The dawn cacophony begins with palomas who settle on the roof terrace just before 6am. At one time I thought that they all sang the same song, but if you listen you can hear a veritable chorus of different sounds. There is even a collared dove who speaks out “ber-ber-rech-os” at the top of his voice, which is all the more remarkable as in Spanish “berberechos” means cockles. It is the start of a new day as black gives way to rose madder and pale blue.
When the sun kisses the sky it is the turn of the swallows to leave the eaves above the balcony. They screech down to the pool while the sparrows chirp and the magpies cackle & the hoopoe birds, like punk rockers, flutter in colourful procession across the ridge tiles opposite.
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From the terrace you can see the squid boats heading back to harbour. They have been out all night and have a single light at the end of a long stick to the stern of the craft, which somehow makes them look like pilot fish who have forgotten how to swim, but have mastered the art of floating. At the same time the shrimp boats set sail and head off into deep water. On such a day with low wind and a reasonable swell, you can also watch the bonita tuna swim at speed into the shallows on a turning tide.
A high proportion of the cumulative catch will be sold by auction at 6pm at the fish market. Meanwhile those who earn their living at sea will be protected by the Virgen del Carmen. It is the way of things.
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Matias lives in an apartment on Calle San Bartolomé. He is perhaps in his late 50s, walks with a stick and wears clothes which are too big for his diminished body. It is said that he was awarded an invalidity pension after a building site accident, but under a redistribution of funds the money largely finds itself in the tills of local bars.
Matias leaves his apartment before 7am every morning. In a few minutes he is at the nearest bar where he orders a large café solo and a double whisky. On the terrace he lights what will be the first strong cigarette out of 40 that he regularly gets through in a day. After a “tostado con tomate” becomes his only meal of the day, he orders another double whisky, downs it in one, and moves on to the next hostelry.
The regime calls for five bars out and five bars back and Matias, having consumed a bottle of whisky, returns to his apartment to feed his cats & fall asleep. His needs could be met with a purchase of a bottle of spirit at the local supermarket for a fraction of the cost, but Matias never drinks at home. At 7pm he will repeat the exercise and be in bed by 9:30pm. In his heart he knows it is not the right way, but the habit now is almost impossible to break.
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On the scrubland leading to the station the snails have gathered in numbers in excess of ten thousand. They cling to plants, grass, walls, posts and wire fences. In Spanish they are called caracol, and along with rabbit are the staple ingredients of an authentic Valencian paella.
This attendance has been repeated time and again across the millennia and is for the sole purpose of procreation. The orgy always takes place at the full moon and, as they are hermaphrodites, they mate, create new life, and often die through the exertion. It is a prevalent theme in Spain: new life from death, best symbolised by the fogueres.
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“Capellán” belongs to the smelt family and can be bought fresh, dried or dried and smoked. It is traditionally served with tomato and virgin olive oil, bringing together the saltiness of the fish, the sweetness of the tomato and the mellow taste of the oil. It is generally served as a tapas and occasionally as a starter on a menú del día. As with many foods in Spain it is a simple amalgamation of ingredients, put together for maximum culinary effect.
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Sad news that one of my favourite tapas bars in Granada has been forced to close; another example of property developers destroying something to turn an old building into a block of luxury apartments. It seems to be the latest disease, closely related to government contracts.
La Fontana sat on the Carrera del Darro. It was a haven of joy where I first discovered incredible tapas, like seared tuna belly with lime oil & salmorejo, a cold tomato soup made with garlic, bread, olive oil and sherry vinegar.
It also sat in the shadow of the Alhambra and was a great place to people watch. On occasions, a man disgruntled with a government decision would parade naked down the Carrera del Darro and pass La Fontana. He was, if anything, a little eccentric, but what would the world be without a little eccentricity? The locals knew him well.
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Today, for the first time, I saw the memorial to the dead of the Spanish Civil War at El Torno, Cáceres. It is known as the Mirador de la Memorial and comprises four life-size statues on a hillside to represent the many who were murdered under the regime of General Franco.
It is simple and poignantly beautiful. Sculpted in 2009 by Francisco Cedenilla Carrasco, featuring three men and one woman. It is extremely thought-provoking.
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They march along the playa like latter-day troubadours, the children stood on the adults’ shoulders, while reeds & drums are accompanied with cries of delight. They are the Castells, the joyful builders of human towers.
In Barcelona the towers can go up 18 levels and are very scary. The final Castell is always a child who is light and invariably under the age of 12. The crucial point of any tower is the distribution of weight with an inward pressure at the base to form a building block for the tiers above. This is a serious tradition using strength, poise and teamwork. It is said that human towers began as the Ball de Valencians, which was a folk dance finished with the building of a human figure. Over time the dance gave way to the extravagant towers of today.
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In the grand scheme of things the Spanish have three main priorities: family, food and football. They are also fond of fiesta, and in most ayuntamientos one of the largest expenditures every year is on fireworks. The year starts with the procession of the Three Kings on January 6th, which is a more important date than Christmas. It is, after all, when children receive their presents.
Other festivals include Easter, Virgen del Carmen, Fuegos and Moros y Cristianos. The biggest national audiences, however, are for El Clásico, the biannual games between Barcelona and Real Madrid. This is when the streets empty, the bars fill up and the vocal cords are well and truly exercised. I live in Real Madrid territory and support Barcelona. There are two of us—the fishmonger and me—who have to take a ribbing if Real Madrid win.
(On a side note: whatever possessed FC Barcelona to buy Marcus Rashford? It is a mystery and no mistake, because the only children who get free school meals in Spain are Ukrainian.)
© Año Nuevo 2025, Going Postal
Having taken early retirement in 2014, the plan was to take a sabbatical for one year to see the historical beauty of Spain and learn how to relax. During the pandemic I took out residencia as a way of avoiding the shot and paying exorbitant fees to travel home to England. Needless to say, I have not managed to escape the lure of a land forged with blood and gold. It sort of creeps up on you, and next year the plan is to explore the north—from Galicia to Rioja, to Santander and Bilbao.
Today I bought a bottle of young but drinkable wine for 75p.
Article and photographs © AÑO NUEVO 2024
