Small plate therapy

We arrived at Logroño's area autocaravanas around oneish. It's a fifteen minute walk from there to the narrow streets that cluster around Calle Laurel in the old town. The area boasts a bunch of pinchos bars that serve the best small plates we have ever come across anywhere. Most were to be open until mid-afternoon - time to sample a few!

We've been here half a dozen times at least, so we have our favourites. However, we've never experienced Logroño's pinchos bars on a Saturday afternoon, we've generally been there in the evening.  Even then they never get rowdy like the Bigg Market in Newcastle or Manchester's Canal Street, nevertheless people in Logrono come the evening are definitely out on the town; it's not sedate, but because it's an intergenerational occasion the place never gets raucous, nobody is out to get blind drunk.

The  Saturday afternoon vibe on Calle Laurel is even more convivial, a lunchtime food fest for everyone - couples of every inclination, groups of friends,  parents with small kids, the middle aged and elderly, dogs big and small, and a smattering of tourists. Whereas being out and about in the evening feels celebratory, on Saturday afternoon its like being embraced by a  big, warm communal hug.

We headed to Bar Jubera for starters. All the bars have a range of pinchos on offer, most feature a 'signature dish. In Bar Jubera's case patatas bravas is their USP.

It's very popular, at first sight  getting served  looks impossible. You are faced with a wall of humanity between you and the bar. In practice it works more like a sieve than a wall, people simply accommodate each other, without all the passive aggressive 'Ps & Q's you'd get in a British gaggle. By some mysterious process of osmosis you find yourself at the bar, in less than a minute you've been served and a couple of minutes later two bowls of patatas bravas appear. Then a small gap appeared in the wall of humanity and the pair of us snuggled into a small space near the window with a narrow shelf for our wine glasses and dishes.

A couple of minutes later the people on our left vacated a slightly bigger spot; we shuffled up and found ourselves facing a small family group standing outside on the other side of the window. There followed a short skit on Spaniard's genius for affiliation. There were four of them. Their baby - perhatt eighteen months old - was perched on the wide window sill. He was supported by his father, who, with his one free hand, stabbed morsels of patatas with a wooden fork and fed them to the child. His partner stood next to him, busily consuming an adult sized plate of patatas bravas. She ate a forkful herself  then popped a forkful into her partner's mouth, all the while carrying on an animated conversation with a friend standing next to them.  It seemed the epitome of Spanish easy going inclusivity. Part way through another forkful heading husband-wards she caught my eye, realised the humour of it all and flashed me a big cheeky grin. Spain has beautiful cities, magnificent landscapes and coasts, but so have many other places. Above all it's the kindness of the people, their easygoing and welcoming spirit that makes the country such a pleasurable place to wander around.

Next up - grilled mushrooms. Bar Soriana is hardcore, it specialises in just one small plate - grilled mushrooms stacked up on slice of baguette. People come here from all over the place - a TripAdvisor gastronomy award hangs above the bar. The owners are not shy about flaunting their fame...

The other remarkable thing about the place are the prices. Grilled mushrooms - €1.70, a glass of white or red Rioja - €1.20 - €1.50. Some chefs build their reputation by serving  expensive dishes to the few and get a Michelin star for their efforts. Here the business model is the opposite, make a small amount on each dish but sell them at a price that ensures you are packed out most days. I know which I prefer!

Spanish immersion therapy would not be complete without a tortilla. Bar Jubera supplies those - getting the squishiness spot-on takes real skill.

Gill went for the spicy sauce, I settled for the creamy one with a hint of garlic. Actually I think I made the wrong call here. Note to self - always choose chilli!

We were back at the van just after 4pm. Making the effort to get out at lunch time was the right thing to do. Two nights of restless sleep on the ferry and a 6am start earlier today caught up with us. We wouldn't have made it for a night on the town. Instead we turned in early. We have a long drive ahead of us tomorrow.

Heading southeast from Santander rather than following our usual route towards Salamanca and Seville proved to be the right decision. Atlantic storms are creating havoc across western Iberia. Yesterday a motorway bridge collapsed after a landslide in Andalusia: places in Portugal we know well - Figueira da Foz, Comporta, Alcacer do Sal - all inundated. Even hereabouts, heading down the A23 south of Zaragoza storm clouds shifted across the high plains, the higher peaks of the Sierras were dusted with snow and from time to time the horizon became smudged by thundery showers.

We're heading for Valencia eventually, but it is just too long a stretch to make it in one day. Like last year we opted to break the journey using the area autocaravanas on the outskirts of Teruel.  Our Guidebook and online reviews  agree that the town's historic centre is worth a look.  One day, but with temperatures in the morning hovering around 6° sightseeing wasn't an alluring prospect. 

Spain's high plains get brutal winters. Just south of Teruel the autostrada reaches 1200m;  the altitude of the town's area autocaravanas is 974m. That's more or less the same as Scafell Pike, England's highest spot. Winter sun seekers tend to hug the Mediterranean coast, that's why much of it is over-developed and awash with northern European retirees' motorhomes at this time of year.

Valencia Camperstop has a good on-line booking system these days, we reserved for two nights then extended for a third when we arrived. I need a rest from driving. I felt a bit 'off' on the ferry but put it down to the effects of motion sickness. However since then I've gone down with a fluey cold and Gill seems to be to following suit. I do seem to have caught many more viruses over the past few years than I used to. Maybe four bouts of COVID has screwed my immune system, perhaps it's just an age thing or maybe I've just been unlucky. What seems to be the case is that every time we go to London we to catch something. At home we live a fairly solitary existence, we don't really have a social life and the only busy spaces we inhabit are supermarkets. Then we go to London and hop on the tube. The packed carriages must hum with viruses just lying in waiting for our under exercised immune systems, so we succumb like callow adolescents in Freshers week!

By day three I was feeling somewhat perkier, so we walked down to the metro stop and hopped onto a train into the city centre. It was crowded - maybe single handed we have infected the entire population of Valencia with a unique virus hatched in Hackney Wick. The symptoms are unmistakable, chills, coughs and sneezes, upset tummy and a peculiar urge to drink copious amounts of Kermit green matcha.

Recognising that neither of us were feeling 100% we had scaled back our plans - walk 450m from Valencia Camperstop to Horta Vella metro stop, hop on train, disembark at Angel Guimera station, walk to 1km to Mercal Central, have a great lunch at Central Bar by Ricard Camarena, return to moho by exactly the same route.

Lunch decended into a nostalgia fest. "Do you realise it was fourteen years ago when we first came here?" I mused, flipping back through the blog app on my phone, adding after more scrolling, "And this is our eighth visit. "Maybe we've revisited here more than anywhere else," I pondered. The server noticed me comparing the bar now with a photo from back then. "We were here 14 years ago," I explained, it looks the same! "Yes," she agreed , "Even the same chef."

I wasn't sure if she was referring to the owner, the renowned Valencian chef ' Ricard Camarena, or if it was the case that the person running the small kitchen at the far end of the bar had remained here all those years.

The core menu has remained remarkably similar, so maybe it is the creation of the same individual. We stuck to the classics, sharing a bowl of patatas bravas for starters ..

then pork cheeks as a main...

finishing with a gooey chocolate cake.

It's a special tapas bar in a very special place - a temple to fresh ingredients..

in a masterpiece of Modernista public architecture. It's difficult to capture the scale of the place, usually you struggle to find a good shot amongst the crowd of customers. Today though, as I walked up the central aisle towards the enormous cast iron cupola  people mysteriously dissolved to reveal a pleasingly symmetrical shot.

I imagine we will keep returning here so long as we can. I realise that in another fourteen years time it's unlikely to be in a motorhome  - we'll be in our mid-eighties by then!  However there's a direct flight from Manchester to Valencia and a bus from Buxton to Manchester Airport. Looking at the flight times it would be technically possible to catch the early morning bus from Buxton and get to Valencia central Market bar in time for a late lunch. It's a thought to hang onto for drizzly Pennine days - how much are we prepared to pay for Spanish style small plate therapy? It's not something you can put a price on.