Where's Valeria, I hear you say? Well, it's a very small village in the middle of Spain, about 30 kms SE of Cuenca, which is about an hour east of Madrid. Our destination was a little B&B called Quinta del Mula, which Susie had ferreted out on Bookings.com. She hadn't missed yet with our accomodations, and this one was no exception, although when we finally pulled up out the front, we both thought "Oh, shit, what have we got here?" But first impressions can be very deceiving, and we had in fact been forewarned by reviews, so we clambered out of the car and rang the bell by the 5'6" doorway in the very nondescript wall with very small windows which formed the facade of our home for the next 2 nights.
We were greeted by Xavier, who with his wife Mula runs the place, which very quickly grew on us in leaps and bounds. After ducking through the doorway and down a couple of steps we were directed upstairs to our room, having to duck low to avoid being beaned by a ceiling beam on the way up. Our room was probably the smallest room, with the smallest window, with a double bed in it, I've ever been in. But it charmed us. We had our own bathroom, across the other side of the hall, which was quirky but nice.
After having had a quick look at the village when we arrived, we weren't very confident of finding an evening meal, as there was only the Church and the local pub/bar fronting the Plaza Mayor, and that was about it, and the pub didn't look capable of providing much more than a packet of Smiths Crisps.
But before we could broach the subject, Xavier solved our problem, saying he would be doing dinner for any of his guests who wanted from 8:30 (an early sitting for non Spanish guests, ie. Us). Not really having another choice, we said yes please. Having a couple of hours, we went walking around the nearby ruins dating back to Roman occupation in the early centuries AD. Makes you feel kind of insignificant looking at stuff that old, still silently sitting there. If those walls could talk! The ruins are also very close to a beautiful gorge where some climbers were having a fun time on the vertical.
Back at the village, Xavier proved to be as good a cook as he was host, and provided us with a very good meal along with a bottle of very drinkable local wine. We then adjourned to the "pub" at the Plaza to watch the next instalment of the local derby, Real Madrid V Barcelona FC, on the big screen. Pretty much the whole village was there, and the game was very exciting, but after having the upper hand for practically the whole game Barca went and lost 0-1 in extra time. Bummer.
Very old doesn't begin to describe Quinta del Mula. There is a "cave" underneath the ground floor of the house, which includes a well and spring, and tunnels which run under the Plaza Mayor and the house across the laneway dating back to the 6th century. Periodic additions were made until the present walls of the house were built in the 16th century. We loved the place.
Next day, Easter Thursday (feet washing day), we drove 30 kms to Cuenca to check out the old town and the "hanging houses" built on top of cliffs along the river gorge. After wandering around the town, oohing and aahing at the Basilica, and lunching at a local cafe recommended by Xavier, we were about to leave when preparations began for the Semana Santa parade. We stayed to watch, and left about 2 hours later, the cavalcade still not having completely passed us. Boy, the Catholics in Spain know how to do an Easter parade - thousands of black, maroon, yellow, or white robed "ku klux klan" looking marchers with the tall pointy hat-masks with eye openings marched slowly past with brass bands and carrying enormous, heavy, religious sculptures. I counted 22 men along each side of the biggest one. Quite a spectacle. Arriving back at Valeria we were just in time for another happy and beautifully cooked meal from Xavier.
On Good Friday we motored out of Valeria to our next stop, Almagro, home to the Corral de Comedias, one of the few original live theatres still standing from the Spanish "Golden Age" of theatre, and apparently identical to the Globe Theatre in London, where regular performances of shakespeares plays are still produced. Also the Museo Nacional De Teatro, which takes you through the history of live theatre in Spain.
Saturday, and everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, in the whole town seemed to be in the Plaza Mayor, drinking, eating tapas, and generally promenading - the oldies suited up, youngies more casual but well dressed, and lots of good looking women in their high heeled FMBs. And whaddayaknow, we saw another parade, this time all in Roman soldier costume. Another spectacle.
Sunday, we drove to Las Lagunas de Ruidera, a series of about 10 beautiful lakes, all draining into one another through small waterfalls. We went for a long walk, stopped for lunch on the terrace at a lakeside cafe where the son was outside spruiking, Dad was cooking on the BBQ, and Grandad was cleaning tables, had an ordinary meal accompanied by ordinary wine, and enjoyed it immensely.
That night, late, we ate back at Almagro, and I remember having a dish of field mushrooms, prosciutto and asparagus. Oh, yum. I love Spanish food.
Next stop was Cordoba for 2 nights - old town narrow streets, the mandatory Catedral, this time built inside an enormous mosque, and the Alcazar, fabulous gardens and HQ for the Spanish Inquisition, and where Columbus' Americas voyage of discovery was planned. Then a night in Sevilla - another Catedral, and Alcazar with more fabulous gardens.
Then on to Granada, first driving up high (2500m) into the Sierra Nevadas to the local ski resort where the snow was pretty patchy but they were still open and skiing, then dropped off the car and cabbed it to our apartment. Good thing we did as the street was so narrow the cabby had to fold his door mirror back to get past one section. Amazing.
Next morning we did the Alhambra - more amazing ancient architecture and history, and more fabulous gardens, and I think I'm completely basilica'd and history'd out for a while.
On Saturday 30th we cabbed it to the big bus station and climbed aboard for our bus trip down the coast to Algeciras and our ferry to Tanger, Morocco. Only the day before we had been sitting in a tapas bar and saw on TV the aftermath of the Marrakesh bombing. After discussing things at length we made the decision to continue, and so that afternoon walked aboard our "slow" boat to Morocco. More about that later.
