It all started with the police check last night.
Torchlight zig-zagged across the car and we huddled in the backseat.
“You are English,” said the policeman. “And yet you say you want…
Córdoba, in Andalusia, has an unusual cathedral. Unusual in that it was built within a mosque. Not on the former grounds of one, or as an adaptation of one, but actually totally and utterly in the middle of one.
What really made me sit up and take notice, though, was the mushroom liquor – some sort of home brew…
Pedro Martina’s sun-worn face lights up as he grabs my shoulder and points into the distance.
“Three of them are under the water now,” he says. It’s certainly not the first time Pedro has hunted whales…
Speeding along the tarmac road, I wonder how long it’s been since I last took a normal breath. The road drops…
The crowd cheers and I duck as a rainbow of hardboiled missiles pelts down around me. A moment later, men, women and children scrabble around on the lamplit pavement, their hands brushing mine, their fingernails gouging mud and fruity pulp…
It’s an ominous start to the day: dragging 40 kilos of equipment through Barcelona’s Gothic Quarter. We are a group of travel bloggers; the demonic machine, the Segway.
Spain, like many European countries, has plenty of cathedrals.
But how many have an astronaut in their delicately-carved stone?
Sparks fly in Seville – and it’s all in the name of love, eternity and structural maintenance.
For a few years now,
Who could resist? I was walking around Ronda, home to an incredible bridge and arguably the birthplace of bullfighting, when a sign caught my eye.
Museo Bandolero. A bandit museum.
A little further out, however, Seville reveals its modern face, the lights and the energy of a city on the up.
It’s not an urban legend - the streets of Seville really are lined with orange trees. Right now, they’re sprouting orbs of green but I’ve spotted a few that are getting ahead of the pack…
We’ll see oranges in no time…
Last night, for the first time in months, purple clouds billowed and thundered over sun-scorched Andalucia.
By the morning, the storm had settled but the evidence remained: the end of summer in Seville.
I’m delighted to know that even in this Coca-Cola world, travel can still show me some new tricks.
I’ve survived raw and ready steak tartare, reheated animal parts floating in jars and dismembered amphibeans.
But the tomato has floored me.
Andalucia has embraced the tomato and created a dish that’s perfect for its parched plains.
Gazpacho, like pizza, had humble beginnings
“I’m sorry,” said the dark-eyed receptionist. “We’re full. You find place, you must take it.” He sucked air through his teeth and shook his head. “Otherwise your only hope is Roses.”
I imagined southern Spain would throng with sunshine and crowds. As my train blurred through fog-cloaked olive groves, with snow packed on the ground, I had to readjust.
ABOUT ME: I’m a freelance writer with a passion for travel and a background in Neuroscience and Emergency Medicine.
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