (not quite) portmanteau of Tabaco (tobacco seller) and Estanco (state-run store selling alcohol and other goods).  They used to be the places in Jerez to go for a drink, as they had full barrels of Vinos de Jerez available and would pour directly from them, selling glasses at dirt cheap prices.  They went through a bit of a decline, but Tabancos are very much back.

We picked a couple of favourites and spent plenty of time sitting in the sun and sipping at glasses of vino.  A small glass straight from the barrel usually went for €1, but Oloroso or Pedro Ximenez would attract a small premium of €0.20 to 0.40.  After plenty of experimentation, we eventually concluded that Crema was my favourite, and that Sarah's was Oloroso.

I'll interject (I guess I can do that to myself?) with a brief culinary interlude here amongst all the vinos.  We were staying pretty much right next to the Mercado Municipal. And although we'd left the coast behind one train stop before, I felt as though we really ought to take advantage of our proximity and cook some fish.  We popped down to the market and wandered among the stalls selling fish I didn't recognize with names that were more foreign still. Eventually we ended up going with some whole Aceidas. The lady seller ensured us they'd be fine done in the oven, and after a bit of sleight of hand/tongue combo, persuaded us to walk away with a kilo and a half of the small soles (discounted from €3/kilo to €2.50)

Before we finished the two minute wall back to our hostel I was already thinking, “what on earth am I going to do with all of these things!?”  A bit of interneting convinced me that I probably shouldn't just chuck them in the oven. But they were way too small to fillet. So I ended up skinning and gutting fourteen whole fish in the hostel kitchen. It didn't occur to me until about a third of the way through that this might not be the way to win friends and influence people.  Thankfully there were big French doors off the kitchen and the fish were super fresh, so it was really just a bit iodiney for an hour or so. Plus the only guy who was around during prep (an English cycle tourist), (and anyone else who wanted any) got to join in once they were all pan fried. If I do say so myself, they were pretty darned tasty.  Good thing, as we had fish sandwiches for lunch the next day too.

After this great big meal we went out to partake in Jerez's second pride and joy, some Flamenco.  U was very hesitant about this. First of all, dance is probably the art I'm least interested in. And secondly this was billed as a “free flamenco show,” on posters around town.  And though folks at our hostel recommended it, I wasn't 100% sure whether this was a blessing or a curse.

But as it turned out, all my hesitancy was entirely I'll founded.  We arrived early and got the second table in the place (we didn't realize until later that sitting at a table meant a minimum spending requirement and slightly increased prices.  But who cared really? We were going to have several glasses of vinos de Jerez anyway, and a snack was a good idea.

And the performers, while they didn't look like much, were amazing.  The guitarist was a young guy with slicked back hair, bleached tips and two big silver earrings.  And he was a really, really good guitarist. The singer, meanwhile was a somewhat overweight guy in his fifties with heavy stubble and a T-shirt featuring another (presumably even older) flamenco singer.  He too was great, with a warbling but powerful voice and great stage presence that ranged from poignant to amusingly cheeky (he teased me about my beard a bit in one little bit of vocal improve). This was mostly about the music, but did feature a little but if dance (foot stamping included) and forays out into the audience.

The only thing better than the two performers themselves was how well they worked together.  So much of what they each did was improvised or feeding off what the other, and it was done so well that it was only in the last quarter or so of the performance that I even realized they were doing it.

The flamenco show was the unexpected topper to what had been an unexpectedly great time in Jerez de la Fronterra.  So much had we enjoyed our visit that Sarah and I talked about our visions of living there someday, learning Spanish better, becoming regulars at a few Tabancos, heading down to Cadiz for the big city experience now and then.

Of course we were heading for a big city experience right then, to Sevilla, Spain's third or fourth largest city and the very heart of Andalusia.