Franco – Page 12 – CAROLINE ANGUS

A LITTLE JAUNT TO SPAIN – REVIEW PART 8: I Don’t Trust Anyone in Spain… or their Sangria

Published on July 23, 2013January 13, 2014 by Caroline Angus4 Comments

Blogging has been tough lately. I read about Spain and the posts are mostly about food experiences, or “oh, Spain is so pretty and shiny”, or “Spain is going down faster than a $2 hooker”. What does someone like me, who stands in the middle, post about without sounding like a whiner? It’s impossible.

A not-so typical holiday snap

I’ve made mistakes in the past, and I’m the first to admit that. Fortunately, Spain is a place that allows people to make mistakes and move on. I once had the opportunity to spend a few years living in Spain, and get to experience being an expat in a country where few of my countrymen and women go to live life abroad. So, when I found myself with the opportunity to have the chance to go back to Spain purely as a tourist, I thought that would be a piece of cake. Turns out I was very wrong.

I first went to Spain in 2005, and landed in Valencia on a hot summer day. After the tidiness of the airport in Auckland, the ruthless chaos of San Francisco, the soulless efficiency of Munich, (the then) basic and dilapidated airport was a real sight. I joked to my husband that it was the kind of the place you expected to see live chickens in cages moving along on the luggage carousel. Imagine the laughter when we heard the call of a rooster only moments later – it turned out to be the ringtone on the phone of our friend who had come to pick us up. With suitcases, prams, portable cots and many other baby items, myself, hubby, and our one-year-old and newborn sons got to see Spain for the first time. Lucky I was 24 and had the exuberance of youth on my side; because after Spanair broke my $1000 double pram, my mood wasn’t terrific. I met another friend at the hotel, who said I could get straight into flamenco classes. Bless him, he had only been in Spain a few months himself, and still full of the joys of expat life in Spain. Of course, Spain wasn’t full of flamenco and sangria – it was real life instead.

How many friends can fit in one photo for a magazine shoot? Which magazine? Gente in Italy, I think. Don’t quote me

After my complicated permit to live in Spain was revoked in late 2007, I had only just got the hang of Spanish life. There is a beauty of living abroad; you get the reality of living there, combined with only having to take on the customs you choose. You can understand the place, but not be weighed down with a lifetime of expectations or stereotypes. Expats can really live it up; life is filled to the brim with experiences, trips are taken, foods are tasted, wines flow freely, friends are made, and rose-tinted glasses can get you a long way. You also have reality to pull your head from the expat clouds – your health insurance is a constant drama, your language skills always need work, if your gas stops working you know you will wait two weeks for the repair guy to show up, and visiting the bank is an exercise in endurance. Don’t get me started on the hassle of registering a birth of a baby that has foreign parents, and was born in the Alacant region, not the Valencia region, so you need to blah, blah, blah.

Expat odd moment – because everyone has given money to a billionaire while he wears your homemade apron, that happens all the time

What I learned is that I couldn’t trust anyone in Spain, because as with living there or being a tourist, no two people experienced the country in the same way. One week after I arrived in Valencia, I shared a lift ride with an American woman. Turned out we were going to visit the same friend. Her husband and my husband had come to Spain for the same jobs, and she had been in Spain for several months. She asked me how long I had been in Valencia, and I said one week. Her reply – “give it two weeks before you decide you hate Spain. Everyone hates it, but give it at least two weeks”. (SERIOUSLY – to this day, we still laugh about that). How does that advice help me learn about Spain? It doesn’t. I suspect the reason her husband was a cheat was because he got sick of her complaining. I lived in a community that left me surrounded by expats from many different nations, due to the reason I went to Spain (it was the America’s Cup, that may mean something, it may not. Your call). I had the best of everything in Spain and felt no need to apologise for that. I loved my life there. However, the bubble I existed in was not Spain, it was a lie. It got to the point where many people had no idea about the place, hated so many things and formed a comfort zone around themselves, until we could leave again (note – that’s a generalisation, some people are amazing friends with open minds and hearts). One guy took years to go into Valencia’s old town and then went to the Mercado Central, and had to panic call a friend to rescue him. The notion of Spaniards, speaking Spanish and buying fresh food freaked him out because it wasn’t like home. True story.

I’ll pass, thanks

About a year into my adventure, two friends were talking. One said “should we go to (insert generic closed down bar here)”, and the other said, “no way, it’s always full of whining Aussies and Kiwis.” Ouch. I felt relieved to have never gone there. It burst the expat bubble with spectacular success. When I left Spain, I thought I had built up a realistic opinion of the country. To understand the nation and the culture, I studied the history. I grew to understand the politics and the origins of customs (alas, the freedom of time!). I left Spain with double the number of children I started with, and that in itself opens the eyes. An expert on the place? Hell no, it takes far longer to fully understand Spain. It was never my intention to stay away from Spain, but more important things came my way.

Fast forward six years, far more study, novels written and passionate debates abound, I decided to go to Spain for a few weeks just to help me out with writing, to see friends and soak up the ambiance, which I knew had changed remarkably in my absence. So, would it be easier to be a tourist, after knowing so much about the country? This time, would it be all sangria and sunburn? Nope. I fear knowing Spain well only made it harder.

Valencian manhole cover – as you do

This is why I can’t trust anyone in Spain, because no two people see Spain in quite the same way. If you’re from the UK or Europe, a trip to Spain sounds like nothing much. Everyone does it, all the time. Most go to the same few places, like the Brit and German invasion of the beaches (I hate the beach). I couldn’t read guide books before my trip because a) they suck, and b) I wouldn’t learn anything. After booking my trip, my enthusiasm plummeted. Had I shot my own holiday in the foot faster than King Juan Carlos can take aim at an elephant or family member? But, as I did when I lived in Spain, I decided to grab the opportunity and shake it until its balls hurt. No time-wasting for me!

Talk about mixed feelings. One morning was spent on a tour to El Escorial (yes, a organised tour group – don’t hate me, I’ve done enough self-loathing for us both) and those on the trip seemed to have a good time. They felt like they were educated and saw all the sights. I felt rushed and given info I already knew.

Toledo – you will have to hold a gun to my head to make me visit again. I imagined the battle for the Alcazar during the civil war, but all you will find there are tour groups led around by disinterested chain-smoking guides who don’t take you to the best sights. But who decided which are the best sights? That’s the trouble, the Spain I know and want to see and that of others are totally different. I remembered that piece of my own advice and carried on alone.

All I could hear was the sound the customs officer would make as he had a heart attack upon my return home

Avíla and Segovia – two places I don’t know well. I met up with a gay couple and a lovely English woman, all on a getaway from work and we had a good day out. Was it Spain, or the people I met? The people and the upbeat attitude.

Barcelona – I felt conflicted the entire time. I went out one evening and had laughs with friends and had a good time. Was trying cheese the highlight? No, it was getting an evil glare of a balaclava covered riot policeman outside the town hall building during a protest. Some people don’t put that in their holiday scrapbook, but I thought it was awesome (until the batons appeared). I was relating to the angry mob who are upset at the state of Catalonia. I got to tour civil war Barcelona and feel like I had received a meaningful connection to a city, but got plunged straight back into Americans complaining outside Starbucks that the coffee doesn’t taste like it does at home. (Tip – YOU’RE NOT AT HOME) But then, many don’t give a toss about the history of Barcelona, so who is right and who is wrong? No one.

Romantic postcard image meets reality of living here

Madrid – I wanted to see a bit of civil war-ness and the weather thwarted me. There is still the park, the art museums and the hell that is Gran Via to see, but I didn’t want any of them, though I wandered briefly for specific paintings. I popped into the Dalí exhibit at the Reina Sofia and got crushed by tourists, but then went to their civil war exhibit and had the place to myself (happy dance time). Many other people did enjoy the Prado et al, though. But, the city redeemed itself, in the people I met there. You gain more Spain-ness in a ten minute chat at a bullfight with a guy named Emilio than you can standing in the Prado (Disclaimer, I have ‘done’ the Prado in the past, so whip me with the tourist cane again). I see the Prado paintings and think of them being smuggled to safety during the war and how half a million refugees in France were left to freeze and die while paintings were covered and warm. Does anyone else care? Maybe, maybe not.

Valencia – finally a place where I could breathe! Familiarity with the world’s greatest little city makes a holiday. But do you gain anything out of sangria in a cheap restaurant with English-speaking waiters? So people might, but I didn’t. People flock to the Arts and Sciences, and it’s great, but I feel like I’ve only seen the city when I see a couple kissing in the park (wow, that sounds pervy). Showing a Valencia tourist around the city makes me want to cut my eyes out, but standing at the baseball field watching a portable cricket pitch being set up feels like a good way to spend an afternoon. If I recommend that as a sight to see, people would think me mad.

Easy little streets to navigate. And by easy, I mean you will never get anything delivered – ever

Cuenca and Teruel – I didn’t give either of these places enough credit. I just didn’t want to visit (is that awful?) I might try Teruel again (with the right people) while meandering out in Awesome Aragon, but Cuenca? No way.

See what I’m saying? You can’t trust anyone in Spain. No two people can see it the same. I went there with no expectation, and found it hard to dig through the shiny veneer of tourism to find what I felt would make a successful holiday. Every time I sipped a sangria, I felt like I had let myself down (because I don’t like it much, a bit meh. Don’t worry, I tried plenty of other drinks too. No glass went undiscovered).

See? I visited the craft beers, like any good tourist

I Spain I loved –

Buying hairspray at the Mercadona where I used to go food shopping

Sipping wine in Cuenca

Imagining fascist troops in Teruel

Standing the summit sign at L’Oronet

Getting evil looks for talking about Franco in Madrid

Laughing with a maid because we couldn’t get a door open

Taking the No. 19 bus in Valencia

Paying for an umbrella in a Madrid junk shop

The young guy named Carlos at the Cuenca tourist office. He got to try his English, I got five minutes company in an otherwise dull excursion

The Spain I hated –

People who ignore the ‘no photos’ rule! It’s not there to ruin your holiday, they have a reason!

How much Valencia has changed (total foreigner nostalgia moan right here!)

Barcelona – I failed to have anything in common with the place (and I tried!) Though, El Raval was nice

Driving anywhere (and I was only the passenger! Should have gone by train)

Walking around Madrid (the place seems so down on itself these days) Wander Lavapies to wipe out this feeling

Cigarette smoke

Not finding the right mix of alone time and time with friends (yes, my own fault)

The fact my old Valencian neighbourhood is not only devoid of my family and friends, but devoid of all life and soul (thought I was on the scene of a zombie movie!)

English menus (who orders the ironed sepia?)

Complaints from others about Spain (yep, I’m complaining about complaining)

Oh, it’s that time yet again

I can’t trust anyone in Spain, because they won’t see the place like I do. By that theory, no one can trust my opinion either! You will just have to go and experience it for yourself! Will I go again? Hell yeah, I have no doubt about that. The beauty is, I have the power improve my Spain experience every time I visit, because the country gives so much choice. However you enjoy Spain, all power to you. Pick your holiday companions carefully, because if they see it totally different, you could find frustration under every tapa. A civil war researcher and heavy on the political and economic conversationalist like me can’t enjoy Spain with tea-sipping, bullfight and flamenco inquisitor with the dream of Spanish romance in the orange groves. Lucky Spain is big enough for all of us!

When the everyday places are this beautiful, who cares who is right and wrong?

Up next… back to serious posts… Teruel and the back roads of Valencia and Aragon

Click here to see previous posts in the series – Spain 2013 in Review

A LITTLE JAUNT TO SPAIN – REVIEW PART 5: Madrid Food Tour with James Blick

Published on June 14, 2013August 22, 2013 by Caroline AngusLeave a comment

Never complain to a kiwi about flying. Anything less than 12 hours is practically short haul. It takes 30 hours to fly Auckland to Madrid (via Brisbane and Dubai), 25 hours of that in the air. I didn’t sleep the entire trip to Madrid yet again, but I did enjoy watching the scenery of flying over places like Iraq and Turkey. I hit the ground in Madrid, a city I hadn’t visited in seven years. It had all the familiarity of being Spanish, but still, the place felt a bit like a maze.

Madrid is beautiful place to get lost

Little did I know. After one of those awful half-hour naps, I found myself outside the coffin-shaped Teatro Real on a mild Saturday evening. It was time to get well and truly lost in Madrid by night. A while back I discovered Madrid Food Tour through founder Lauren Aloise, who put me through to James Blick. In true style, you can’t travel anywhere without running into another New Zealander, so to find I would be tripping around Madrid with another kiwi came as no surprise. I had never been on a tour of any kind before; I’m not a fan in any respect. If anyone can change my mind about something, it’s James Blick.

Taberna Real

I can only try to convey the fun to be had on the Tapas and History tour. It’s a sights, sounds, smells and tastes experience that needs to be grabbed with both hands. James’ enthusiasm for his city is irresistible, and matched with several engaging couples from the around the world, I started the evening with vermouth at Taberna Real, followed by a warm evening stroll. Plaza de Oriente was filled with families enjoying the last of the sun, along with musicians and locals enjoying a drink in the fading light. It is a part of Madrid I haven’t really wandered much, so by the time we left Plaza Ramales, the burial place (or not-so burial place in the case of the missing skeleton) of the famous Diego Velázquez besides San Juan Bautista church, I was already lost in Madrid. Not that I really noticed, given the charming company and keen wit of our tour leader.

Plaza Ramales

A quick walk through Plaza del Villa and down past Restaurante Botín, the world’s oldest restaurant, the next bar we stopped at was the kind I love – a tiny place, standing room only to sip wine and eat Spanish deliciousness.

Restaurante Botín

I admitted my dislike for red wine, which set James a challenge to change my mind. Between the chorizo, blue cheese, anchovies and other such snacks, the red selected for me was excellent. Having the chance to visit places with someone who knows the history of the place greatly enhances the atmosphere.

As the sun began to set, we headed back up Calle de los Cuchilleros and through the archway into Plaza Mayor. I must admit I had never been there, as I’m no fan of crowds of tourists. However, as the sun set the place was rather quiet. We wandered and talked about the Spanish Inquisition and various other activities to have taken place in the square, before heading out in search of better restaurants than the ones on offer in the plaza.

Plaza Mayor

Wandering Madrid during sunset

We stopped in Puerta del Sol, to discuss the more of Madrid’s history for those new the place, before we carried on to somewhere the nerd inside of me was excited to visit. (By this time, everyone knew I was a Spanish history nerd, no need to hide it.)

All quiet in Puerta del Sol

We took in sherries at La Venencia, which I can only assume is named after the tool you use to take a sample of wine from the barrel. It is none other than the sherry haunt of Ernest Hemingway, a man who was still fresh in my mind after re-reading most of his work in the lead-up to my re-visit to Spain. The place looks like it stepped out of the 20’s, and rightfully so. James pointed out that it’s not cool to take photos inside the bar, but I may have accidentally slipped with my iphone and taken one of the dusty sherry bottles (don’t worry, the barman saw me and gave the nod of acceptance).

Hanging out at La Venencia

The sherries James selected on our behalf were great and very different to each other, as was the conversation between our spirited bunch. It was well and truly dark by the time were spilled back out on the street in search of another restaurant close by.

ME Madrid Reina Victoria hotel

The final spot of our evening delivered us more delicious fare and more too-easy-to-drink red wine. By now, a combination of alcohol and jetlag allowed for fun and informative conversation, even if the nearby guests looked at me strange every time I said ‘Franco’. Hey, I was hating on the guy, no big deal! The opportunity to sit in a restaurant in Madrid, early into the morning and talk about Spain, its history, its culture, its economic collapse was exactly what I had come to Spain for.

Hanging with Federico García Lorca in Plaza Santa Ana

By the time we had wandered back in the direction of Puerta del Sol, the streets had started to empty out and I was more lost than I have ever been in my life! James was kind enough to walk this afraid-of-the-dark woman back to her hotel, and along the way gave out plenty of helpful tips for my solo stay in Madrid.

Cape shopping, anyone?

Without a doubt, the Tapas and History Tour of Madrid with James Blick is a 10/10 must-see activity. I know my fair share about Spain, but I wasn’t left feeling like I was hearing basic info for first-time visitors. Our group of was a mix of Spain aficionados and newbies, and everyone came away feeling happy and fulfilled.

I came to Madrid for the bullfights, so I had to get this snapped

I spent a few more nights in Madrid, dominated by friends and beverages before heading on to my more familiar locations around Spain. However, my final two nights were based back in Madrid to take in some bullfighting at Las Ventas. so I decided catch up with James again for another tour.

I met James in central old-town Madrid and set off on an all different tour of the city. San Isidro was in full swing throughout Madrid, and was the reason I chose Spain in May (and not for the weather, because Madrid, you were FREEEEEEZING that night!). We stopped and took in a view of Casa del Campo as the sun began to set. I wasn’t able to visit the place where two New Zealanders died during the battle of Madrid in 1936, but at least the opportunity to talk about the history of the place with people who were genuinely interested almost made up for it.

Vermouth dominated the beverages

The streets were full with locals out despite the cold, and after a visit to a church and a helpful San Isidro lesson, in true Spanish style the bar still wasn’t open, even though we were running late. We settled in another bar for a pre-dinner drink- drink (that’s a thing!) to discuss the civil war. (James is well aware of my nerdiness and chatted accordingly. I appreciate his patience.)

Once we couldn’t cope with the cold any longer, we went into Bar Sanlúcar, a small and fantastic place in La Latina. Between the wine, vermouth, bullfighting memorabilia, Andalusian music and salmorejo, it is a perfect place to visit. It was full of locals enjoying a drink, and we talked about the food, the bar, and the ambiance of the area.

Bullfighting tickets… why not?

On the three of us went in the cold, discussing Spain’s current economic situation, before we stopped at a great Basque bar. I say great, because it was standing room only, and even then, it was standing against each other kind of popular. We had the chance to partake in Txakoli (chacolí in Spanish), which is poured at a great height, enough to let the white wine fizz nicely. As a white wine lover (no apologies!) I really enjoyed it. The pintxo to accompany the drinks was rabo de toro – oxtail sandwich – which was a weird flashback moment for me. I was fed a lot of that as a child in New Zealand, and didn’t expect that familiar flavour to come rushing back in Basque bar in Madrid. I digress. Whilst you can’t exactly feel the salty air of the Atlantic blowing on you in Madrid, you can understand why so many people flock to the Basque country for the food and wine. If you haven’t… why not?

Oxtail sandwiches, baby

On we marched, discussing tips to get the best from El Rastro (I won’t lie, I’ve been once – not my thing) before we stopped at the 100-year-old shrimp institution La Casa del Abuelo on Calle Victoria. It was already late by the time we jumped in from the cold and the floor was littered with napkins and shrimp bits – a Madrileño homage to the greatness of the place. (As a kiwi, throwing my rubbish on the floor in appreciation is something I still feel weird about, even now.) You don’t need to be crazy for shrimp or prawn to eat here, everything is cooked on the plancha (flat grill, for lack of better translation term) and served in garlic deliciousness.

I didn’t just take the decor pic to snap Manolete’s butt (top centre), I promise

Me (left) with great shrimps

Our last stop was a more modern style of restaurant, Taberna del Chato. With more white wine and a chat with the guy behind the bar, I can barely recall what we had on the toast. If James could fill in me, that would be great! The restaurant was a complete contrast to the very traditional shrimp place before; James gave us an excellent mix of what is available in Madrid.

White wine and… something

Despite it only being about 1am, we stopped at Chocolateria San Ginés, the place where everyone knows their churros. More suited to those stumbling out of bars at 5am for the past 120 years, the place was quiet as we laughed, chatted and looked at the photos of celebs who have needed churros to soak up alcohol for them over the years.

Churros. It had to be eaten

It was 2am before we were finished and Madrid was cold enough even to chase two kiwis indoors.

Sure, you could probably find these bars and restaurants on your own, and stumble your way through the menus, but you wouldn’t get an experience half as good without James Blick on board. The Tapas and History Tour constantly gets rave reviews and it’s easy to see why. Whether you already know Spain or are brand new, James’ unique, committed and sincere passion for Madrid provides a tasty, eye-opening night out. Whilst daytime Madrid left me wanting, night-time Madrid is a great place to get lost, as long as you have James Blick to navigate your taste buds. Of course, some people couldn’t think of anything more boring than discussing the Spanish civil war all night, but the beauty is that the night can take whatever path you like. Your tour, private or as a group, is tailored to what you enjoy.

To book a tour with James Blick, or one of the other tours available – Madrid Food Tour

To read reviews about James, Lauren, Alejandro and Kay and their Madrid Food Tours – Madrid Food Tour – Trip Advisor (currently ranked #1 activity in Madrid!)

Like food blogs? – Madrid Food Tour Blog

James Blick’s Blog – Madrid Chow

Lauren Aloise’s Blog – Spanish Sabores

Up next… Part 6 – Bullfighting: Madrid vs Valencia

Click here for the Spain 2013 in Review series – Spain 2013 in Review

SPAIN BOOK REVIEW: ‘The Anarchist Detective’ by Jason Webster

Published on June 8, 2013May 19, 2016 by Caroline Angus1 Comment

Sent on leave after his last, brutal, case, Max Cámara returns to his home town in La Mancha, famous for producing the finest saffron in the world.

There, the past keeps pulling at him. The town is exhuming a mass grave from the Civil War, but why is his grandfather behaving so strangely? His old friend Yago is investigating a particularly nasty murder which sets off memories Max has been trying to bury for years. And then there are Yago’s whisperings about a saffron mafia…

Max finds himself plunged into the thick of a complex and intensely personal case that will put him in severe danger and have him questioning his past – and his future in the police.

~~~

Max Cámara, the cynical, persistent, pragmatic, intelligent, likeable Spanish detective is back and better than ever. Valencia’s most dogged detective is on leave, and in self-imposed exile in Madrid, to cook, read and have sex with the lovely Alicia. But is that enough for a man like Max?

Max is pulled back to his hometown of Albacete, a place he has sought to run from his entire life. The author expertly describes the mood of this provincial Spanish area; the stark landscape that surrounds the barely-enjoyable place is evident throughout. It’s dirty, it’s stuck in the past, it’s a place where any man would want to leave his memories behind.

The character of Hilario, Max’s grandfather, once again steals the show with this witty lines, stubborn attitudes and bold behaviour. Hilario is a link to the past that Max cannot escape, and as more details of the man’s past, and the past of his relatives, come to life in Hilario’s unremarkable apartment, the reader can learn more about Max than ever before. With the last two novels, Or the Bull Kills You, and A Death in Valencia, hints of Max’s life have delighted and teased, but now so much of Max’s troubled past bursts from the page, serving to illuminate the character and make him even more complex and yet more relatable.

Pressing issues in today’s Spain dominate the storyline; when a young girl is murdered, Max finds himself on the trail of murderers and also corrupt leaders, their hands yellow with the stain of saffron smuggling. Max juggles this modern-day issue, along with ghosts of the past; the local cemetery is digging up Civil War and Franco victims, and the two events are more interlinked than Max could imagine. The conversation surrounding the idealisms of pre-war Spain are explained in such a way that those with little knowledge can easily understand, along with the fear imposed on the population in the post-war 1940’s. Sentimentality is spared as the facts are told through the eyes of a person who has had to deal with the reality of living in such times.

Webster brings the book and its themes to life through comfortable and believable relationships between the characters. Max and Hilario’s family connection is convincing and authentic, and his relationship with journalist Alicia is refreshingly realistic. Any person who has suffered a difficult childhood and wished to leave their early life behind can feel Max’s desire to run and never look back.

The whole novel, dominated by the stuffy atmosphere of Albacete, holds Max in a kind of purgatory in which he needs to escape. Is the future back in Valencia? Perhaps Madrid? Max may be able fight crime and lay ghosts to rest, but can he stop himself from sabotaging his own future?

The book reaches a satisfying and poignant end, and leaves plenty of scope for yet another Cámara installment. The scenes in the hospital can feel very close to home. Readers may never put saffron in their cooking again without thinking twice. Even Max is looking at his paella sideways…

The Anarchist Detective is the best Max Cámara yet. Webster’s talent with this character strengthens with every installment. Spain’s past and present weave together to produce an eloquent and emotional novel that can be read in a single sitting.

The Anarchist Detective – 5 stars! Superb must-read

Available in hardback and on Kindle – The Anarchist Detective by Jason Webster

A LITTLE JAUNT TO SPAIN – REVIEW PART 1: High and Lows of Spain

Published on May 21, 2013July 22, 2013 by Caroline Angus11 Comments

Hello! I’m back from my two weeks in Spain. If you were following my public twitter account, you probably got an idea of what I’ve been up to these last sixteen days. It was my first time in Spain as a tourist, I have only ever been to Spain while living there in the past. I have plenty to share, including-

The top ten things I rediscovered about Valencia

The civil war history of Barcelona with Nick Lloyd

On the road with Blood in the Valencian Soil

Tapas and History Tour with James Blick

Bullfighting – Valencia vs. Madrid

Valle de los Caídos: Spain’s most terrifying location

Learning to be a tourist in Spain

Teruel: Spain’s hidden interior

Ávila, Segovia, Cuenca and Toledo: Small towns, big charms

But first, here is a quick round-up of Spain for me in 2013 (in no particular order) –

Highlight of the trip was walking through Valencia’s Turia. I did this every day, but the night before I left, I wandered the park from the Arts and Sciences complex to the Torre de Serranos and it was magical in the late afternoon sunshine. Every city needs a space like the Turia.

BITVS goes to the Turia

Worst moment of the trip was getting caught in the tour group bustle of Toledo. The place was filled with mindless drones, all walking along, looking at the same few things, one after another. They don’t even go to the Alcazar. Sure, it’s rebuilt, but anyone with half an interest in Spain will know of the bloody war battle that occurred there. It’s a must-see spot.

Biggest surprise in Spain was the level of English spoken. Okay, I’ve been gone nearly six years, but the way people speak has really changed. I also discovered that my Spanish isn’t as bad as I thought.

English pamphlet in Xativa

Most exceeding of expectations was definitely Madrid. I put this down to the people, despite their reserved nature. I have been to Madrid before, but I saw the city in a new light. I will elaborate in Madrid’s dedicated blog post. Madrid gave me a new sense of confidence, and was the only city to keep me partying to dawn.

Me and James in Madrid

Lowest point in the trip was when I arrived in Cuenca. The views looked exactly like the photos and that should have been great; but it wasn’t. I got there and had a sense of being trapped far from the whole world. The town got better as I wandered the place, and the bolt-hole bar we spent the evening in made everything okay again.

Cuenca’s gorge bridge where you can leave a message of undying love – so I did

Unexpected fun came when I met two men on the trip to Segovia. They were celebrating their engagement by visiting Spain. Combined with a lovely English woman, the trip held more excitement that we expected. The wild asparagus at lunch was divine.

Segovia’s Sleeping Beauty castle

The least surprising thing was the noise level in Valencia. I got more peace on Barcelona’s La Rambla than I did in any location in Valencia. They may have changed the laws on late night noise, but somehow that makes no difference. That doesn’t even count the fiesta going on; regular life is at full volume.

Mixed feelings award went to all the protests going on. I have literally lost count on the number of protests I walked into in Barcelona, Valencia and Madrid. While I admire the Spanish people and their willingness to stand up for their rights, it’s heartbreaking to see what the country is going through.

Protesting outside banks in Valencia

Saddest moment came when I was taking the bus in Valencia. I saw something out the window and thought, ‘I must remember to tell Dad about that’. My father died horrifically last July. I cried alone on a public bus. Not a great moment.

Happiest moment was again in Valencia, when I first arrived in the city. I hadn’t enjoyed the train trip too much and was feeling a bit low. But after finding the rented apartment, I set off in search of the new Mercadona and it occurred to me how well I know the city and instantly welcome I felt. My six-year absence may as well have not existed. I could have partied all night long had I not collapsed of exhaustion at 1am.

Iconic horchata in Central Valencia

Most shocking moment is without doubt visiting Valle de los Caídos (Valley of the Fallen) outside Madrid. It is dictator Francisco Franco’s scary tomb, built by slaves and has the largest Christian cross in the world on top (150 metres). No photo can show the expanse or the horror of this place. Not only is a fascist dictator honoured here, but built into the place is 30,000 unnamed Republicans who were murdered, then dug back up and stuffed into the basilica like padding, without consent of their families. There, a man akin to Hitler or Mussolini, is honoured with flowers, fascist salutes and singing children. I’ll do a separate post, but if there was a God, he wouldn’t go near that place.

WTF!?!

Spontaneous enjoyment award goes to driving back to Valencia from Teruel. We jumped off the main road and took the CV310 through the Sierra Calderona. This, of course, is the main spot in the Blood in the Valencian Soil. We climbed a dirt road to listen to the silence of ‘Escondrijo’, Luna Montgomery’s country home, meandered through the hillside towns featured in the book, and stopped for coffee at the Blanquet, the cafe in Náquera, which is central for many readers of In The Hands of Love. It was a full and rewarding day.

‘Escondrijo’ in the Valencian mountains!

I was unprepared for the cold in Madrid. When I first arrived there, it was warm and cheerful. But the final two days spent in the great city were freezing. It made an Auckland winter look like a tropical paradise. I have only ever visited Madrid in summer (the three months of hell), but its ‘nine months of winter’ really crept back to give me a taste of its power. However, it stopped none of the fun. I stopped at Desigual and bought this coat which a dozen people have already complimented me on.

A really disappointing point came when I visited Montjuïc castle in Barcelona. It is a central point in Spain’s history, both during the civil war and the brutality that proceeded under Franco (plus if you have read Carlos Ruiz Zafon’s The Angel’s Game, it’s a must-see). Many famous names were imprisoned, tortured and murdered within those walls. I walked into this location, and people were sipping coke and having lunch on the same cobbles where violated souls perished. Okay, you could probably say this about lots of places in Europe, but it really struck a cord with me. I took the bus back to the city feeling disappointed.

Outside Montjuïc castle

Unexpected neutrality hit during bullfighting. I am not a bullfight hater. I have respect for toreros. Hell, I write about them. I have never endorsed or enjoyed the murder aspect, but when I went to a fight in Valencia, I felt underwhelmed. I’m glad I went, but sitting high above it, you are disconnected with its reality. When sitting against the barrier at Las Ventas in Madrid, it was a whole other story. Let’s say I got everything I ever needed to know about bullfighting. The constant swirl of cigar smoke did not help the ambiance. I can say with confidence that while I will continue to write about toreros, but I have no need to visit again.

Las Ventas in Madrid

The most weirded out moment came when I visited Valencia’s port area. The darsena, built to house the 2007 America’s Cup, now lies empty. It looks exactly the same, down to the buildings still branded with sailing teams’ names. The old Prada building, once the jewel of the area, has its sail-fabric walls breaking down at record speed. The walls were made of sails built for the 2003 America’s Cup, and were popular and prized. Now, they are peeling away and left to decay. The whole area looks like a time capsule of my former Spanish life, lying discarded like a stripped corpse. Auckland held the Cup before Valencia, and now we have the Viaduct area filled with parks, playgrounds, cafes, bars and hotels. Valencia could have used their space likewise, but haven’t. No wonder the expensive event was so unpopular with the locals.

What I learned was that I don’t like to travel alone. I don’t mind it, but fun hit more often when other people were around. I spent many days with my friend Sabine Kern on the trip, and with the involvement of people like Graham Hunt in Valencia, Nick Lloyd in Barcelona and James Blick in Madrid, the trip was greatly enhanced.

Drinking from the porrón in Barcelona. Check out how good I am!

I underestimated how many people read what I have written about Spain. I constantly ran into people who had read my work and wanted to talk about Spain. People held what I had to say in high regard. I consider myself to be an invisible person; I live my life and no one knows what I write. However, in Spain, people have taken notice.

I felt pleased to know that all the details I have put into my Secrets of Spain series are correct. As I wandered the locations in the last book, and the locales of the next novel, everything is exactly as I expected/wrote/needed. There is no need to rush home and make changes.

It felt disheartening at times when confronted with some Spanish people. It was little things – they don’t hold doors for one another, they push into queues like it’s life or death instead of a coffee order, and walk around like they are oblivious to one another’s needs or feelings. I can only put this down to big city living. I risk sounding like a real country bumpkin here, but those first few days, as I based myself in Madrid while doing day trips, I got back to my hotel and shook my head in disbelief. I wondered if everyone had frayed nerves at the end of each day. I live in a large congested city, but it feels like luxury island living in comparison to the push and shove of Europe. In fact, I despaired until I hit Valencia and all its good vibes calmed me down.

The procession of la Virgen de los Desamparados outside Valencia’s basilica. My face says it all

Number of plane miles travelled: 40,000 kms (yep, I checked that figure) – 50 hours

Number of times I got asked out on a date: 27

Number of nights where I got decent sleep: zero

Number of alcoholic beverages consumed: too many

Number of mornings I had enthusiasm to get up: zero

Number of times I got accosted by someone trying to lure me into a restaurant: 564151* (*not scientifically proven)

Number of new books purchased and stuffed in carry-on luggage: 18

Number of times lost in a city: zero! That includes walking and in the car

Number of Skype calls home: 10 (internet connection didn’t allow for every day)

Number of times I wished I hadn’t done the trip: 4 (2 of them were in-flight)

Number of kisses given/received: approx 100

Number of shameless selfies taken: 71

Number of times caught singing in public: 9 (including doing a “Locked Out of Heaven” duet with the airport shuttle driver)

BEST MOMENT OF THE TRIP WAS something that made my heart flutter more than it has in some time. I can’t tell you what that was because what happens in Spain, stays in Spain.

Gratuitous breakfast photo to finish the post

Next post – The top ten things I rediscovered about Valencia

Click here for the other parts of this series – Spain 2013 in Review

SPAIN BOOK REVIEW: The Shadow of the Wind (La sombra del viento) by Carlos Ruiz Zafón

Published on February 13, 2013May 19, 2016 by Caroline AngusLeave a comment

Hidden in the heart of the old city of Barcelona is the ‘Cemetery of Forgotten Books’, a labyrinthine library of obscure and forgotten titles. To this library, a man brings his ten-year-old son, Daniel, one cold morning in 1945. Daniel is allowed to choose one book and from the dusty shelves pulls The Shadow of the Wind by Julián Carax. But as Daniel grows up, several people seem inordinately interested in his find. What begins as a vase of literary curiosity turns into a race find out the truth behind the life and death of Julián Carax and to save those he left behind.

With this number one bestseller, I will admit that I had high hopes when I finally sat down to read this book. Despite the the fact that the book has been available for several years in English, I only bought the book, along with its companions, The Angel Game and The Prisoner of Heaven, a few months ago. The Shadow of the Wind opens in 1945 in Barcelona, a city whose history I know well, and life under the regime of Franco is of particular interest to me. As soon as you begin to read, you get a feeling of darkness, of a life and time where things are tough, and people are simply getting by, the way they know best. Young Daniel Sempere finds a book, The Shadow of the Wind by Julián Carax, in a secret bookstore which changes his life. His father, a bookstore owner, introduces him to the larger-than-life Don Gustav Barceló, a book lover and buyer, which leads Daniel into a friendship and long-term crush on Barceló’s niece, Clara, a beautiful blind woman ten years his senior. Daniel reads to Clara and comes up with plenty of reasons to spend time with her over several years. At this point, I had to wonder where the storyline was attempting to take me, as the characters, while vivid, were not terribly endearing. I stopped reading at 100 pages and took a long beak.

But then the story beckoned me back. When Daniel is violently booted out of Clara’s life, he stumbles upon the book’s greatest character, Fermín Romero de Torres, a homeless man who comes to work in Daniel’s father’s bookstore. Fermín Romero de Torres, who is regularly identified with his full name, is a tremendous enriching character who always has the right thing (or, at least, the most amusing thing) to say. Daniel remains besotted with the books of Julián Carax, which sold poorly but somehow continued to be published throughout the 1930’s. Carax was shot dead in 1936 at the start of the Spanish Civil War in Barcelona, and all copies of his books have been destroyed, most notably by a fire. Daniel has a remaining copy, and there is a man who is desperate to get it from him, a terrifying stalker with no face, just the charred remains of skin that hangs from his bones. Throughout the book he constantly appears, under a false name, as a gruesome and soulless person who is prepared to hurt people for the sake of novels.

Through a series of well-described and easy to follow investigations, Daniel and Fermín unravel Carax’s short life, in the form of his schoolmates – a group of boys with rich fathers, along with several downtrodden boys who have managed to get into a well-to-do school. Each of these boys go about intertwining themselves in each other’s lives, and a vendetta is placed over Carax when he falls in love with his friend’s sister, to the disgust of another schoolboy friend, who is a vile and vicious individual named Francisco Javier Fumero. Fumero is a real villain, first a troubled boy, then a double-crossing spy and killer in the civil war, and now a policeman in search of violence and revenge on none other than Daniel’s friend, Fermín Romero de Torres. Daniel and the dead Carax’s lives continue to be punctuated with many coincidences, both culminating in scary and life-altering moments in The Angel of the Mist, a haunted house that has many secrets waiting for those who are ready to find them out. I have to admit, I figured out the mystery and the twist about halfway through, but that may not happen for everyone.

This book is dark, no question, but also exceedingly intriguing, regardless of whether you understand Spain, its history and its way of life. The prose of this book had been described as ‘florid’, and it certainly is. You cannot go a single page without a lyrical metaphor and/or simile being thrown at you. At times, it can be a little annoying, but some lines are genius. When Fermín speaks, you can imagine a light coming on, illuminating the dark world around him. When reading, you feel as if you are wandering the cold streets of Barcelona, with the feeling that something will jump out at you. You can feel the nervousness the damp, the worry and the angst. One character I loved is Nuria Monfort, one-time lover of Julián Carax, who endures a difficult life, knowing that she would not ever truly gain Carax’s heart, but my favourite character is Miquel Monfort, Carax’s best friend, and a tortured soul. This book is a love story, of Julián Carax and his Penélope, and of young Daniel Sempere and his Beatriz, whose love affairs take eerily similar twists despite being parted by time, and while romance has to hide in the shadows of much bigger issues, love comes to be one of the biggest dangers that these coming-of-age characters have to face.

I have read many reviews about this book, most praising the work, but I also took the time to read reviews from those who were disappointed. It is a long read at a shade under 500 pages, and there are slow points, particularly in the beginning. However, you cannot fault the quality of the work produced and attention to detail. In terms of the finer detail of the writing style, I read and felt as if I had come across something similar to my own, and that was unusual. I have yet to read something that feels so familiar in its approach (I’m not suggesting I’m as good as Zafón!). The characters all have back stories and personalities of their own, each has a part to play, and in turn, Barcelona is filled with an vast mix of people, all from different walks of life, all connected by a single book from a library that nobody ever visits.

Given the time periods and the lives portrayed this book, it is easy to feel the author’s political leanings, or at least, for what he envisions for the characters. Fermín Romero de Torres once worked for Lluís Companys, the Catalan leader during the Spanish Civil War, who is murdered and is seen as a martyr. Fermín is clearly a man who believes in the freedom of Catalonia, and Fumero, the blood-sucking officer who tortured him during the war, and now has murder in mind, is portrayed as a Franco loving right-wing fanatic (and a well-written one at that). However, anarchists, fascists and communists are all portrayed in a negative light, despite being vastly separate from one another on the political spectrum. There are references throughout the book, by multiple characters, that they hate Franco and fascist dictatorship, and that their lives have been harmed or destroyed by his reign, but they do not appear to be living in fear of him. There is no reference to the language spoken by the characters, which may be a by-product of the translation into English. The Catalan language was banned under Franco, so one might assume they spoke Castilian (traditional) Spanish, but perhaps not. We will never know.

Not only has Carlos Ruiz Zafón written a piece of art, but it has been translated in an excellent manner. There were certain things that I read and thought, ‘that’s not an expression that a Spaniard would use’, but it is what would be the best expression to use in a translation from the original, and as anyone who translates knows, literal translation would not make for an easy-to-read book. If you don’t have a keen understanding of Spain or the Spanish, you probably won’t notice this at all.

My rating for this book is 5/5. Lovers of 1950’s Spain will adore this, as will casual readers looking for a fine mystery.