Guest Blogger Lisa Risager takes us off the mainland, to an often-ignored paradise in the Canary Islands…

This island is a continent, and if you were born and bred here you wouldn’t call La Concha in San Sebastian the most beautiful beach in Spain. My mistake… it is of course Las Canteras!

Most visitors to Gran Canaria head straight for the south, the sun, the sand, the sangria… and so did we. A perfect place for a family holiday. Sunbathing for the teenage daughter, scuba diving for the 12-year old son and his father – and for me? I pottered about which is what I love doing on my holidays.

Warm days in the sun, sitting in the shade at a cafe, drinking cafe con leche, reading a paperback from the hotel lobby. I wasn’t bored… but jumped at the chance to join the scuba divers on their excursion to El Cabron marine reserve. And the nearby town Arinaga. “You’ll like it”, Annette said. “Take a walk by the shore and there’s a little cafe by the old lime mines.”

Annette was right and the next time we returned to Gran Canaria we didn’t even consider returning to the wonderful climate of those southern beaches. We headed straight for Arinaga in the municipality of Agüimes. So should you.

This year we went back for a longer stay at Nautilus Apartments. I was working most mornings but the afternoons were spent walking by the sea, stopping for a coffee or a drink, relaxing and trying to be as laid back as the locals. This is a town where you actually greet strangers you meet, where you chat with the shopkeepers – if you happen to speak any Spanish, that is – and where you do take that siesta in the middle of the afternoon.

Excursions were made to Guayadeque, Agüimes, Santa Lucia, Telde and Las Palmas.

We shopped for dinner at the local shops or headed down to the muelle for some pescado fresco del dia and cool white Bermejo wine from Lanzarote.

On weekends the locals meet at the Universitad de Autonoma de Arinaga by the muelle. Cold beer and tapas on a first-come-first-served basis. The food is a plate of cheese or a hardboiled egg or a dish of fish, potatoes and mojo picante and it’s good! The place is only open on Saturdays and Sundays and only for a couple of hours from noon till the food is sold out. I’ts a tiny, tiny place with only a bar and two small tables so most people sit outside on the steps.

At the Vaqueria you can buy fresh cheese and if you sit down for a cafe con leche you could try adding some gofio like the locals do. I’m not recommending it, though, it seems to be an aquired taste…

The history of the Canary Islands and the indigenous people is fascinating as is the crafts and the caves. In the valley of Guayadeque you can visit the Centro de Interpretacion de Guayadeque before heading into the valley with the caves.

The old towns of Agüimes and Telde are nice places to wander about. The Podcasts of Gran Canaria are great for preparing a visit, but not so great for actually listening to while walking the tours. In Vecindario you can shop till you drop if that is what pleases you.

For some stunning views and hairpin bends on the way visit Santa Lucia. Have a cup of coffee at the cafe with the view but pop inside Casa Antonio across the road for your meal. Rule of restaurants in Gran Canaria: pick the restaurant without a view for the best meals and don’t be afraid to ask which dishes are the most delicious.

And if you really miss a sandy beach – take the Guagua (bus 25) to Faro de Maspalomas.

All of these places are quite close to Arinaga. If you get a little restless – and this does happen sometimes when you’re trying too hard to relax – you have the whole continent of Gran Canaria to explore and even though it is small it is a grand, grand island!

I’ll be back. Untill then I’ll do my best to learn to speak Spanish.

Do check out Lisa Risager’s blog for more of her wonderful writing!

Guest blogger Hollis Duncan walks across Spain …

My best friend, Thompson, and I walked the Camino de Santiago together in July 2004. We walked 813.3 km (505 miles) beginning in Pamplona and ending in Finisterre on the Atlantic coast of Galicia.

Although the Oficina del Peregrino in Santiago de Compostela will insist that you acknowledge “Spirituality” as one of the reasons for your pilgrimage before awarding you a Compostela, it’s virtually impossible for anyone to walk 28 days anywhere — never mind across a country as spectacular as Spain — and not have a spiritual experience … of some kind. Although many do not set out on a spiritual journey, the Camino ends up being one anyway. Quizá sea la magia del Camino de Santiago.

Along the way, Spaniards of every shape and size shout Buen Camino at peregrinos (pilgrims) wishing them a pleasant journey. Los peregrinos amble over mountains, through big cities, remote villages, across the hot, pancake-flat Meseta of central Spain, and finally, through the lush hills of green Galicia.

For every story I could tell ten more about all of the things we experienced on our way to Santiago. How I found a seashell on the beach at Finisterre and proposed to my beautiful girlfriend Luisa the night we finished, or how many charming churches we saw. Or about all of the amazing food we ate — jamón, chorizo, pulpo (y caldo) a la gallega, pimientos de Padrón, queso, aceitunas, y pasteles. Or the people we met — Gábor, a Hungarian hiker-converted-cyclist; les Québecois; John the Dane; the Americans Dave, Anne, and a power hiking couple from Mt. Diablo, Ca.; and the Austrians who led us by a mile with their trekking poles.

When you arrive in Plaza del Obradoiro in Santiago and strain your neck looking up at la catedral más bonita de España, maybe, if you’re like me, you will notice your arms covered with goosebumps; your hairs standing on end as straight as little ropes!

That’s when I had an epiphany. Although I thought finishing the Camino at the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela would represent the end of my journey, I realized the opposite was true: this was not the end of my journey but only the beginning …

El Camino is a metaphor for life — for our respective paths, the roads we each choose to take on our life’s journey. Some follow well-worn paths; others take less-traveled routes. No way is wrong, but everyone’s Camino is different.

On the Camino, there are many lessons to be learned. One of the best bits of advice we got was — despacio (slow down) — which fellow pilgrims and Spaniards alike kept telling us; after awhile we heeded this advice and traveled as far, but with fewer aches and pains and much more enjoyment.

I leave the ending open … to invite others who have walked the Camino de Santiago to share their experience; also to ask readers what other Caminos are out there? What epic walks / adventures have you done, heard about, or are planning to do that rate right up there with the Camino? Can’t wait to read your responses!

Buen Camino … a todos

Hollis Duncan is an independent graphic designer based in New York. He and his wife, Luisa, who is from Santiago de Compostela, are moving to Barcelona this summer.

Today’s guest blog post comes from Spanish blogger Nuria Rubió Domingo… seeing as she come from Spain, we thought it only fair that we let her write in Spanish!

Hay un lugar en San Sebastián (Guipuzcúa) muy especial e inolvidable. Es el parque de atracciones del Monte Igueldo. Cuenta con unas vistas privilegiadas de la ciudad, dicen en la web de este parque, que es una de las vistas más bellas del mundo. ¡Y no es para menos!

Se inauguró en 1912 y desde entonces este lugar ha sido escenario de muchos que han venido a pasarlo bien: parejas de enamorados, familias enteras, amigos o viejos amigos, turistas…

Se sube en funicular. Es el más antiguo de Euskadi y el tercero de España. Este entrañable y único funicular sigue funcionando a diario con los mismos equipos y vehículos de su inauguración. Los coches aún conservan, con alguna modificación, la carrocería de madera originaria. El billete ordinario cuesta ida y vuelta, 2 euros y 50 céntimos y los niños de hasta 7 años pagan 1 euro y 80 céntimos.

Las atracciones son auténticas y cuestan, la mayoría, dos euros. Os describo algunas de ellas:

LA MONTAÑA SUIZA: Esta original atracción que ya lo es por su nombre, no es rusa, sino suiza ¿eh? Sube y baja con unas espectaculares vistas al mar Cántabrico. ¡Ahhh! No dejarás de gritar.

RIO MISTERIOSO: Un río con vistas al mar. Allí te encontrarás con el Cocodrilo de Igueldo. ¡Cuidado que muerde!

LABERINTO: Un poco más nuevo que el parque, de 1930, se nota poco. Un original laberinto donde tendrás que encontrar la salida.

PASEO DE LA RISA: Te reirás seguro. Lo más divertido: los espejos que reflejan tu perfil más favorecedor.

CAMAS ELÁSTICAS: No podían faltar en un este parque de atracciones.

Un parque por donde no ha pasado el tiempo y tiene el mismo encanto que hace años. Parece algunas veces más un museo que un parque de atracciones.

Además también no os podéis perder el torreón, un antiguo faro, desde dónde contemplarás un espectáculo paisaje: desde el vizcaíno cabo de Matxitxako hasta las Landas francesas.

La historia de este torreón también conocido como la farola es muy interesante. Fue uno de los mejores de la época y fue construido por el Consulado de San Sebastián a 180 metros sobre el nivel del mar. Era una torre de luz fija destinada a permanecer encendida entre el 14 de septiembre y el 3 de mayo. Finalmente fue abandonado sobre todo cuando se construyó un nuevo faro.

A partir de 1912 la sociedad de Monte Igueldo lo reconstruye y lo incorpora al parque de atracciones. Le incorpora una nueva planta con amplios ventanales a modo de mirador acristalado y, sobre ésta, una fabulosa terraza panorámica a la que se accede por dos de los cuatro torreones que rematan la torre.

A los adultos la entrada les cuesta 2 euros y a los niños 1 euro.

Please do leave Nuria a comment, then read more at her wonderful blog Zaragozando!

Guest blogger Maureen Dolan asks what you do when the romance of Spain wears off?

You’ve been here a decade and find yourself living in just another country, one sometimes less progressive than your own. You were drawn here by los toros, el sol, el flamenco and la siesta. Now you defend animal rights and prevent skin cancer. Your work ethic baulks at lying about in the middle of the day and Camarón triggers your migraine. Maybe you should “go back”.

But you can’t – you have a wife or husband and kids. And the sentimiento trágico de la vida sets in.

It happens to me. But I have a secret. Her name is Última. I found her in 1983, in the novel Bless Me, Última by Rudolfo Anaya, set in 1940s wartime North America.

Far from being last, as her name suggests, she was my first, connecting me, not only to a new culture, but to a new idea of culture. I knew about Spain’s South American colonies, but this was new, as it knotted my English-speaking life and my love of Spanish together in a new way.

In the mid-eighteenth century an expansionist United States invaded Mexico, finally ending a brutal war only when half of Mexico was ceded to them for $15,000. California, Arizona, Colorado and what is now New Mexico – names given them by the Spaniards – joined the U.S. But what about the people? They were given a choice – stay or go. Most stayed on their ancestral lands.

Bless Me, Última, published in 1972, introduced me to the New Mexican descendants of this land grab. The Spaniards (unlike other conquerors of the Americas) left their families at home and had offspring with the native population, resulting in a mestizo Spanish European and American indigenous race. Última’s people are Spanish-speaking vaqueros and farmers whose religious beliefs blend Spanish Roman Catholicism and Native American animism. Their horsemanship is Spanish and their speech contains archaisms from sixteenth-century Spanish.

Última, an elderly curandera, was so named to underline how the agrarian lifestyle of the Luna farmers and Márez cowboys is fated to disappear. The young people are schooled in English and seek urban jobs or join the army. The novel is written in English, although Anaya, a Spanish-speaker, not only reflects the underlying Spanish speech patterns but inserts many borrowings from Spanish (a strategy now used by non-Hispanic writers, such as Cormac McCarthy).

Yet, in the 1970s people of Hispanic origin clamoured for cultural survival and social equality. They carried out mass protests, adopting the strategies of the Black Civil Rights Movement. Their principal battle was to defend, not one or the other aspect of the Anglo-Hispanic environment in which they lived, but their bilingual, bicultural way of life.

One of the fundamental pillars of this movement, called the Chicano Movement, was the demand for bilingual education. Children born into Spanish-speaking homes and then schooled in English often became high-school dropouts as they were expected to acquire knowledge before they were well-grounded in the new language. The Chicanos, their numbers swelled by waves of Mexican immigrants to the U.S., won the battle which all other linguistic minorities in the United States lost – they retained their Spanish language while adopting the Anglo-Americans’ English, through bilingual education.

In the United States, throughout most of the 20th century, Spanish was regarded as a “poor people’s” language. Today, however, non-Hispanic North Americans are learning it in droves, due to the upward mobility of Hispanics and the Spanish transition to democracy after Franco. Politicians of every stripe, Barack Obama the latest example, court the Hispanic vote in Spanish. The Instituto Cervantes is gearing up to corner this huge cultural and linguistic market. It has centres in New York, Chicago and Albuquerque and centres are planned for San Francisco, Houston and Washington D.C.

And so, Última was not the last, but the first, as the wisdom of her hybrid culture, with what I like to call the struggle between the roots and the road. Far from disappearing, it has transformed itself and endured.

Today mainstream America emulates her ecological respect for the land and her embodiment of the “sacred feminine” so revered now by Goddess Feminists. With Última, I began to learn that nation state borders are arbitrary, that cultures have no boundaries and that there are no dividing lines on the land. Languages meet and blend, Spanglish being just one example. Politically, culturally and philosophically, nothing is static or monolithic. And while you can´t always move away, move back, move up, you must always move forward.

So forget romance. Forget tragedy, and move forward, with Spain.

Do check out Maureen’s blog for more inspiring writing, at www.cecyspain.blogspot.com

Just got home via a 2 am cab ride, streets strangely empty. The cab driver said:

“It’s the news from the government, 4 million unemployed, over 17% of the working population, people are scared… wouldn’t surprise me if we reach 5 million…”

And I think Spain might well reach 5 million unemployed, I mean, it’s not as if the construction industry (which counts one way or another for over 30% of the GNP) is going to recover in the next 5 years… and what’s going to replace it?

Spain has troubled times ahead I fear…

Tarragona has long been out-glittered by Sitges, its sister city to the north. However, as guest blogger Nancy Todd explains, Tarragona, also on the Mediterranean, holds its own in the sparkle category…

Tarragona is a tame get-away from the noise and crowds of Barcelona. For history hounds, a day trip from Barcelona to the city of Tarragona is a treasure hunt. Founded in 218 B.C., Tarragona is only one hour from Barcelona by train. It offers two tree lined Ramblas, or walking boulevards, Rambla Nova and Rambla Vella – the new and the old Ramblas.

The first dates from the late 1800’s, and is lined with Art Nouveau buildings, the latter from the Middle Ages. Shopping is plentiful and restaurants with outdoor seating bustle during the warm months. Melissa, my daughter, David, my son-in-law, and I had a great Menu del Dia on Plaza de la Font. It was a cool day and sitting in the sun with a bottle of red wine reminded us that spring was on the way.

Roman ruins surprise as they are scattered about and suddenly appear jolting your awareness of that ancient culture. Tarragona was a prosperous trading city, in its Roman heyday, 40,000 inhabitants loved, did laundry, gulped wine, governed, and galloped their horses. Today a quiet city, it is easy to saunter without a map, to visit old churches, museums, and of course bask on the beaches. David was especially impressed as in his home city of Baker, Oregon, one hundred years is really old for a building.

Those Roman dudes knew about building sites. They chose to build their Ampitheatre, home of gladiator fights, right next to the Sea. As you exit the train station and face the Sea, hang a left and walk up on the promenade which takes you to an aerial view of the Ampitheatre. Climbing to the top of the Amphitheatre brings you to one of the best views in the City. Developers in Cincinnati, Cleveland, and Detroit probably imitated the Romans by building their stadiums on the water for their gladiator fights.

The Archaeological Museum was founded in the beginning of the 1800’s. It houses intricate mosaics and tall marble sculptures of men in drag with long white dresses. This small and manageable museum has a variety of oddities that depict everyday life: nails, anchors, perfume bottles, coins and terracotta vessels to hold olive oil.

Walking the Roman wall gives another sense of Tarragona ’s early history. Archaeologists have determined that the wall is the oldest Roman fortification in Spain and was built at the time the Romans first ventured outside of Italy. The night time view of the wall is especially beautiful. Wandering the excavations, I imagined Romans walking through the streets, the Forum, Temple and plazas.

I love rose windows in cathedrals, especially catching them as the sun shines through their small glass forms on the cathedral walls and floors. David, Melissa, and I lucked out at the Cathedral of Santa Tecla where the rose window made it’s spattered rainbow.

This Cathedral is a fine example of transitional architecture that combines the Gothic and Romanesque periods dating from the 12th century. The bell tower houses fifteen bells which I wanted to hear ring but I could not find out when the bell guy went into the tower to do his ringing job. Locals did not know exactly when the bells would peal but assured me they rang often.

Wandering skinny medieval streets by the Cathedral takes you by restaurants, balconies overflowing with flowers, and twenty-foot high doorways. The tranquillity of Tarragona allows the mind to imagine many different civilizations wandering about. No roaring motorcycles or discos in this city – a perfect day trip from the crowds in Barcelona.

GETTING THERE – RENFE train leaves from Barcelona every half an hour or whenever it moseys on down the tracks. Board at Sants Station or Passeig de Gracia Station. A scenic ride takes you next to artichoke fields and along the cliffs of the Mediterrean Sea.

Do check out Nancy Todd’s great Spain website www.thespainscoop.com

Guest Blogger Simon Beckmann is setting up something wonderful in this, his most secret corner of Spain…

I step from the door and look aloft to the azure sky expecting to see the white scratch of the sun seeker’s jet stream, reaching from the north, moving south.

But not here, here the sky is clear celestial blue, and high in a rising kettle, I count seventy six vultures, tea trays in the sky blown upward in a levant. And beneath this tower of griffons pass a pair of golden eagles preparing to quarter the forested hillside, a surprise offensive against breakfast.

Our home, our secret Spain, is a cortijada, Cortijada Los Gazquez, a collection of small cortijos folded across a mound in the Hoya de Carrascal, the bowl of ‘scarlet oaks’.

These oak, Quercus coccifera, or kermes oak, were historically important as the food plant of the kermes beetle from which a cochineal type of red dye was produced. Kermes is the origin of crimson. It is more of a prostrate shrub than a tree, it’s leaves akin to the leaves of a holly, it’s acorns sitting in a spiny cup. It is evergreen and perfectly exploits the limy soil forming thickets called chaparrals.

Within these chaparrals on the edge of the barranca springtime brings a tribe of yellow bee orchids to flower. Ophrys lutea clearly displaying it’s mimicry of a bee abdomen on it’s extended lebellum, drawing unsuspecting andrena bees to fertilise a flower, not a fellow bee.

Here too we have seen three ibex, strangely unperturbed by our presence, and wild boar, the progenitor of our domestic pig, concealing their preponderance behind mauve and white florescences of rosemary.

The cortijada lies in the centre of the Parque Natural Sierra Maria-Los Velez in the top right-hand corner of Almeria. It is a primal place of semi-wilderness and long abandoned farm houses. Life, as it was in this alpine desert, was hard and fleet footed farmers moved to France years ago, never to return to the campo. Fifty years later time and the cortijada have changed.

Los Gazquez, today the power of the sun and the wind provides hot water and light within. Wood fires of almond, olive, poplar and pine, centrally heat the floors on cold winter evenings. Routine is to carefully stack the kitchen wood pile with chopped almond in preparation for cooking supper on our Spanish range.

Rainfall is collected from the roof in a series of acequias directing water to the aljibe for storage and provides the house with all it’s domestic needs. A series of reed beds cleanses waste water, and grey water from the showers and basins is filtered and used to irrigate the orchard terraces.

And today we make the final touches to the grey water system. We have prepared three south facing terraces, away from the north westerly wind. Their walls built from dry stone from the fields. On each I mark a corridor with string running the length of the terrace, as wide as I am long. This area I turn with a fork and rake smooth.

And here we plant a pear, kaki, fig, apricot and more, making wide circular depressions around their bases which are filled with wood bark to mulch the trees. On either side of the corridor I leave the profusion of wild flowers that sing with insect life, poppies and tangier peas, pheasant’s eye and tassel hyacinth.

Next I make clay from the soil and fashion a small canal. When it is dry, baked by the sun, the grey water from the household is directed to the base of each of the saplings. Our grey water contains only ecologically sound detergents so it will not damage the tree nor taint the flavour of the fruit.

Like every other member of mankind I am not a figure in a landscape but a shaper of the landscape. I manipulate land and life form to suit my needs.

As an artist I have made this project fulfil my aesthetic needs as well as my practical needs, I am an explorer of nature who has made his home in this wonderful place. And when I look aloft to the golden eagle in the sky at the apex of the food chain, I take great sustenance from having fulfilled a project which aimed to exist benignly on this land, and that our being here will no more effect the natural ecology other than to serve it.

Simon Beckmann can be found at www.losgazquez.com, please check out this wonderful project!

Guest blogger Robert Gordon reflects on the recent Easter migration to his corner of the Bay of Cadiz…

Just over 10 years ago the area in which I live was covered in woods and fruit orchards, indeed my own home is set on what was an orange grove – as you can see from the photo many changes have taken place. The development of this part of La Bahía de Cádiz has established it as a considerable attraction for Spanish tourism, indeed over ninety per cent of the visitors here are Spanish, most of whom are second home owners.

In my barrio, the Spanish swallows arrive from Sevilla, Cuidad Real, San Sebastian and mostly from Madrid. What brings them to a fairly ordinary town to pass their well earned holidays, and how do they pass their time?

Well in most part they come for the ambience. Los Gaditanos have a reputation: “Ellos saben reírse de sí mismo” (they know how to laugh at themselves) even in these difficult times. During fiestas they form sizable groups in the cork woods, break into song, and will adapt any handy object into a form of percussion to enjoy day long festivals created by their own initiatives and paid for by their “vaquita” (piggy bank).

Many of the city dwellers that arrive have told me they seek “turismo nacional” and it can be found here in a form much less “bomdardeado” than in many other parts of coastal Spain. They are “con su gente, como estar en casa” (with their own people, they feel at home).

Semana Santa, Easter, represents “un aperitivo del turismo” with the main course served in July/August. Alongside the week long religious festival, the visitors relax, recharge batteries, and enjoy the local attractions which are mainly the food, spectacular light, and the beaches.

I at first doubted that the food here (fish) had a national reputation, but those doubts are long gone. Seeing Madrileños queue 40 minutes for a table resplendent with a “surtido” of fried/grilled fish and an uncountable variety of mariscos is proof enough for me. After lunch they stroll around town licking their preferred ice cream from tiny plastic spoons.

The swallows also tell me they love the beaches, not just for their natural attractions, but also for the fact that they have remained authentic in that they are both free and “bring your own”. There is no hiring of sun loungers, parasols etc. This leads to wonderful streams of beach pilgrims penguin-padding down to the shore laden with… well almost the kitchen sink.

During Semana Santa beach occupation is light, it is after all only the aperitivo, but the swallows are suffering from winter withdrawal symptoms. So down on Playa Santa Catalina they bask, preen and dip their wings in the fresh sea, revitalize all working parts and restore the canyons of their minds which have suffered from the winter grind.

They are easy to spot, sporting their recently purchased “pijo” (posh) spring outfits. During my evening stroll through my barrio, I see them, rollerblading, biking in family groups – enjoying themselves. They elegantly walk by with their tiny lap dogs cradled on their forearm. Couples with v-neck sweaters draped around the shoulder swan neck the plots which have changed since their last migration.

Their gardens come alive at night with chatter and sounds of local dishes being eagerly devoured, and later hoots and hollers over shared jokes and card games. I very much enjoy their arrival and whilst they are now gone, they will soon return for their summer visit, which will take both a similar and different form. For me there is something quite wonderfully distinctive and impressive in the style that my Spanish visitors pass their days here in Cadiz.

Guest blogger Matthew Stewart, from the excellent Extremadura Guide takes us to the other side of Spain!

Take a Spanish region that’s the size of Belgium yet still undiscovered by the Brits and even overlooked by most Spaniards. Fill it with fairytale towns and villages, three UNESCO World Heritage Sites and a National Park. Top it off with the best ham in the world, no arguments allowed from Italy!

This isn’t a figment of some estate agent’s wild imagination or a tour operator’s over-the-top brochure; it’s just Extremadura, where I’ve made my home these last fifteen years.

North of Andalusia, south of Castile and east of Portugal, influences of all these ways of life are present in Extremadura, although it has an identity and personality all of its own. There’s a common misconception that its name should be translated as “extremely hard”, perhaps as a nod towards its sometimes harsh climate and wild landscape, but Extremadura actually means “beyond the Duero”, in a reference to the river.

One of the poorest regions in Spain, even other Spaniards often lapse into stereotype when talking about Extremadura. There were obviously always exceptions, but 20th century Spanish literature and cinema too often tended to depict Extremadura as a desolate and inhospitable backwater or featured exiles from Extremadura lost in the big city after migrating there in search of work. Buñuel, meanwhile, made a famous documentary in 1932 titled Tierra Sin Pan (The Land Without Bread) showing the terrible poverty endured by the inhabitants of an area called Las Hurdes in northern Extremadura.

Many Spanish city dwellers are only now starting to shake off this anachronistic image of Las Hurdes and by extension all the region. In fact, Extremadura’s benefitted hugely from E.U. funds over the last few years – spanking new motorways have sprung up all over the place, while the A.V.E. is also on its way (if Madrid are to be believed!)

Apart from possessing a birder’s paradise in Monfragüe National Park, Extremadura has a number of important towns and cities such as Mérida, which boasts the most outstanding set of Roman ruins to be found on the Iberian peninsula. Cáceres, meanwhile, offers a gorgeous old town, perhaps little known due to not having a stand-out monument that people can tick off their lists (like Granada’s Alhambra and Córdoba’s Mezquita) as they “do” Spain.

Extremadura’s quite simply a foodie’s paradise – the Iberico breed of pig, native to the peninsula, lives free on its plains (called dehesa). What makes it special is the delicious marbled fat running through the resulting ham, flavoured by the acorns that are scoffed before slaughter. Cheeses are also outstanding, especially Torta de la Serena, a soft sheep’s cheese served on toast like an exotic Welsh Rarebit.

Why, you might ask, aren’t these products more famous? Well, Extremadura’s traditionally been a region of farmers who just wanted to be paid a good price for their goods. Local pork was thus bought and turned into ham by companies in Guijuelo, olives were sold in bulk and canned elsewhere, wine headed for northern Spain in tankers, while olive oil ended up in Italy. Nowadays, a new generation of local businessmen is emerging, trying to make a name in its own right for this great food and drink.

Numerous generations used to be forced to leave Extremadura to make a living elsewhere – from the conquistadores to workers who abandoned their villages in the 1950s/60s, making for the Basque Country, Cataluña and even Central Europe. Meanwhile, very few foreigners have headed in the opposite direction – I can literally go for years at a time without encountering another Brit in the small towns where I live and work. It’s great for your Spanish!

Extremadura’s so vast that we’ll never be overrun by ex-pats. Here, still, is the chance to meet locals who aren’t sick of foreigners, who are intensely proud and often surprised that a forastero might choose to come to a part of the world that’s been overlooked and forgotten for so long. Here, still, is an “Unspoilt Spain” that exists way beyond the connotations of the cliché. I hope you’ll get the chance to discover us!

Many thank to Matthew Stewart, do please check out his excellent Extremadura Guide website!

Guest blogger John Scheck is getting significantly Spanish…

Whether it’s called a bar, a bodega, a cevercería, a tasca, or a café, every Spanish city has one or two on every block. If there are 1,000 places to grab a glass of wine or a beer in every Spanish city then you’ll need at least 1,000 excuses to visit. I’m the cautious type so I have more excuses than are legally required in Spain. Here are just a few.

-The bodega is right next to the bin where you drop off your recyclable plastics. I drop off my bag of recyclables and I stop in for a glass of wine; it’s called multi-tasking. I also recycle glass and paper separately. The bodega is also near the trash bin so this excuse counts as four (plastic, paper, glass, garbage) which is really multi-tasking. I could take all of my trash out at once but where’s the fun in that?

-I run out of wine at home so I stop in for a quick glass before I go to the supermarket to buy another bottle. This may sound redundant to you but I see things differently since I moved here.

-My cable TV is out in the apartment and Valencia CF is playing. This probably means that the cable isn’t working at the bar either but that’s a chance I’m willing to take.

-The café is an integral part in the quotidian life of the Spanish people and I need to be there to experience it. While I’m there I’ll need to drink a glass of wine or I’ll look like a tourist.

-The bodega is right on the corner so at least I won’t drink and drive. I don’t have a car but still. There are other consequences of drinking far from home. What if I got tipsy somewhere across town and then used the wrong metro card on the way home? I could waste a three-zone fare card on a one-zone ride. Also, friends don’t let friends take cabs drunk. Trying to explain to a cab driver where I live my labyrinthine neighborhood would be a chore for someone who is both sober and completely fluent in Spanish—two things I will probably never be at the same time, not any time soon at least.

-I don’t want to bore you with a lot of details concerning balance of payments, international currency fluctuations, and other macroeconomic insights that you wouldn’t understand anyway, but just trust me on this one: America and Spain are both counting on me to prop up our mutual reliance on free trade. Excuse me, I have to get back to work now.

-I hate to use the excuse that the bodega is between the metro stop and my front door because there is a bodega between everything and my front door. I’m surprised that there isn’t a bodega in the lobby of my building or on the elevator. I live on the fifth floor, how long am I supposed to go without a glass of wine? I promise that I will only use this excuse as a last resort.

-The bar is a good place to practice Spanish. I can also speak Spanish at the market, or the library, or museums, or at home with friends, or just about anywhere. This is Spain and they speak Spanish here (at least when they aren’t speaking Valenciano, or Catalan, or Basque, or Gallego like in the movie I saw recently). I think there is something that you aren’t fully grasping here and it’s kind of important. I can get a glass of wine at the bodega. Seeing that this is Spain, they probably serve wine at the library; I just don’t know where to ask.

When not drinking wine at the bodega, John Scheck can be found drinking wine at www.mediterraneanexile.blogspot.com – Check it out!