The glazed tiles preserved a hand written message in vibrant blue lettering. I studied the words as I ate my tangy marinated carrots at the narrow bar curving through the small space. When I needed a break from my meagre attempts to translate the message, I shifted my gaze to the huge bowls of radishes and large green olives on the upper shelf of the bar. I could only decipher a few words. Magica (magical) Taverna (tavern) Amigo (friend) Vino (wine) Alma (soul) If I had had more courage I would have asked the server about its meaning. He had already advised me to eat downstairs at the bar where…

I am home from Spain and listening to the band Triana. The sound is 70s psychodelic rock, the fine guitar work Andalusian, the voice soulful. Expressive. This rock band is one of the wonderful discoveries I unearthed in Spain. One in a long list. Delightful, unexpected, small discoveries and interactions that made my trip memorable. In Cordoba, I was lost. After strolling the haphazard streets on my first afternoon I wanted to return to my hotel and rest. I was tired. Perhaps it was the endless distractions around every corner (let’s see what’s down this cute street…) or my impending exhaustion but I got totally mixed up. The map in…

The cultural legacy of Cordoba is immense. It was once the Roman and Moorish capital of Spain and home of the Caliphate of Córdoba and its philosophers, poets and engineers. It’s a lot to take in. My brain needed a break from the history, as fascinating as it is, so on my second day I put aside the guidebook. Instead, I wandered without a plan (with a map, I am not that reckless!) A couple minutes from my hotel I saw the heavy wooden doors of Convento Santa Clara were open. I stepped into the peaceful courtyard. Rugged stones underfoot. I saw the sign for Dulces Artesanales. Nun’s cookies! I…

This could get addictive. Walking from village to village. Beautiful nature connecting the dots. A picturesque whitewashed hamlet as a destination to mark the kilometres travelled and to meander the timeless cobbled streets. But not for too long. The trails beckon. And so go my days in the Sierra de Aracena. Outside of the weekend, I hardly meet a soul. The sounds I hear are the birdsong, the tinkle of bells from goats and lambs, the tap tap of horses hooves, the cockadoodle of a rooster. Oink oink! Chestnuts crashing down. The wind rustling the leaves. The smells are a pleasant breeze from the city. The air is crisp. At…

I took a detour today. To the town of Jabugo. I knew nothing about Jabugo other than it was not far from Galaroza, where I was staying overnight. A doable short walk. All uphill. I walk into town and the first thing I see is a Jamón processing plant. At the fork in the road I am presented with an option between an asphalt road or cobbled one typical of serrana villages. Down the cobble lane I go. It’s quiet. Not just the serene peacefulness I am getting accustomed to in this rural area of cork trees and whitewashed villages lost in time. Barren streets type of quiet. No people.…

It’s 9:15 pm. I poke my head in the restaurant. “Está abierto?” I ask the server. “Si,” he replies not looking up from his phone. I had been waiting for the restaurant to open while having a drink on the other side of the small plaza with an English couple I met at my Posada. I give them a thumbs up before tucking inside. The floor of the restaurant is made of the same black and white cobblestones throughout the village. The rustic heavy door that separates the bar from the restaurant looks like something out of the Middle Ages with large metal bolts and hinges. A soccer game is…

Cadiz feels like a seaside town. Jutting out into the ocean you are never far from water. It’s almost like an island. I could see from the train the narrow land passageway to enter the city, the sea within arms reach on both sides. The landscape was like a wetland in contrast to the dry arid land on the journey from Sevilla. This is sherry country as evident from the silhouettes of well known bodegas on the hilltops: Tio Pepe man and a classic bull (Osborne). Walking out the train station I immediately smelled the breezy sea air. The main square by the port is lined with palm trees. The buildings…