The Thirsk Yarnbombers have been at it since 2015 when the Tour de Yorkshire cycle race passed through the town. Since then, this doughty group of knitters – some of who no longer live in the town, but in places as far-flung as Australia – have decorated the Market Square with knitted tributes on all kinds of occasions – notably the late Queen’s Platinum Jubilee.
We haven’t been to Lapland for the weekend. Just a few miles up the road from here live a herd of reindeer. This is their busy season, and instead of grazing peacefully, their diet of grasses augmented by occasional goody-bags of lichen imported at enormous expense, they are toted hither and yon for the delectation of local children – and their parents. We met them at a local farm yesterday. These caribou are surprisingly small and delicate looking, with antlers far less hefty than those of their red deer cousins.
Their feet are soft and spreading, giving them their version of a snow shoe. They make a clicking sound as they walk, enabling them to keep track of each other as they wander in search of food. We didn’t hear them, but apparently they utter a low barking sound from time to time.
This week, Anne-Christine invites us to share Magical Moments from for the Lens-Artist Challenge. I’m choosing a magical few days spent four years ago in Cádiz, Andalucía.
Cádiz isn’t a city with world-beating museums or inspirational churches. But it’s the oldest city in Western Europe, founded by the Phoenicians. Greeks and Romans peopled the area, and from the 8th century, the city was a Muslim stronghold for 700 years. Christopher Columbus sailed from here three times on his voyages of discovery to the New World, and in 1812 the first Spanish Constitution, making a unified nation of the peninsula’s disparate kingdoms. All this is reflected in today’s city.
For us though, this was a seaside city of characterful streets. It had once-upon-a time fishing quarters now re-purposed for locals and tourists alike as the place to relax at an outdoor table over a leisurely meal (this was January).
It was the city where we could find delightful old bars selling local sherries to savour and compare. And above all, it was the city of sunsets. Every evening it seemed, everybody came to the seashore to simply stand and watch, and witness the magic of the sun dipping down over the sea and beyond the horizon. These photos have not been edited or retouched – except to correct the odd wonky horizon.
Even one of its museums, the Puppet Museum, Museo del Titere, had moments of magic. How about these rather witchy women?
Or the magical and gigantic baobab tree?
Two months later, as we looked back on this special holiday, it seemed even more magical. We hadn’t known as we wandered its streets that this would be our last bit of freedom to travel for a very long time. In March 2020, the world locked down.
Samuel Johnson famously said in 1777 ‘When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life‘. The same could easily be said of Barcelona. And yet, although you might not be tired of this city, you might need a break from its unrelenting busyness. I have a suggestion. Go to a RENFE station in the city – maybe Sants, or Plaça de Catalunya, and simply get a train going northwards up the Maresme coast. You’ll enjoy the journey.
Back in the 1840s, when the trainline was constructed, it was as a goods line. It had therefore to be built next to the sea and the various ports along the way, with a road running alongside the tracks. So you, having picked a seat on the right hand side of the carriage, will travel alongside the seashore for your entire journey. Spare a thought for all those communities now divorced from the sea which gave them their reason for being. Although it’s easy enough really to pop through a pedestrian underpass and join the beach path which extends all the way from Barcelona, the whole way up the coast.
Where will you stop off? Maybe Badalona? if you want to meet me, I’ll join you at Emily and family’s home town, Premià de Mar. We could stop at charming Vilassar de Mar. We could stay in the only big town in the area, Mataró, which is well worth a day of your time, and I’ll take you to all of these places eventually, so we’ll go two stops further and get off at Caldes d’Estac. This was – and to some extent still is – a spa town. Its glory days in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries are over, but the town centre and beach-side villas still have a certain charm and sense of style from those days. Away from the immediate centre it’s been spoilt by ripping down older properties in favour of tall apartment blocks, and a busy highway has been constructed above this hilly town. Luckily, enough is left. And in any case, we’re staying in the centre to visit its Picasso museum, Fundació Palau i Fabre.
Yes, this small town has a museum dedicated to Picasso, with works too by the likes of Tàpies and Miró. And that’s because the renowned Catalan poet Josep Palau i Fabre (no I hadn’t heard of him either) was a friend of Picasso, who gave him several of his works: others he bought. By 1987, Palau had decided that, with no descendants of his own, he wanted to form the ‘Palau Foundation’ to house and display these works. But where? He hunted throughout Catalonia; he went to Andorra, to Menorca, to Ibiza. All the would-be deals he thought he had came to nothing.
And then, in Caldes d’Estrac, one of the spa town’s thermal centres was put out to tender. Nobody wanted it. The town’s mayor saw an opportunity: an opportunity to bring a first class cultural asset to the community. In 2003, the Fundació Palau opened its doors. It houses a permanent collection, temporary exhibitions, archives and a library. I think it’s a national treasure. But the day I visited, I shared the exhibition spaces with no more than half a dozen other visitors – mind you, it was November.
Anyway, in I went, having first taken a snapshot of the town reflected in an outside window of the gallery.
I was greeted by a temporary exhibition, which l loved. Here was the young Picasso, surrounded by his artsy friends, all sketching one another, doodling, cartooning, finding their artistic feet. Only Picasso from this period ever made it big-time, but I still found them to be a talented and engaging bunch. Here are three examples.
Josep Costa Ferrer: Caricature of Picasso with a client.
Then it was off to the collection of poetry by Palau and friends. Though it was often visually interesting, I struggled with this. I don’t pretend to speak Catalan, though I can read it adequately. You might want to have a go yourself if you speak French, Spanish or Italian. Just click here for an example of Josep Palau’s poetry.
Finally, it was upstairs to see what I could see. I knew not to expect to see the equivalent of, say, Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, or Guernica. I was quite prepared to be interested in a collection mainly of sketches and drawings by Picasso, and a few works by his friends and contemporaries.
It was sympathetically displayed: though I’ve decided my own attempts to photograph them were unsympathetic, and – apart from showing you one late sketch by Picasso, showing himself as a faun – I’ll instead give you an impression of one of the display rooms.
Then I had a stroll round the old town. The feature photo shows one of the 16th century towers built when the town was suffering from the depredations of Turkish pirates. And the picture below shows the building which was once the British Embassy. Yes, during the Spanish Civil War of 1936 – 1939 many embassies moved themselves out of the main firing lines and Caldes d’Estac was the choice of quite a few. The Argentinian Embassy is a few doors down.
The former British Embassy.
A good day out. And the museum makes a great (and very much cheaper) complement to Barcelona’s Museu Picasso.
I first took you to Caldes d’Estrac back in November, when I showed you a very fine door. Now I want to show you a very fine window, from the same corner of town.
This is by way of being a preview to my next post, when I’ll be telling you why you should consider putting this little town on your visiting list if you have time during a break in Barcelona. To be continued …
For Ludwig’s Monday Window, after a very long time-out.
I glanced up from checking my emails twenty minutes ago, and this is what I saw.
You have to seize the moment. In half an hour it’ll be raining- a proper deluge with fat splashy drops tumbling relentlessly down for the rest of the day (just like yesterday). So I went for a mini-walk.
Just in time. Now it’s like this – and becoming more sombre by the minute.
Nobody could accuse Barcelona of being a spot of ‘rus in urbe‘. Oh, it’s tremendously good at public open space to relax in and at tree lined streets. But shady expanses of groves and avenues of trees, of busy little streams and placid ponds? Not so much.
Except for one place, quite unique in the city. The Parc del Laberint d’Horta (Labyrinth Park of Horta) has been here since 1791, when the Desvalls family had it built as a Neoclassical park, and one featuring a maze – hence the park’s name – and any number of classical statues of Greek deities. In the mid 19th century a more free-flowing Romantic woodland park was added. And in the 1960s it became a public park, hidden from the view of many of the city’s inhabitants, let alone tourists. It costs the very odd sum of 2.23 Euros to get in, except on Wednesdays and Sundays when it’s free: or if your an old fogey like me, it’s always free.
Come with me for a stroll. When we feel up to it, we’ll attempt the maze. They say it’s harder than it looks.
We’ll begin with a rather hearty climb among woodland glades interspersed with pretty reflective pools.
Soon, we realise we must have skirted the very heart of the garden, now lying below us.
Oh look. There are balustrades, and statuary, and pavilions and … that must be the maze in the centre? Let’s go along and look.
A final look at the maze from above, before we plunge in. Black and white white might make it easier to sort out. You’d sooner not try it? Your choice.
Oh, this won’t take long. Look, I can see through the branches easily. In fact I can see the centre from here …
Oh hang on. I want to go left, and I can’t. OK, right, left and left again. Hmm. I seem to be near the beginning again. Right, let’s take this slowly …
And I did. Eventually, I met Eros in the centre and sat with him for a while.
Getting out was worse than getting in. I kept on fetching up with Eros again, or finding myself up yet another blind alley. But I made it out eventually, and decided that I really would have liked your company as I thrashed helplessly around.
I’d nearly explored the whole site, but went for a final stroll, encountering various characters, identity unsolved, on the way.
At this point, I could have gone home. Instead, I walked into the Horta district, roughly a kilometre away: a well-established community where ordinary citizens live and work, and where there is no possible reason for a tourist to venture. Except I’d had a tip-off. I should have my lunch at Quimet d’Horta. This unique bar has been serving the locals its signature dish for almost 100 years. An omelette sandwich. A bit weird? I thought so. But I was wrong. A cheesy, herby omelette enveloped into half a crisp-crusted baguette, and helped down by a clara turned out to be just the thing I needed. And as I was eating at the ridiculously early hour of 1 o’clock, I had the place almost to myself.
This is a multi-tasking post. First of all, it’s part of my Barcelona series. Then it’s for Amy’s Lens-Artist Challenge #288: Unique. And then, despite the fact that no cake was consumed in the expedition, it’s for Jo’s Monday Walk.
Over at Don’t hold your Breath, IJ Khanewala features an Indian Pond Heron as his Bird of the Week. I remarked to him that herons get everywhere. And here’s the proof. I can’t claim to show examples from anything like every continent, much less every country where you’ll find herons, but here are just a few.
This one was after an easy catch in our landlord’s garden and noticed by our trail camera.
These are all from England: click on an image to find out where.
These two come from Spain, from l’Albufera near Valencia, and from Córdoba.
Dordrecht in the NetherlandsLake Prespa in Greece (but it’s an egret?)
And the featured image comes from Busan in South Korea.
Not exactly a world-wide survey. But I go a small way towards proving my point.
On the first Saturday of every month, a book is chosen as a starting point and linked to six other books to form a chain. Readers and bloggers are invited to join in by creating their own ‘chain’ leading from the selected book.
I read Anthony Bourdain‘s Kitchen Confidential quite a long time ago, and seem to remember not liking it – or indeed him – very much. But it’s given me my chain for the month. You’re not getting a single novel from me this time, not one. Simply a run-down of a few cookery books.
To ease you in gently, I will start with a book that – though full of recipes – is also meant to be read from cover to cover; the 1950s classic by Patience Gray: Honey from a Weed. I’ve only just got it out of the library, so I can’t really comment on it. The inside cover says that it’s a ‘passionate autobiographical cookery book; Mediterranean through and through, and as compelling as a first class novel.‘
Which leads me to one of the first cookery books I owned, one which was my cookery bible when I was a student in the late 60s and early 70s: Elizabeth David‘s A book of Mediterranean food. She wrote very readably and enticingly about ingredients which I was able to source on a student budget in multi-cultural Manchester, and cemented the love of cooking fostered by my mother when I was growing up. All the same, my only memory from that time of using one of her recipes was when I cooked an indifferent moussaka for a lecturer whom my then boyfriend and I were trying to impress. I’ve never really liked moussaka since.
Now I have different cooking bibles. Unsurprisingly, some are written by the cooks who contribute to the Guardian’s food supplement on Saturdays. I went through a phase of perpetually using Meera Sodha‘s East: ‘vegan and vegetarian recipes from Bangalore to Beijing‘. Try this one: Leek and Chard Martabak.
Yotam Ottolenghi came my way via the Guardian: Rick Stein via his television series. I recently found his India in a charity shop, and it seduced me because of its glorious pictures of food and street life . The recipes are pretty good too. How about Aloo dum: potato and pea curry with tomato and coriander?
But for my last book, I’ll choose another cookery book which can be read from cover to cover. And I’ll make it seasonal: Nigel Slater‘s The Christmas Chronicles. Nigel Slater is my sort of cook, in that he doesn’t go in for careful measuring. If you haven’t got this, use that. He’s keen to tell you what he doesn’t bother with. And licking the bowl out is part of the joy. Recipes here are interspersed with stories of his Christmases, and his greedily-anticipated preparations for them. I hope you made your Christmas cake at the end of October. But if you didn’t, here’s his.
So that’s my chain. one in which most of the books I’ve chosen are capable of being linked with each other. It’ll be business as usual next month, with books where you can start at the beginning, and read until the end. Our starter book will be Gabrielle Zevin‘s Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow. I happen to know our daughter’s read this, and I shall be able to snaffle it from her bookshelves when we go to visit the Spanish branch of the family early next month. Not in time for the next Six Degrees, but still …
From Pyrenees to Pennines 
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