Oh gosh yes, my first time in Spain was a little later, 1979, and it was a bit grim even under much less austere circumstances – by train in fact. Any romantic illusions gained from an over-enthusiastic diet of bohemian travellers of an earlier era were pretty much dispelled right at the French border with its surly guards and the decanting onto a train which did not measure up to French standards. It positively crawled to Burgos, hours and hours and packed with Spaniards not all of whose manners reached French standards either. In Burgos, once the glory of Castille, there was nothing to eat, we went to bed hungry and next morning, ravenous, got nothing more than two marie biscuits each and something resembling coffee. All my Portuguese companion’s inherent antipathies to the national neighbour arose and took florid form, involving at one stage the drawing the knives from boots. The famous cathedral was thick with dust, ancient spider-webs and disgusting representations of tortured saints with what appeared to be genuine rubies for blood. Nothing improved during the continuing long haul all the way across, three days I think. Salamanca was a semi-ruin with cows sleeping in the plaza maior. After the dusty plain to reach green Portugal with real coffee and – in those days – an astonishing variety of cakes in any café was like entering paradise. Four years later I’d just about plucked up the nerve to try again, this time by car along the northern coast, which was marginally better except that getting anything to eat other than a couple of bits of octopus tentacle with a handful of olives washed down with very strong liquor remained a serious problem; the same companion again drew Spanish wrath by pronouncing their bread to be “nothing more than sand”. Then strangely, and very quickly, Spain underwent some sort of transformation. Over the next ten years and various excursions over quite a lot of it I began to realise how beautiful and fascinating it was – at the cost, perhaps, of a diminution of the ‘romance’. By the mid-nineties Salamanca bore no resemblance to what I remembered, The last time, what, four years or so ago, around Cadiz, it was much the same as everywhere else and the wasp-waisted brigand seemed to have vanished too. They’d all got fat and comfortable and the tapas, yes, had become “sophisticated”.
Rosemary Kneipp
February 10th, 2015 at 9:28 pm
Well, Stephen, what a story! When I saw the Plaza Major in Salamanca, it was full of people doing the paseo, no cows. It must have been in April 1979. However, the thing that surprised me most was an ordinary house with a line of men outside on a Sunday afternoon. I was told it was a brothel!
The coaches are extremely efficient these days, unlike the trains!
Despite our (relative) proximity to Spain, I never really go there, except for a few work-related trips to Barcelona. Some of the areas tempt me, but then again so do many other places in Europe…
Rosemary Kneipp
February 10th, 2015 at 9:29 pm
I’m not surprised – I don’t think you’re missing much although I really loved Seville a few years ago and Barcelona. I also enjoyed San Sebastian despite the rain that day.
I find the relic notion to be a rather bizarre one myself. There’s a Catholic church here that has the body of a woman, preserved in some kind of wax, behind a glass wall.
My first time in Spain came just three years after yours, Rosemary ~ in 1979. Spent most of that stay in central Spain where I fell in love with Madrid and Salamanca, both great university towns. I missed seeing the sleeping cows in Salamanca’s Plaza Mayor that Stephen mentioned in his comment earlier here. (THAT would have been a photo to take.) What I do remember? Night and day always something to do, someone new to meet, and as you say, free tapas with your beverage. The most humble, if memory serves, was that dish of olives with the inexpensive . . . okay, cheap house wine.
Rosemary Kneipp
February 10th, 2015 at 9:31 pm
No, I didn’t see the sleeping cows but I did see a brothel (see my answer to Stephen). Actually, we found the wine quite good and we didn’t go for the more expensive variety.
Oh, yes, I agree. The wine was always good. I had my first taste of tripe in España and THAT was good. That was just my way of being very plain about how truly inexpensive the cost of living was at that time. Nope ~ cannot imagine a better place to have lived as an adventurous student on a budget than wonderful Spain. Although Italy comes close!
Rosemary Kneipp
February 11th, 2015 at 9:09 pm
I was given tripe as a child and I liked it but I went off it went I got older and realised what it was!
Rosemary Kneipp
February 10th, 2015 at 9:29 pm
I agree that the whole relic thing is more than bizarre!
Oh, the brothel was a standard Southern European institution, all nice boys were taken there by their papas at an early age. Did you ever see Marseilles before it was ‘sanitized’; or Paris come to that?
Rosemary Kneipp
February 11th, 2015 at 9:08 pm
Marseilles is probably the only major French city where I have never set foot. It’s on the agenda though, but not for the brothels!
You’ll be spared those Rosemary, they’ve taken even less savoury if less visible form. The best thing about Marseilles was the bouillabaisse straight from the sea, but I suppose that’s taken a sanitized form too…
Oh gosh yes, my first time in Spain was a little later, 1979, and it was a bit grim even under much less austere circumstances – by train in fact. Any romantic illusions gained from an over-enthusiastic diet of bohemian travellers of an earlier era were pretty much dispelled right at the French border with its surly guards and the decanting onto a train which did not measure up to French standards. It positively crawled to Burgos, hours and hours and packed with Spaniards not all of whose manners reached French standards either. In Burgos, once the glory of Castille, there was nothing to eat, we went to bed hungry and next morning, ravenous, got nothing more than two marie biscuits each and something resembling coffee. All my Portuguese companion’s inherent antipathies to the national neighbour arose and took florid form, involving at one stage the drawing the knives from boots. The famous cathedral was thick with dust, ancient spider-webs and disgusting representations of tortured saints with what appeared to be genuine rubies for blood. Nothing improved during the continuing long haul all the way across, three days I think. Salamanca was a semi-ruin with cows sleeping in the plaza maior. After the dusty plain to reach green Portugal with real coffee and – in those days – an astonishing variety of cakes in any café was like entering paradise. Four years later I’d just about plucked up the nerve to try again, this time by car along the northern coast, which was marginally better except that getting anything to eat other than a couple of bits of octopus tentacle with a handful of olives washed down with very strong liquor remained a serious problem; the same companion again drew Spanish wrath by pronouncing their bread to be “nothing more than sand”. Then strangely, and very quickly, Spain underwent some sort of transformation. Over the next ten years and various excursions over quite a lot of it I began to realise how beautiful and fascinating it was – at the cost, perhaps, of a diminution of the ‘romance’. By the mid-nineties Salamanca bore no resemblance to what I remembered, The last time, what, four years or so ago, around Cadiz, it was much the same as everywhere else and the wasp-waisted brigand seemed to have vanished too. They’d all got fat and comfortable and the tapas, yes, had become “sophisticated”.
Well, Stephen, what a story! When I saw the Plaza Major in Salamanca, it was full of people doing the paseo, no cows. It must have been in April 1979. However, the thing that surprised me most was an ordinary house with a line of men outside on a Sunday afternoon. I was told it was a brothel!
The coaches are extremely efficient these days, unlike the trains!
What a crazy story! It made me laugh…
Despite our (relative) proximity to Spain, I never really go there, except for a few work-related trips to Barcelona. Some of the areas tempt me, but then again so do many other places in Europe…
I’m not surprised – I don’t think you’re missing much although I really loved Seville a few years ago and Barcelona. I also enjoyed San Sebastian despite the rain that day.
I find the relic notion to be a rather bizarre one myself. There’s a Catholic church here that has the body of a woman, preserved in some kind of wax, behind a glass wall.
My first time in Spain came just three years after yours, Rosemary ~ in 1979. Spent most of that stay in central Spain where I fell in love with Madrid and Salamanca, both great university towns. I missed seeing the sleeping cows in Salamanca’s Plaza Mayor that Stephen mentioned in his comment earlier here. (THAT would have been a photo to take.) What I do remember? Night and day always something to do, someone new to meet, and as you say, free tapas with your beverage. The most humble, if memory serves, was that dish of olives with the inexpensive . . . okay, cheap house wine.
No, I didn’t see the sleeping cows but I did see a brothel (see my answer to Stephen). Actually, we found the wine quite good and we didn’t go for the more expensive variety.
Oh, yes, I agree. The wine was always good. I had my first taste of tripe in España and THAT was good. That was just my way of being very plain about how truly inexpensive the cost of living was at that time. Nope ~ cannot imagine a better place to have lived as an adventurous student on a budget than wonderful Spain. Although Italy comes close!
I was given tripe as a child and I liked it but I went off it went I got older and realised what it was!
I agree that the whole relic thing is more than bizarre!
Oh, the brothel was a standard Southern European institution, all nice boys were taken there by their papas at an early age. Did you ever see Marseilles before it was ‘sanitized’; or Paris come to that?
Marseilles is probably the only major French city where I have never set foot. It’s on the agenda though, but not for the brothels!
You’ll be spared those Rosemary, they’ve taken even less savoury if less visible form. The best thing about Marseilles was the bouillabaisse straight from the sea, but I suppose that’s taken a sanitized form too…