Everybody knows that construction has been the backbone of the Spanish economy for quite a few years.

That is to be expected in a country that has a decent climate; is close to most of the centers of over-population in Europe and, above all, has plenty of land to build on.

It comes, then, something of a surprise when, high in the Extremadura Mountains on a lonely back road between Hervas and Candalario to come across this:

There is some admonition in the Bible about building houses on rock rather than sand but this may be taking things a little far…

Now the gentleman who built this house is the owner of the motor museum in Hervas seen here kindly posing for our camera

He is an engineer, he tells me. I am quite glad he isn’t an architect!

Notice the blue curvy bits? They are plastic water pipes painted apparently badly, but consistently with blue paint. Actually, I suspect that the effect is exactly what he intended.

You may be able to make out the lower rails of the balcony – twisted 1/2″ overflow pipe!

The walls are pantiles, as are the window and door frames and the chimney pot.

And then there is the gatehouse…

Lack of common language prevented me discovering if the RSJ that support the roof were bent in some extraordinary rolling machine or if he found them following some structural disaster and decided to shape the roof to match…

This guest annexe is around the corner but joined to the main house by the swinging walkway.

And the view South over Hervas…

And, as if all this were not strange enough, I have checked and double-checked the Lat-Long for this place and it is definitely 40.30157N 5.822406W but it just doesn’t show at all on Google Earth. Is this the worlds first “stealth” house?

 

Bejar is not the prettiest of places. It doesn’t evev have a decent supply of shops…

What it does have is bugs! Well, one particular bug but we have no idea what he/she is…

Here he comes, flying in from 2 o’clock high but looking more like a lobster than the Bumble Bee that has smelt the honey first.

Now you will remember the idea of in-flight refueling for aeroplanes. Of course they didn’t have the curling-up problem…

Nevertheless, this guy has some aiming skills when you think that nothing short of a bullseye will get the nectar.

Frankly, the back end is a disgrace to its Mother. She should have told him how to use a hairbrush.

But you have to hand it to him/her for technique. No wasted effort landing on wobbly petals.

A quick slurp and on to the next bucket of honey…

But what is he/r? Please, someone, please.

This was a journey that went happily wrong because the Spanish have such a liking for switching the road numbers around. We intended to travel via the N630 to Bejar where we would go up into the mountains to see La Alberca in the Smart car. This would be a 50 mile trip down a boring flat autovia.

We got it wrong and did a 90 mile trip on what may or may not have been the N620. This took us into the Gata Mountains with the full rig.

In the event, the journey was not as bad as expected and we arrived at La Alberca to find a whole new carpark complete with motorhome service point and spaces reserved just for motorhomes. The spaces even accommodated our 12 meter length!

The town is well known to Spanish tourists and can, apparently, get overwhelmed at week ends. We arrived on Tuesday morning and found the town active but not very busy at all.

Its claim to fame is the architecture. Ground floors built from local sandstone with the upper floors in wood and wattle with generous overhanging balconies.

The one above is now the town hall but was a private house and is typical of the town. This became the town hall after King Alfonso 13th visited the region in 1922 and discovered that the people were so poor that the only milk to be found for his coffee was human! He caused cows to be introduced to the area and they are much in evidence today.

Despite this kick start into dairy, the locals took pigs to heart in a big way and we were sad to have missed, by just 4 days, a very important pig race.

The chaotic appearance of even the most important streets………

is reflected in the surrounding countryside. It does surprise to find that guns and catapults are on sale in every gift shop. You just know there are stills up in the hills and that the VAT man has a hard time of it. At over 1100 metres altitude, you need to be fit to operate here even without the racing pigs and another local brew – green cannabis tea.

This is dense woodland – not easy to police especially with the Portuguese border a few steps away…

 

 

 

Finding ourselves in the Gironde at harvest time, I became aware that, although I have seen much information about what happens to grapes in the process of becoming wine, I had virtually no idea how grapes are grown or harvested.

The harvester coming and going…

Inside the “tunnel” there are rubber beaters which slap the vine just above where the grapes are hanging. Only the grapes that are ripe will fall so it is crucial not to try and harvest until the right moment. Of course, every day that they remain on the vine after they are ripe is a risk of bad weather which can ruin a crop.

The conveyor, in effect, places a table around the stem of the vine and moves the fallen bunches up to the bins above the wheels in the rear view. There are blowers to get rid of any leaves or twigs that may have come down with the grapes and the exit from the blowers can be seen behind the harvester.

The vinyard owners don’t own the harvesters. They mostly belong to the local cooperative to whom the grapes will probably be sold. Getting access to the harvester on the day you want it is a matter of considerable concern to owners.

Often, you will see the owner following the harvester on foot. He will be looking to see how many grapes are left on the vine after the harvester has passed by. Those are the unripe grapes and are lost income!

The drive down to Salamanca from Miranda, Burgos and Valladolid did nothing to prepare us for Salamanca. Even the outskirts where we camped at Villamayor would lead you to suspect that Castilla y Leon province is a mixture of industry and vast plains of very basic agriculture. We saw a few small towns but virtually no villages at all.

We had read the limited coverage in the Lonely Planet which did wax lyrical about the city centre but, of course, a couple of paragraphs can never really paint a realistic picture.

The town center is magnificent, especially the Plaza Mayor.

The cathedral is awesome showing the skill of the stonemason off at levels seldom seen elsewhere.

It is a university town and so has a buzz that students bring. But the atmosphere is something else again!

This place is the product of a backwoods part of Spain that has remained virtually untouched by the disasters of most major cities. Salamanca is not on the mass tourist trail. It has no massive claim to have been instrumental in the shaping of history. There hasn’t been the acid rain, air raids nor earthquakes that shape other places.

Yet it has had the benefit of magnificent design and the wealth of the conquistadors to create the superb architecture that keeps you looking upwards as you walk.

What is it that makes it different?

It feels like an attitude of mind. A different take on living.

Here they respect the antiquities but they continue to use them without fear or risk of vandalism.

As we walked into the Plaza Mayor, expecting to see some impressive architecture because the guide book promised us that, we were surprised to be met by a book fair filling the square with neat temporary shed shops selling their books. In the middle was a larger shed provided by the city library service. Here a brass band is giving a concert. They are not the best in the world but their performance had enthusiasm and flair – especially when it came to Carmen! The place is full of people bustling to and fro.

Then you look above the stalls and see the wonderful architecture…

In so many places, such venues are cleared for the tourists and, frankly, most struggle to make a living out of it.

Here the tourists were not part of the equation. Life as it has always been makes use of the structure as it has always done.

The cafes are alive and plentiful. Even on a Sunday, there are busy working shops selling cakes, bread and other delicacies. The tourists is merely a welcome, and welcomed, addition. They are not a contrivance nor even the object of life. Some tourist, of course, need to concentrate on the local delicacies like this one enjoying Churros dipped in hot chocolate – bought for her husband, actually!

The walking is easy and the sights plentiful. But you soon notice that the majority of the crowd are residents going about their normal Sunday perambulations. Even the Plaza has residents. Real normal people live there not just pigeons. Having said that there are a couple of “residents” who surprised us by their presence – The Duke of Wellington (and us from Halifax!) and Franco!!!

The whole experience seemed to come into focus as we realised that this was a city we would want to return to – just for the sake of feeling part of it.

Haro claims to be the capital of the Rioja country. Certainly it has plenty of bordegas (wine makers) and vinotechs (wine sellers) but isn’t very large nor impressive. A typical town atop a hillock with impossibly narrow streets – which our GPS had us drive the complete rig through; fortunately at lunch time.

It sits nearly at the foot of the mountains so, despite the river Ebro offering a limited river valley, there is little flat land and the vinyards claim any terrace they can find or have made.

The vines are not the short tidy affairs that the French sport. These are much taller and more lush in foliage. They are also much scruffier to look at. The reason is, of course, that the concept of machine harvesting is viewed as a quick way to destroy ancient vines and to ruin a good wine. These vines are picked by hand.

There is even a hierarchy amongst the bodegas. Some will accept the grapes in trailer or even lorry loads. Many prefer the use of plastic punnet boxes

whilst others insist on the use of open wooden barrels which, they say, only take that weight of fruit that will ensure that the bottom berries don’t get damaged.

There are many very high tech bodegas but there are just as many who do things the traditional way. This involves the grapes being pressed in larger wooden barrels

before starting their maturation in yet more barrels. This time of American Oak.

This process ensures the continuity of employment of the cooper! Note their tools against the wall…

A bottle of the humblest Rioja could be had for €1.75 and wasn’t that bad! A crianza 2005 (a good year) was on sale in Simply for €2.50.

Going up the scale, a Reserva which has 2 years in oak rather than the basic 1 for the Crianza would be between €3 and €9. The best, the Gran Reserva will have been in the cask for anything up to 4 years and then in the bottle for anything up to 12 years. This could be bought for as little as €20 but then there were plenty to sale at €70+ It was made very clear that the age did not always make a better wine. We were surprised to find that they make a series of white Riojas, although we didn’t like the ones we tasted.

 

One of the more picturesque towns in the Northern Rioja area is Laguardia. This was a delight with its narrow streets and heavy doored hallways of the street.

Behind this door would be a hallway, sometimes of considerable size, from which would be the access to two or more dwellings. The doors are often to be found open but the hallways are pitch black. However, with a flash on your camera it is possible to come home with some surprising pictures of places you have visited but never seen!!!

Towards the top of the town, near the church is a small park with two tables in the middle…

Which, on closer inspection, turn out to be a sculpture in steel…

Now how was that concept sold to the town burgers…?

 

We enjoyed a very good lunch in Laguardia in a restaurant which we are fairly sure is owned by one of the local bodegas. The wine that came with the meal was of a far higher quality than any “house” wine we ever sampled and included free in a three course meal costing just €11 a head.

The waiter even insisted in halving his tip saying it was too much!

 

Having stayed at Labenne Ocean for 10 days, we finally managed to get out and have a look at Biarritz.

Much loved by the fashionable Victorians, Biarritz still maintains its up-market image with follies at every turn

and promenade opportunities

Some more colourful than otherwise as rock painting seems to be a local hobby

In various forms to trap the unwary sunseeker

Or where the houses lack archtectural merit. It is sometimes hard to spot reality…!

Hint: All leftward facing elevations are blank walls!

but, these days, it is more about surfing the Atlantic rollers.

Judging by the unreasonable number of VW “surfer” vans, this is a prime location for the sport.

This guy knows he is good and that requires a certain degree of respect – doesn’t it?

For those with fast enough broadband, have a look at a GIF (in your internet browser) of one of his “runs” which didn’t end the way he wanted. Its here:

A day we really enjoyed with brilliant weather to bring a smile to Liz’s face. Actually, this photo is here because it is one of the very, very few she seems to like!

This is your insider’s guide to using a post office in Italy.

The first thing you will notice is that there are nearly as many counters as there are staff. And they are scattered around the building so that some can only be found after a little journey, or two…

The principle is that there is a different counter for each type of transaction. So posting a letter would be at counter “P”; buying a stamp would be at counter “S”; drawing cash would be at counter “B” and so on.

Italians don’t really go much on queuing. It gets in the way of greeting old friends, relatives and chatting up any pretty girls in the vicinity.

So they use the numbered ticket system. Very logically, there is a numbered ticket for each counter. Press button “P” to get a number for the Post A Letter counter, right?

If you want to draw some cash so that you buy some stamps in order to post a parcel to Spain you will need a numbered ticket for each of those counters. Simple. Until you realise that it is entirely probable that your numbers will be called to the posting counter before the stamp counter and way before the cash counter. The only safe way is to get the tickets for each as you finish with the previous. Of course that does make the job a tad longer – maybe half a day or so.

If you are Italian, you will immediately recognise that I have misrepresented this. Of course stamps and posting letters and parcels are done at the same counter. I just wanted to get the principle across without making it seem as complicated as you and I both know it really is!

OK. You have walked in and have located the counter you need first and, with a bit of careful surveying, you have located the machine that issues the numbered tickets. Good. Your ticket says you are in position P125 and the large sign above the P counters say “Chiuso”, 41 and 92. Chiuso is closed; 41 went off on other duties before calling customer 42 and the person running the only working counter is serving ticket number 91. So, 125-91=33 people ahead of you in the queue.

No.

Wrong.

For lots of different reasons, not so.

As you sit down and watch the next 5 customers being served, you may be tempted to do a bit more maths. Each of the 5 customers were at the counter for approximately 10 minutes each. You have 33 ahead of you so you can expect to be served. It is now 11am. 33 x 10 = 330 / 60 = 5:30 + 11am = 4:30. But they close for 2.5 hours from 1:30 till 4:00 so you should be dealt with at 4:30 + 2:30 = 7pm.

No.

Wrong again.

You will be out of there all done and dusted well before lunch time.

You may also think to yourself, “I could go and sit outside in the sun for half an hour rather than sitting here watching a series of repeating advertisements on the plasma screen. Now don’t get me wrong. Italian post offices are nice smart, well equipped places. But sunshine is better…

Don’t do it.

You may well lose your place and have to start from the bottom of the first ladder.

There are techniques available for you to deploy here.

1. “Can I have a form, please”

You may need a form that needs filling in. Hover by the person currently being served and when you see them start to fill in their form or get some change, ask the teller for your form. Now you have established a relationship with the teller and can come back to him or her any time there is a break. These people are brilliant at multi-tasking and can quite happily serve three or four people at once, albeit a little slower, and only one of them needs to be the person with the right number. This fends off any complaints about queue jumping.

2. The Dead Tickets

So you just did the maths and worked out that you have a 3 hour wait. You are 125 and 91 is being served. Then suddenly the numbers wizz through at the rate of 1 per second and there is just a couple ahead of you!

Did a string of people decide not to post that day after taking their tickets? How did the teller know they weren’t waiting behind a pillar? Being a foreigner, I was taken in hand by the other attendees. As the number display did its spurt towards my number, several people told me to go to the counter. I showed them that mine was still 4 away from the current but it seemed they all knew what number I had and I was almost pushed to the counter. I was still one away from the displayed number when the teller smiled at me and held out his hand to take my parcel. I am nervous, expecting 124 to come screaming out of the background demanding retribution for taking his or, worse, her place. I confess, I haven’t worked out if there is some form of telepathy at work here. Would a runner have fetched me from outside the door if I had just popped out? I really think they might!

3. The Ticket Swap

You have ticket 130. You hover near the counter carefully placed so you can see the display and you can see anybody approaching the counter. Ticket 93 is called but nobody is approaching the counter. You go immediately to the counter, screwing up you ticket and throwing it in the bin. You are now presumed to be ticket 93! This explains why most customers don’t display their tickets so that anyone can see what they have got…

I must admit to be somewhat surprised that there were no recent immigrants offering to give you an earlier number ticket as you come in – for a small consideration. If they made the deal an exchange for the one you have just taken, they should be able to keep that scam going all day without ever having to take another ticket themselves…

There may be other sub-plots involved in the queuing system that are far too subtle for me to catch.

Now comes the process of posting a parcel. It is going to Spain.

First it must be measured and the dimensions entered into a computer. Then it must be weighed. This is entered into the computer. This is necessary because, like some in the UK, carriers charge by density which must be calculated by the computer and, again like the UK, the postal system often uses private contractors along the way. Quite how many decimal places are required in the final specific gravity result was not clear to me.

There are three services which we offer that will get this parcel to Spain. Which would you prefer to use?

I decided to just point out that it was a laptop computer which was worth about €800 but as it was going back for repair, I really was not concerned with the time taken to arrive. What I was clear about was that I wanted it fully insured.

“In that case, please fill in this form here, sir. The cost will be €48.” As I am filling in the form, the teller asked, “Is there an invoice in the parcel?”. I tell him there is and that I have a copy of it but not with me.

“That is fine. We don’t need it unless the parcel gets lost. But it does mean that you could have better insurance for very little extra money.” I agree to that and am asked to fill in the other half of the form. The cost has gone up to €50.76 so I am happy enough.

Everything looks set to go but…

“Have you got a Codice Fiscale? We will need a copy of it.”

A Codice Fiscale is an Italian Tax Number. I had discovered that they were needed now for a lot of different transactions in Italy – like getting a Pay-as-you-go SIM card. But anyone can have one. You just go onto the government run taxation site, fill in a form which doesn’t require an address and you get a code immediately.

“I haven’t got it with me”, I explain. The teller is very understanding and asks if I can remember the number. “Well, your parcel cannot go until you give us the Codice Fiscale”, says my teller friend. (We have established quite a good relationship by now.)

It is now 1pm and they will close for the two and a half hour lunch break at 1:30. Off I go back to the van, fire up the computer, find the document and think to myself – if I stop to break out the printer, I won’t get back before they close. I have the GPS which can display photographs quite well so I transfer the image of my CF card to that and rush off back to the post office.

At 1:25pm, I am greeted by two tellers like a long lost friend. No kissing but hands are shaken and certainly no question of waiting in any queues. I offer the image of the Codice Fiscale in full colour.

“Ah, we need a copy of it. I will see if it will photocopy off the GPS!”, says one of the tellers and disappears out the back. A few minutes later, he comes back and tells the other teller that it hasn’t worked. A quick conference is held. I am shown a bit of black paper so that I can see that the photocopier has worked. “we are going to try and send it without the copy. It may or may not work. We will just hope.”, says my friend.

Whilst we are waiting for the teller behind the desk to do his stuff, the guy on my side is chatting about the state of the Sicilian world, we find we have acquaintances in common, and he explains how so many customers do not show proper respect for the guys working at the post office. “They just won’t keep silent while we try to work”, he tells me. At this point I catch the eye of the other guy who rolls his eyes at me!

Suddenly, there is great excitement from both members of staff. The system has accepted the parcel. I am given the receipt and escorted outside by one of the tellers. We continue to set the Sicilian world to rights for another ten minutes and part the best of friends.

There are many ways to pass the time in the sun. This has been one of them. I wonder wether the parcel will get to Cartegena.