The Good Life...Spanish Style
By Rick Steves
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| A tapas dinner overlooking the action on Spain's finest town square is one of Europe's best and most romantic deals. |
My goal with every visit to Europe: to collect experiences that can be shared by other travelers — whether on one of our tours, using my guidebooks, or simply watching my TV show.
Collecting such experiences in Salamanca, the Oxford of Spain, is particularly rewarding. I enjoyed dinner with wine under the moon on Europe's finest square in Salamanca for €12 (about $15). Prices are painless and tourists are rare in this lively university town, a 2½-hour train ride northwest of Madrid.
In Salamanca's market, the pickle woman encourages me to try a banderilla, named for the bangled spear that a matador sticks into the bull. As I gingerly slide an onion off the tiny skewer of pickled olives, onions, and carrots, she tells me to eat it all at once. Explosive! The lady in the next-door stall bursts into laughter at my shock. (She runs a library stall no bigger than the pickle stall. In an effort to bring books to the people, city governments fund a small extension of the library in the markets.)
An important part of any Spanish market is the meat stall — the salchicheria. Since Roman times in Spain, December has been the season to slaughter pigs and cure (salt and dry) every possible bit of meat into various sausages, hams, and pork products. By late spring, the now-salty meat is cured and able to withstand the heat. A big part of Spanish travel is the appreciation of ham. It's just not the same in Portugal, and certainly a different animal than in the U.S.
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| Ham is an art in Spain...a very tasty art. Those in the know understand that "life's too short to eat less than excellent ham." |
In Sevilla, I enter a cool dark bar filled with very short, old guys. In Spain, any man in his 70s spent his growing years trying to survive the brutal Civil War (1936-39). Those who did, generally did so just barely. That generation is a head shorter than the people of the next.
In the bar, the gang — side-lit like a Rembrandt portrait — is fixed on the TV, watching the finale of a long series of bullfights. El Cordobes is fighting. His father, also El Cordobes, was the Babe Ruth of Bullfighting. El Cordobes uses his dad's name even though his dad sued him not to. Today, this generation's El Cordobes is the Ichiro of Bullfighting.
Marveling at the bar's fun and cheap list of wines and hard drinks, I order a Cuba Libre for €1 (about $1.25). The drink comes tall and stiff, with a dish of peanuts. Suddenly the room gasps. I can't believe the vivid scene on the screen. El Cordobes has been hooked and does a cartwheel over the angry bull's head. The gang roars as El Cordobes buries his head in his arms and the bull tramples and tries to gore him. The TV repeats the scene many times.
El Cordobes survives and — no surprise — eventually kills the bull. But making his victory lap and picking up adoring bouquets, the camera zooms in on the rip exposing his hip and a 10-inch long bloody wound. The short men around me will remember and talk about this moment for years.
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| ETBD tour guide Carlos Galvin demonstrates the power of Spanish pickles. |
That evening in the hill town of Arcos, I belly up to the vertical town's viewpoint to get a bird's-eye look at the river 100 yards below. The people of Arcos brag that only from their town can you see the backs of birds. This belvedere is the town's suicide leap, but today, as the sun sets, everyone here seems in love with life and each other.
Popping into the dimly-lit foyer of a convent of cloistered nuns, I push the buzzer and the blind spinning cupboard swings out, revealing a bag of freshly-baked magdalenas (cupcakes). I buy some for €1.50 to support the mission work of the convent. Feeling like a religious peeping Tom, I can actually see (through the not-quite one-way mirror) the not-meant-to-be-seen sister, in her flowing robe and habit, momentarily appear and disappear.
Now it's dinner time at Restaurante el Convento, surrounded by plants and arches of another old convent — this one long replaced by the best restaurant in town. Señora María Moreno-Moreno, the proud owner, explains the menu.
Asking for top-quality ham, I get a plate of jamón ibérico. It's first-class, from acorn-fed pigs with black feet. It actually does taste better, with a bouquet of its own and a sweet aftertaste. It goes just right with my mucho cuerpo vino (full-bodied wine) .
I tell María the man at the next table looks like El Cordobes. One glance and she says, "El Cordobes is much more handsome." When I mention his recent drama, she says, "It's been a difficult year for matadors."
For me, this Spanish adventure has brought a renewed appreciation for vagabonding — for connecting with locals and savoring life... so high in the sky you can see the backs of the birds.
Updated for 2006. For lots more information, check out our best-selling Rick Steves' Spain guidebook — or join us on one of our free-spirited tours in Spain.