We have visited Puerto Serrano previously, or more exactly the car park of its disused station, on Sunday 30th October 2016 according to the blog. We noted the event because we failed to find a parking place due to its popularity with day trippers from Seville. They were here for the same reason as us, the place is situated at the eastern end of the Via Verde de la Sierra, a bike trail that takes a winding 38km route through the beautiful olive clad hills from Puerto Serrano to Olvera. We had just spent the previous afternoon cycling 15kms or so along the trail from Olvera and were disappointed not to be able to do the same from here. We promised ourselves, we will come back on a weekday sometime, and here we are.
Though the car park is extensive, there are only four or five spaces long enough for a 7m van. We squeezed into the last one, then two of the other vans departed and the place almost emptied. 'No problem staying here overnight,' one of the departing Belgians told us. Exactly what we want, a great bike track and a free overnight stay.
We like old railways that have been converted to bike trails and Spain has many. As well as their scenic delights and the fact they are traffic free, for us they have an additional attractions. Railways by their nature tend to have gentle inclines; this suits our increasingly arthritic knees and waning stamina just fine.
In this respect the Via Verde de la Sierra is less than ideal, both ends of the trail involve steep hills. In Olvera the road to the old station from the hilltop pueblo blanco is precipitous, barely cyclable. Here it's the trail itself that is unusually steep, two short 10% slopes with tight bends, not particularly challenging, but quite hazardous due to the loose gravel surface.
How did this function as a railway we pondered, double locomotives, steam winches? Anyway, once at the top the rest of the route more or less follows the contour lines.
It may be flat, but has many tunnels including one 700m long with limited illumination. It was at this moment that I realised I had no idea how to switch on the lights on my new e-bike.
The trail was uncrowded or more exactly, unpeopled. There were hundreds of goats wandering about, seemingly all belonging to the same herd. There was no herder to be seen, instead the goats were tended by two gentle, attentive labradors. It was an impressive and oddly touching sight.
We need to build up our stamina after being stuck indoors for weeks at home. Though we only cycled about 20km I was tired and a bit saddle sore by the time we arrived back at the van.
The sunny afternoon gradually faded into an orange twilight, followed by profound darkness, very starry, directly above - the faint dust of the Milky Way. Nothing is truly empty is it? How many stars in the Milky Way? 100 billion it is thought, and galaxies in the universe - our best guess, around two trillion.
I think it was Arthur C Clarke who said the only thought more terrifying than the fact we may be alone is the chance we might not be. That this point might be applicable on a more local scale as well as the universal was underlined by our encounter with the affable Austrian chap parked next to us. He was friendly, helpful, and had been on the road since September. It was only after half an hour or so that it transpired he was an anti-vaxxer. No wonder he was not heading home anytime soon, so far as I am aware the Austrian government is the only one in the West to legally require its citizens to be vaccinated, refusal comply resulting in a fine of up to €3,600. He was in hiding.
Next day we headed for a campsite on the outskirts on El Puerto de Santa Maria. We knew it would be busy. Nevertheless it is difficult not to feel a bit crestfallen when after a journey across Spain, north to south, mainly on empty roads, meeting few other tourists, basking in the illusion that this your special journey. Suddenly you are confronted with a hundred or more iterations of yourself, similar ages, more or less identical motorhomes - it would be nice to see us all as some kind of tribe, but we are not, we are just a trend, a coincidental demographic. Perhaps we need a name - the geriatariat?
The longer we stay on the campsite the more glum I am going to become. There are only so many times you can escape by taking a healthful stroll the through the umbrella pines or along the coast towards 'Port Sherry'.
Getting out certainly cheered me up, especially as most vertical surfaces were covered in graffiti. Some were surprisingly painterly, eschewing the usual cartoon style coloured slabs for looser, more energetic brushwork.
This one caught my eye too, definitely emphasising the more graphic aspects of graffiti.
A regular passenger ferry runs from el Puerto to Cadiz. We've been to the city twice before, we were undecided about going again. In the end we did, if only to give me something else to occupy my mind rather ruminating on being absorbed into an increasingly grey haired demographic.
It is 2km walk from the campsite to the terminal maritima, we arrived half an hour early so I wandered about and took a few photos of the old Bodegas by the quayside.
...and more 'found art'. I really liked the poster for the college of music and dance that shares the same building as the ferry terminal, a unique combination I have to think.
In the end we reached in the city by bus as the boat had been cancelled due to a 'technical problem'.
We headed straight for the market which closes at 2.00pm. Previously we have never managed to catch it when it was in full swing. The building is modern, but the market hall itself is surrounded by a colonnade. It struck me that this is what the ancient market must have looked like - like a glimpse of a Greek or Roman agora.
There has been a market here for a very long time. Cadiz and Lisbon squabble over which one is the oldest continuously inhabited city in Europe, both were founded around 2800 years ago by Phoenician traders, logically you would have to favour Cadiz simply because it closer to Carthage.
As you might expect fish stalls outnumbered those selling vegetables, in fact I think it's the biggest retail fish market I have ever seen.
We could have had lunch here, as there were many bars and tapas places under the colonnades.
Instead we headed for the Barrio de la Viña, an ancient quarter famed for authentic bars serving local specialities. We ate here on our first visit and felt it deserved further investigation, especially since we are a little more experienced now in navigating our way around tapas menus, which can appear daunting at first.
It dawned on us quickly that we may have made a mistake, we didn't realise that on Wednesdays most small restaurants in Cadiz are closed. However, one place was open - Casa Manteca and coincidentally it happened to be the place that Sarah had recommended.
All the tables outside were occupied, but we managed to squeeze onto one near the bar. As we perused the menu the place became ever more crowded, mainly with locals, the result I suppose of being one of only place serving food in the neighborhood.
The fact it was frenetic added to the atmosphere, it felt authentic. Founded by a former matador, the walls are covered in photographs and posters from his career. These are mixed up with old adverts and family memorabilia.
It's all very alluring, I was pleased with the photos I took of the interior even if they do completely misrepresent the place, capturing a soulful almost melancholic ambience when in reality was noisy and chaotic.
So far as the food was concerned it was good without being exceptional. Shrimp fritters are a typical dish of the region, but the most memorable thing was the simplest - slices of mature manchego cheese dabbed with an asparagus jam, unusual but delicious.
We opted for a glass of local Cadiz wine. It was pleasant and not something you find outside of the locality, only sherry tends to escape its eponymous triangle.
The historic centre of Cadiz retains much of its original layout and buildings. It's a bit of a warren, at times dark and oppressive lacking the grandeur Seville or Granada. Not that it lacks impressive monuments, the Cathedral is enormous, but difficult to take in, towering over the small square beside it.
Luckily there are small green spaces dotted here and there that providing welcome relief from the more severe aspect of the narrow streets.
We decided after lunch that we would like to have a coffee by the sea. Cadiz has a promenade with cafés overlooking a beach, but that was at the opposite end of the long seafront. A busy road ran along the foreshore where we happened to be and café's were few and far between.
We found one place, but the waiter refused to serve us with just a coffee. We could not quite work out why, other people were having beers. He was quite brusque. In general people seem a little more irascible here, quite different the usual Spanish easygoing affability which makes the country feel so welcoming. Maybe port cities have a more edgy vibe, Liverpool, Newcastle, Marseilles, New York, all places with a reputation for having alarmingly forthright locals
So we wandered back towards the plaza by the cathedral where we had noted a cluster of cafés but came across another before we got there. The waiter was outside and agreed that we could order just a coffee even though the place was still serving lunch. We did have sit through his hard sell on the delights of the cheesecake on offer, but we resisted. Having both grown-up in the Northeast and worked as teachers, when required we can shrug off most attempts at a hard sell, no matter how forthright the locals.
Gill remembered visiting an attractive park from the first time we visited Cadiz. Google maps reminded us it was called Parque Genovés, plotted a route and estimated it would take about 20 minutes to walk there. Cadiz really is a tangle of a place; it is very easy to get completely lost. Big tech like Google gets a bad press, often with good reason, but for tourists it's a boon, and for that matter for bloggers too!
Time to head back for the ferry, a different route but the same mix of streets hardly wider than alleys linking small squares with big trees.
Back at the quayside two sailing ships were moored next to the ferry landing. The smaller of the two was a replica of Magellan's flagship 'Victoria'. It's astonishing that something as small and primitive managed to circumnavigate the world.
The second vessel was more than twice the size, a classic Spanish galleon, the kind Drake liked to plunder.
As the el Puerto ferry (now repaired) headed out of the harbour we passed an amazing mixture of ships, a big ocean going tug, a rusting coaster full of scrap, a coastguard cutter with a machine gun on to the bow and an enormous private yacht the size of a small cruise ship. A red ensign fluttered from the stern. Maybe Marx had a point I thought to myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment