The Sea, the Sea

It's nearly fall...or maybe it's fall already. Time has been slipping by with alarming speed, as always in the last moments of summer. Wandering around Barceloneta and its beaches with a lump in my throat, I had been feeling the pull of the sea, the sea...the sea at summer's end.

So, Felipe and I gave in and went for a heady final romp along the coast last week, floating, swimming and somersaulting in the heaving, roiling, galloping sea of an Iris Murdoch novel. And now we're spent and content and ready for fall. Well, as ready as one can ever be.

We found the Costa Brava, where we frittered away last week, a long string of contradictions--rugged cliffs, quaint fishing villages and out of control development. To many, this part of the coast, which starts some kilometers north of Barcelona, is a stomach churning mess of package hotels and mass tourism.

This August, my poor Polish cousins, who thought they would spend their hard earned money on a week of vacation bliss in Spain, ended up in the hotel jungle in the down at the heels Malgrat de Mar, just to the South of Blanes. By the time we got to them, they were very nearly in the depths of depression.

What makes my cousins' experience all the more sad is that there are still beautiful spots along the Costa Brava. To be sure, they're best enjoyed in June and September rather than July or August. In the still warm off-season, you are very likely to find yourself all but alone in the lulling waves of the Mediterranean, particularly if you're up for a little stroll along the cliffs. I'll tell you all about the Camí de Ronda, a footpath along the coast, in another post.

On the recommendation of our friend Louise, who once frolicked on the coast in a billowy yellow skirt, we spent last week in Calella de Palafrugell on the other Costa Brava, the one right out of a Merchant and Ivory film. Calella de Palafrugell, about an hour and a half outside of Barcelona, is a pretty fishing village, which retains all the romance of the coast as it once must have been: colourful sail boats pulled up onto the shore, pristine beaches of polished pebbles, merrily painted houses and charming restaurants lining the boardwalk. It's a tourist town through and through, but one of genteel tourism, the kind that brings back all your best memories of holidays by the seaside.

We stayed at the stately Hotel Sant Roc (www.santroc.com), which overlooks the town from a privileged cliff-top location on the outskirts (its terrace is pictured above). It's currently offering a 3 nights for the price of 2 deal, which is truly fantastic given that prices are already at low season rates. As for restaurants, we opted for Can Gelpí (C/ les Voltes 11, tel. 97 261 4572) and Tragamar (Playa De Canadell, tel. 97 261 5189), both of which serve very respectable seafood accompanied by spectacular views out to sea and the music of crashing waves.

Things I Ate in Cantabria

You may not know this, but the Iberian peninsula was once hopping with Neanderthals and Cro-Magnons--Cantabria, in the northern part of Spain, in particular. They lived in caves. They hunted wooly mammoths, bison and the like. Some of them painted incredibly sophisticated pictures with metal oxides and plant extracts...of mammoth, bison and the like.

In the Cuevas del Castillo, just outside of the pretty spa town of Puente Viesgo, we saw some incredibly preserved cave art, some as old as 28,000 years. It was mind blowing, to say the least.

But, more importantly, I ate cow stomachs. Perhaps the stomachs of cousins of the two cows pictured not far from Casa Sergio (Puente Viesgo), the restaurant where said stomachs were consumed. Impossible to say.

In any event, the stomachs (innocuously monikered "callos" in Spanish) were tasty. While, as you can imagine, the beige gumminess of your typical cow stomach is not particularly pleasing to the eye, these particular stomachs came in a rich beefy stew which lent them a little cover and, one might even say, nobility. The callos themselves were less chewy than expected, with a soft, part meaty, part fatty texture and an interior resembling a fleshy shag rug, which was particularly nice.

Judging by their depictions of cow ancestors, I think the cavemen would have approved.

Churros and Chocolate

I've been wandering around the south of Spain again (more on that later). It's a good time visit: the weather is temperate, the oranges are ripe, the almond trees are in bloom and the tourists are scarce.

The one thing that I can never deny myself in the South are the churros. They're just not the same in Barcelona. [But if you must know where to get the best churros in Barcelona, click here.]

Churros are long pieces of fried dough (some wheat flour based, some potato based), best eaten with a cup of pudding-thick hot chocolate.

In Seville, there seem to be as many churrerias as there cafes and the best ones that I've encountered pull the churros out of hot oil while you wait and serve them up in parchment paper to take away or on metal trays to eat standing up at the counter. This time I bumped into La Esperanza on calle Feria, just off of Relator, which did just so. For 2 euros, I had churros and chocolate enough to satisfy a construction worker twice my size.

Afterwards, I snatched up an orange that had just fallen onto the grass from a nearby tree and degreased myself a little internally.

How can anyone not love Seville?