(click on any picture for an enlarged view)

At the end of January (2015) I shot off on a brief excursion that took me from Xàtiva to  Zaragoza to Canfranc to Vic and then back to Xàtiva.

Once a day, an Intercity train, originating in Cartagena, goes from Xàtiva to Zaragoza. But because it does not arrive at the destination until late in the day, when I go to Zaragoza, I usually take an early Cercanias (commuter train) from Xàtiva to Valencia, then get on an Intercity to Zaragoza. It is a long but scenic journey, with about a dozen stops, including Sagunto and Teruel. Along the way, it passes Sarrión, the town whose picturesque view provides the heading photo for this site.

Upon arrival in Zaragoza’s Goya train station, I took the Tranvia (a sleek, modern, streetcar) to my hotel near some ruins of the old Roman walls.

I lucked into a room with a small balcony and a lovely view over the rooftops to the cathedral of Pilar. Across the street from the hotel, right below my window is the long metal roofed structure of the Central Market- a collection of stalls selling a colorful mix of fruits, vegetables, meats, embutidos, and fish. Looking to the right were more

churches poking up past residential rooftops. Zaragoza is a picturesque city, with a wealth of history in evidence. Interestingly it does not seem to be a destination for many American tourists.

It was almost 3:00 pm, and I sought out one of my favorite restaurants in the city for a plate of Migas. This is a humble but tasty regional dish made from fried breadcrumbs that can be garnished with a variety of offerings. I chose loganiza (a style of sausage) and an (over-easy) egg on top. Very traditional choice!

When I left the restaurant, the city appeared unusually quiet, and it seemed as if almost every store was closed. Although most businesses in Spain observe the siesta from about 1:30 to 4:30, it was late enough that they should have been open. As it turned out, it was a holiday! It was the festival of San Valero (Sant Valerius), patron saint of the city, former bishop of the town, who died in 315 CE. All the fun stuff, including a parade with Gigantes y Cabezudos (giants and “big headed dwarfs”) had occurred in the morning, hours before my arrival.

One of the fun things about Spain, is that there are so many fun festivals, and one of the frustrating things is that you will never know they are about to occur if you are in a town a few hundred miles away.

The next morning, I went back to Goya Station, and got on the Regional train, that heads north from Zaragoza to Huesca, and then

winds it way through a bunch of towns including Jaca, and ending up in Canfranc, a town close to the border with France.

Along the way, the train passes near the village of Riglos, at the foot of massive (conglomerate) rock formations, understandably popular with rock climbers.

If you have ever tried to take photos from inside a moving train, then you know the frustration I felt trying to capture their majesty.

These stunning formations played peek-a-boo behind embankments and small stands of trees, as the train’s path drew close. Even when you got a momentary clear view, reflections from interior lights on the train spoil the picture. If you want to see them in their glory, you can do a web search on “Mallos de Riglos”.

The train’s route then runs along the Gallego river and the Yesa reservoir before it reaches Jaca.

I had expected that along the way I might see a bit of snow. Perhaps a white mantel on the higher peaks of the Pyrenees.  By the time we reached Jaca we were socked in, with no view of the mountains, and it was spitting snow.

As the train wound its way toward Canfranc, the snow was heavier and heavier. Soon the countryside we passed was buried in a thick blanket of snow, with more falling.

As the train pulled into Canfranc, I was suprised at the large throng of bystanders snapping photos

and taking videos of the train’s arrival. The last time I came to Canfranc, it was on foot, descending from Somport Pass. So I am not sure if visitors to Canfranc are always excited to see the train come in, or if it was because of the snow.

The train pulled to a stop next to a snowman, and we all exited.

The train stop was just outside the fenced off old Canfranc International Train Station. A beautiful building, built in the late 1920s, it is now an abandoned, crumbling ruin. Close to the station is a tunnel that passes under the peaks. The other side is France. This had been an important rail link between the countries. But in 1970, a train crash on the French side destroyed an important bridge that was never rebuilt.

They say the old station was used in the filming of the epic film “Doctor Zhivago” (what a great movie!), but when I watched the movie again, I could not identify it in any scene. Certainly the stunning exterior does not make an appearance.

I worked my way to the back side of the station where you can get a view of the entire building. To get there, I had to tromp through thick wet snow, my running shoes sinking into the snow (I wasn’t very well prepared!). Along the way, I passed several people wearing snowshoes. That was how I should have done it!

There are legends about the tunnel and station and events of the Second World War. It is said that the Nazi’s smuggled stolen gold on trains to Canfranc. Who knows!?

I spent the next few hours wandering around the town in the snow. It was coming down hard, heavy, and wet. It was amazing that through it all my feet stayed dry!

I stopped in a store and picked up a couple souvenirs, went to the tourist office and got a map, and went to a restaurant to eat my midday meal. I had chosen the restaurant based on a listing in the Guia Azul (Blue Guide) for Aragon. It was OK, but… I end up doing better using gut instinct!

After three hours I was cold. And with the weather as it was, this was not a good day for outdoor wandering or trying to catch the shuttle bus up to the pass. (besides, I heard in the restaurant that they had closed the pass due to snow and high winds!)

So, even though the train would not leave for another two hours, I walked back to where it was parked. The engineer was just climbing aboard to start the diesel engine. I motioned to him and he opened the window a crack.
“Can I get in?”
“The train doesn’t leave for another two hours!”
“I know. But it is snowing and wet out here.”
“What’s your destination?”
“Zaragoza”
“Oh, OK.” He tilted his head toward the door. “Get on.”
And I spent the rest of my time in Canfranc snug inside the train as I waited for it to leave.

An eighty minute ride north from Barcelona on the “R3” train route takes you to Vic, a city of about 40,000. The site has been occupied since pre-roman times, and today it remains an important regional center of commerce.

Once the train surfaces after its passage below the streets of Barcelona, it traverses spillover urban sprawl of that city. Eventually however, you reach agricultural lands with rolling hills and views of distant mountains.

The old part of the city is not too large and can easily be explored on foot.

My wanderings began at an 11th century Romanesque bridge that was part of the old route to Barcelona.

(by the way, all of the photos in this set are low-resolution. Sorry!)

The bridge is close to the cathedral of St. Peter the Apostle (Sant Pere).

A notable aspect of the cathedral is the beautifully embellished Gothic arches that define a passage around the cloister.

Although the town was lovely, and merits a return visit, I had actually come to Vic specifically to attend its Saturday open air market. A previous year, we had gotten some tasty “embutidos” (sausage) that were made in Vic. Apparently the town is famous for its embutidos, and I was on a mission to get some more!

The market was incredible. It takes up the entire “Plaça Major” in the old quarter of town, and then spills over into adjoining streets, and down along the “Rambla Davallades.”

The market seems to sell just about everything, and is far more comprehensive than the bi-weekly market in Xàtiva.

There is clothing, shoes, kitchen utensils, and purses. There are booths selling handmade pottery, and stands promoting political causes. Stands loaded with fresh fruits and vegetables caught my eye. It is only the impracticability of buying these items so far from home that allow me to move on.

You can buy baked goods and artisanal cheeses.

There are more varieties of mushrooms on display than I could imagine, along with truffles.

There are gourds, and domestic fowl: ducklings, chicks, hens, roosters (crowing away!), along with birds I could not identify.

A whole row of stalls sells cut flowers and potted plants.

When I first got to the market, I was able to explore most of it. But by noon, you could barely make your way through the dense crowds!
My advice is: go early!

There was one thing that I did not see for sale in the market at any stall: Embutidos! Yet that was what I had come for!

Luckily, in the nearby streets a dozen butcher shops each sold a wide variety of meats and sausages. I did not leave empty handed!

Our cruise started in Bilbao, a city on the northern coast of Spain. To get there we took the train: first to Madrid, then to Bilbao.

The train from Madrid to Bilbao was long (almost 5 hours), and slow by Spanish standards. But it was a comfortable ride, and it traversed some beautiful scenery. Especially notable was the segment from the town of “Miranda de Ebro” to Bilbao. The train passed through stunning green mountains. Huge white and light brown cattle grazed peacefully in pastures. Wide valleys opened up, and we went through small towns of stone houses.

The last stop of the train was the  picturesque Abando station in downtown Bilbao. A large stained glass window dominates the north end of the terminal, though to me the view of pastel colored buildings seen through the open end of the other side was just as lovely.

As with many train stations in Spain, the interior of the station was a lively center with shops and restaurants. It is a shame that so few stations in the United States are like this.

Our hotel was quite close to the station. After we dropped off our bags, we wandered around the city. The first order of business was getting something to eat. We headed over a bridge, past the opera house, to the city’s “Casco Viejo” (Old quarter) and found a nice restaurant with tables outdoors.

Our hunger satisfied, we continued rambling through the city.

The Nervion River winds through Bilbao, and provides many opportunities for panoramic views of sectors of the city.

We headed through a commercial district, past Jado Plaza,

past Moyua Plaza, and along the Gran Via, until we reached the Sacred Heart monument.

Then we worked our way, back along the river toward our hotel.

Wide walkways along the river make it a perfect area for strolling, jogging, or bicycling.

The Iberdrola tower in Bilbao is one of the tallest buildings in Spain.

The Guggenheim Museum

In front of the Guggenheim is a piece of living art: A dog constructed of living flowers. Apparently it was supposed to have been a temporary installation, but it proved so popular that it has been maintained.

The next day we took the Metro from downtown to the suburb of Gexto where the cruise port is located.

Time to board the ship and head for other cities!

A note about the Basque language:

Bilbao is in the Basque area of Spain. Although “Spanish” (Often called “Castellano” in Spain) is spoken by most people in the region, there is another language that is native to the Basque area called “Euskara”. The language is of special interest to those who study languages because, not only is it not a “romance langauge”- derived from a form of latin, such as Castellano, Portuguese, French, Italian, etc., but it does not even belong to the larger “Indo-European” language family. Although I made a half-hearted effort to learn a few words of Euskara for this trip, I quickly gave up. It is nothing like any other language I have ever seen. This picture shows a page from a local newspaper.

Algemesí is a small city not far from Xàtiva. It can easily be reached on the commuter train line (Cercanias / Rodalias) that connects Xàtiva and Valencia. Algemesí is the train stop just north of Alzira.

Algemesí is host to a yearly festival of note called the “fiesta de la Mare de Déu de la Salut.” Literally this refers to the mother of God of health, or “our lady of health.”

Spain has an abundance of local festivals, and I had not been aware of this particular one. But a couple of days after my arrival I saw an article in the newspaper, so on Sunday September 8^th, I hopped on the train and got off in Algemesí. Much of the festival activity goes on between the small church dedicated to Mare de Déu de la Salut and the Plaza Mayor, site of an impressive, larger church dedicated to Santiago (Saint James).

In addition to the usual activities, this year the event was being filmed for a documentary about the Valencian Community. This meant that in addition to the “civilian” photographers in the crowd, cameras held high overhead to try to capture scenes mostly hidden by the crowd, there were photos being taken from a huge mechanical boom apparatus, and even a remote controlled hovering camera that briefly flew onto the scene.

The day was hot, the square was incredibly packed so I did not stay long enough to really do justice to the festivities. Nevertheless, here are a few pictures and a short video.

Brief video highlights:

Ah, Ratafia!

I had never heard of Ratafia until I visited Pobla de Segur, a town of 3,000 in the foothills of the Pyrenees. Mere chance led me to a non-descript building at number 4, Avenida Sant Miquel del Pui, just a half a block from the town’s church. This was “Portet Distributions”. Over the front door, bold red letters on a retracted tan awning declared it to be a “Maker of traditional liqueurs of the Pyrenees”.

The retail shop was just inside the front door, the room full of an assortment of bottles filled with colorful liquids. There were tall tapered bottles, small gift bottles, bottles of ornately embellished glass, and a whole row of bottles whose glass neck included a relief image of a man on a raft. I asked for more information, and about 15 minutes later a solidly built bearded man in a dark plaid shirt arrived. His name was Àngel Portet. He and his brother Carlos own the distillery. Over the next forty minutes he gave me a tour of the site, as well as an education about the history and traditions associated with Ratafia.

The name of this business’s signature offering, “Ratafia dels Raiers”, pays tribute to the “Raiers” (rafters), who worked as part of the lumbering process. This now defunct occupation involved tying great logs together into rafts, and floating them down the Noguera Pallaresa river to the Segre and onward toward Lleida.

Ratafia is the classic liqueur of Catalunya. For generations it has been made in the small towns and on farmsteads throughout the foothills and mountain areas of the Pyrenees. In some areas of France, the term Ratafia can refer to a sort of sangria (wine mixed with fruit juice) embellished with cinnamon or other flavorings. But the classic Ratafia of Catalunya is a smooth sweet liqueur created from a base of aguardiente or anisette, to which the distilled essence of herbs is added.

Àngel and I hit it off right away, and he went into great detail about the origins of this small family business, founded in 1883. A room between the retail shop and the distillery itself was adorned with old photos, and with various copper and clay vessels and other paraphernalia that had once been in active use in the distillery. On one wall, a long bent copper pipe, discolored with age, formed an arc over an antique photo of a group of workers posing next to a large keg. By their style of dress, it must have been the early 1900s. Àngel pointed out that the very same copper pipe mounted on the wall appeared in the photo.

Walnuts, as well as over a dozen different aromatic herbs contribute to the blend that gives Ratafia its distinctive flavor. Tradition calls for the walnuts used in Ratafia to be harvested on the feast of Sant Joan (St. John / San Juan), which aligns with the summer solstice- the longest day of the year. At this point, the nuts are mature but still soft enough to be sliced with a knife.

Àngel took me to a room where distillation was in progress. A cube shaped cement block encased a double-envelope tank with a small wood burning firebox inset below.  This was the still. He explained that the temperature must be carefully controlled and that a gas burner would be easier than the wood fire, but… and here he shrugged his shoulders.  Tradition is paramount at the Portet distillery. The exposed cap of the distilling chamber had the graceful shape of an onion, and its metal surface revealed subtle discolorations indicative of both the heat and its age.

In another room two women in smocks were seated at tables, carefully measuring Ratafia into small but distinctively shaped gift-sized bottles. A stack of labels lay on one end of a table, ready to be affixed to the bottles.

Every aspect of the processes here was touched by careful craftsmanship- human effort, not mechanized automation.

Àngel spoke about his struggles with the supply of bottles the company uses for its liqueurs. These include a wide range of sizes and shapes, and of course the bottles with the image of the “raier”. Quality was a requisite, and depending on the country of origin, the price could fluctuate with currency exchange rates. But the biggest challenge is that this is a small company, so the quantity of bottles he purchases is miniscule compared with most enterprises. He told me how conversations with bottle vendors went: “Oh, that is all you need to buy? Poor man. Why don’t you buy a whole trailer-load of bottles, then we can talk!”

Besides Ratafia, the Portet distillery produces a variety of sweet liqueurs from various berries, including raspberries, strawberries, gooseberries, cranberries, black current, and blackthorn.

Although their core production involves spirits that are rooted in tradition, Àngel and his brother experiment with new creations, including a rather unique liqueur flavored with the essence of mushrooms!

I was content as I left this small, family run distillery. I felt as if here in the foothills of the Pyrenees, I had stumbled into a secret room piled with gold and jewels.

Epilogue:
Late the next morning, it was time to head back to the city of Lleida, and then to Barcelona. I packed up my suitcase, and checked out of Can Fasersia, the boarding house where I was staying, and began my walk to the train station. As I crossed the bridge over the Flamisell River, I heard the toot of a horn. I turned my head and saw Àngel at the wheel of a small van passing by. He greeted me with a wave of his hand and continued down the road. What better send-off from this little town could I have had?

“Fallas” is the name given to the hallmark celebration festival in the Valencian community. Although the grandest expression of the festival occurs in the city of Valencia, celebrations on a smaller scale occur throughout the area, and so of course, Xàtiva has a well developed tradition for this holiday. (indeed, even tiny Anahuir, a town near Xàtiva of barely 80 inhabitants boasts a scaled down version of the celebration!)

I have included not only some photos, but a few short videos in this posting. Watch the videos if you want to get just a little bit more of a feel for the Fallas!

The tradition has a variety of components and is timed to coincide with the advent of Spring, and recognition of Saint Joseph.

Planning and work for the event begin right after the end of the previous Fallas. A key element to the work behind the event is the “Casel Fallero”. There are multiple Casel Falleros in each city, and these organizations coordinate efforts, sometimes on a street by street level.

Although some focus on the image of great bonfires that consume elaborate sculptures, that happens rather quickly on the last day of a week long event.

The Fallas involve Valencian pageantry in its fullest manifestation. Women compete for honors dressed in ornate gowns and elaborate hair styles that evoke an earlier, traditional era of Valencian history, with aspects dating to the 16th through the 18th century.

Men wear traditional outfits as well, and together with a small musical band processions of the “Falleros” pass through the town.

Besides the “Falleros”, important components of the Fallas include:

Ninots
These are complex artistic sculptures that may involve a wide variety of themes. In years gone by these were wood and paper mache. Today they are more complex and use a wide variety of materials, though it is still absolutely necessary that the sculpture be burnable.

The Mascleta
Every day at 2:00 in the afternoon a wild cacophony of explosive devices is set off, usually lasting about five minutes. The crowd cheers madly. In the city of Valencia, this is done in the square in front of city hall. The event is so popular that the entire central area of town gets packed with people who want to attend, and it is difficult to get very close. (probably a blessing from the perspective of potential hearing loss!)

The “Plantà”
This event involves the erection of Ninots around town. This can be a very involved process, requiring cranes and other equipment. In Valencia, some of the Ninots are gigantic, towering masterpieces, rising to the the height of a 3 or 4 story building. Even in Xàtiva, they can get fairly large. There is often a smaller- “children’s” Ninot near the larger works.

The “Despertà”
This is the daily “Wake Up” call to the city, involving an hour long mixture of marching bands and small explosive devices.

Awarding prizes
What is a competition without prizes. Although there is fierce competition among the casal falleros, in the end, everyone is a winner! The video clip below shows a couple of the jubilant teams parading down Xàtiva’s streets in celebration. Fallas is a really fun festival.

The “Ofrenda”
This begins with a precession that includes each falla group- the women and men in their ornate outfits, and accompanied by each group’s band. The women carry flowers. This procession is fairly long, and group after group passes by. I began to wonder if there were even that many people living in the town! In Xàtiva you see whole families involved, including children, and even babies pushed along the procession route in strollers. In Valencia the event culminates in the careful attachment of the flowers on a huge conical wooden structure that represents the Virgin Mary. The concept is the same in Xàtiva, though in our town the flowers are placed on a flat backdrop in the cathedral plaza.

The “Cremà”
OK, this is what you have been waiting for. On the last night all the year’s hard work on the Ninot sculptures is destroyed in flames. It is not, however, a simple bonfire. The lead Fallera lights a fuse which sets off a grand series of firecrackers, rockets shoot to the sky, and the flames begin to lick at the sculpture, and then suddenly consume it in with great scorching intensity.

The Ninots are burned one after another. At the first, (see video) it was hard to imagine that I was crazy enough to stand as close as I did. When I went to a larger one later, everyone was pushing to get as close as possible to the action. But when the flames leapt up, the crowd quickly fell backwards from the intense heat.

A few notes about the Ninots-
Although the imagery of many Ninots is merely fanciful, there is a tradition to use these festive sculptures as an editorial platform for messages that range from humorous caricatures of various aspects of life in Spain (including tourists, and even Falleros!), to biting social and political criticism. Between a brutally damaged economy and a seemingly unending string of exposed cases of corruption involving politicians, banks, and businesses, there is a bitter side to current public opinion.
I spent a day in Valencia looking at some of the Ninots there. Some were stately or whimsical- such as a huge rendering of the Trojan Horse, or a collection of fairy tale figures from Aladdin and from the Arabian Nights. But others conveyed mocking images of failed leaders, and a failed system. The images were a protest of sorts, and could be sarcastic, crude, or even lewd.
In Xàtiva, a Ninot depicted city hall as a house of horrors, behind which the diminutive long-time mayor is engaged in an armed duel with a former associate.Nearby the Spanish Prime Minister creeps out of a grave. Looking on is Generalisimo Francisco Franco, the departed former fascist dictator. This alludes to the fact that only last year were the local opposition parties able to forge a deal with the reluctant mayor to remove the honorary “Mayor for Life” title bestowed on Franco.
In Valencia, one particularly strident Ninot, covered a whole spectrum of discontent using a theme of meteorologic terms. A caricature of police attacking young students protesting cutbacks was labeled “Atmospheric Repression”. Next to a representation of “Acid Rain”, was a section labeled “golden rain” which depicted a European Union angel urinating coins down a toilet labeled “Spain” as the kneeling Spanish Prime Minister Mariano Rajoy recites a prayer, “Our rescue, who art in heaven…”
No topic is off limits here, and another section used a play on words based on the Spanish word for “royal”, which is “real”, and contrasted impoverished “real” Spaniards with the nicely dressed “unreal” royal family. It is not only Spanish politicians who are ridiculed. The widely despised German Chancellor Angela Merkel was also depicted in a variety of scenes.
I am sure that there are some leaders here who breathe a sigh of relief when the Ninots are ultimately destroyed in flames.

Images of Valencia

Right after the “Plantà”, I was fortunate enough to be invited by my friends Emi and Jordi on an excursion to the capital. I want to share a few scenes from the Fallas in the city of Valencia, including a crowd view (or actually, lack of view!) of a mascleta, a glimpse of the massive crowds, the carnival atmosphere, and a peek at some of the Ninots. There was a band of percussionists on one corner, whose rhythm seemed to mimic the continued thundering explosions of the mascleta, so I have used the sound of their drums as a background for some of the scenes.

It is difficult to convey just how packed with people the city of Valencia becomes during Fallas. When it was time for the “Cremà”, I stuck close to home in Xàtiva, rather than experience the madness in the city!