8-Month-Old Emily Absorbs the View From Signal Hill ... in Father Felipe's Arms

Here's a brief interlude to the Spain blog series

Infants are totally into the view; without thought, they are the view, absorbed fully by it.  We adults, on the other hand, live mostly in our heads and worry about "our view" when we want to sell our pricey view property.  At least this is what Signal Hill city planning staff tell us.

We met 8-month-old Emily, held high in her father Felipe's arms, briskly climbing the Hill, escaping TV and the seductions of the couch.  "This hill and its trails are a wonderful thing to find in the middle of the city," he said.  "Not as wild as the Whittier Hills" where he used to walk, but a "wonderful resource" nonetheless.  "I've been bringing my children up here for years, he said; the boys complained at first, but now they love it;" absorbed by the view, I'm guessing.

Before we parted, we said we'll see each other on the Hill and online.

Another Pleasant Encounter on Signal Hill.  See more Pleasant Encounters on Signal Hill in slide show in the sidebar to the right.

We return to Spain in the next post.

--- RCH

Spain: Humor and Generosity at the Tobelos Winery in La Rioja

While dining at the Restaurante Echaurren in Ezcaray, we tasted a fine white wine from the  Bodega Tobelos.  Once we learned that it was bottled in Briñas, a small village alongside the River Ebro (seen here), just a few kilometers from our hotel in Haro, we decided to see if we could find it; maybe do a little tasting there, even purchase a few bottles.

Maria knocked on a locked door of an imposing, modernist and very functional building.  A silver-headed gentleman  shouted out of a second-story window, "May I help you?"  "We were hoping to taste some of your wines," Maria answered, in Spanish.

Then we heard, "I was hoping you wanted to buy the winery; everything has its price, you know."

We were lucky to meet Ricardo Reinoso Casado, Director and Manager and part owner of the Bodega Tobelos, who soon appeared at the first-floor entrance.  We imagined that we had given him a welcomed break from some dispiriting bookkeeping.

He gave us an hour-long tour, even providing some glasses for tasting wines in their fermenting process, directly from the large stainless steel vats and the French oak "gaining," or aging barrels you see here.  After tasting one ripe red wine he said, "This lacks a few weeks before it is ready for the oak barrel."  Similar evaluations were made at each of four or five other stainless steel vats we sampled.

Throughout the tour, Ricardo--who has family in the United States--showed the Spanish humor, generosity and grace we had seen in Barcelona and Ezcaray.  He knew we were typical tourists and that his company had little to gain financially from us.  Nonetheless, he engaged with us and welcomed our curiosity and appreciation for his craft.

When he learned that Larry does not speak Spanish, he took pains to include him with his own, halting English.

Bodegas Tobelos produces various wines of Garnacha and Tempranillo grapes grown locally.  They export to England and Germany, as well as distribute domestically, within Spain.  We learned that the white wine we tasted at the Restaurante Echaurren had been left there by the bodega's marketing team a couple of weeks earlier.  Ricardo said the bodega is better known for its reds.

They are exploring the possibility of exporting to California and elsewhere in the U.S., a potentially large but difficult market, due to the competition and the various import fees that vary state by state.



The wine grapes come from small plots of vineyards located around the bodega, near the Rio Ebro and at the foot of the Sierra and Obarenes Mountains.

In the photo to the left you see, through a window that is the entire wall of the tasting room, some of the bodega's vineyards, with the mountains in the background.  Grape vines are deciduous, so the cool, fall weather was bringing out a palate of oranges and reds, much like the beautiful change of colors you see in New England in the fall.

Click here to see a few more photos, with captions, of our visit to  La Rioja.   ---  RCH                                                                                  

Spain: The Spanish are "Muy Cultos."

Our Seattle friend Gene Nutt says the Spanish are muy cultos, meaning very cultured, refined, civilized.  He would know, being a Spanish speaker himself, raised in Latin America and a seasoned traveler in Spain.  We agree with him.

We'd add "warm-hearted," "eager to engage" and "generous" to Gene's observations, after meeting Carlos, Cristina and their one-month-old daughter Inés, in a sunny plaza in Ezcaray, a Basque-influenced village (the name comes from the Basque language) in La Rioja.

Above is another photo that says it all:  Carlos, Cristina and Inés in the town's premier restaurant Echaurren.

We had departed the big city of Barcelona, enthralled by the Art Deco genius of Gaudí and others we saw there.  First, by high-speed train, we headed west to Zaragoza, and then north to Haro in a rented car, looking for some open countryside and a little wine tasting.  On our second day there, we visited Ezcaray, on the western edge of  La Rioja.

It was a bright and sunny day as we drove through the town and up to a hilltop overlooking the village.  This is La Rioja's only ski area but snow had yet to fall.  At this elevation, though, it was chilly enough to seek out a sunny spot on the town's square, when we dropped back down to visit  Ezcaray and get a bite to eat.

As we struggled over a menu of unfamiliar tapas, we heard "May we help you," in very good English.

After we ordered the tasty tapa suggested by Carlos, we learned that he has long been spending his holidays on his grandfather's farm in the area.  Originally from the northern Basque city of Bilbao, he now lives in Madrid where he works for a Swiss bank.  His wife Cristina, also in the financial services business, is employed by J.P. Morgan.  She is now on parenthood leave, however, and will continue for some time.  Carlos, himself, took a leave of a couple of weeks after Inés was born.

Learning this led to a discussion on the expanding role of the Spanish husband in the birthing and parenting process.  I told the couple of the data showing this nascent trend presented by Giles Tremlett in his fascinating book  "Ghosts of Spain: Travels Through Spain and its Silent Past."   Back in the 1990s, he reports, "Only some 5,000 men a year ... take up their right to up to ten weeks' paternity leave in Spain, compared to 250,000 women who take maternity leave."  Carlos and Cristina indicated that the larger role for the father is just now seems to becoming a norm for their generation.  We also briefly talked about our observation of how calm the Spanish child is, in comparison with the anglosajón, the anglo saxon,  and the Latin American child, a point also made by Tremlett.  Tremlett points out that the Spanish child is less likely to rebel than his/her Latin American or American counterpart.  (Pick up a copy of "Ghosts of Spain" and read Tremlett's chapter "Men and Children First," for a discussion of the Spanish family, the  medical profession, death and dying, and the Spanish communal spirit since Franco; it's fascinating.)

As we gathered ourselves to leave our little sunny spot on the plaza, Carlos recommended dinner at Restaurante Echaurren.  We took him up on it, and as we later entered the restaurant, we were greeted by them again, as you see in the above photo.  Not long after settling in at our own table, the waiter arrived with a plate of croquettes, compliments of our new friends.

Muy cultos indeed.

We are now Facebook friends.

Click here for a few more photos of Ezcaray, with captions.

Spain: Barcelona's Guerrilla Art

Barcelona is a visual feast, a center of the arts.  After all, Pablo Picasso spent his formative years here, the genius of architect Antoni Gaudí is seen throughout the city, and the Palau de la Música Catalana is a sight to behold.  But like most big cities, Barcelona is plagued or blessed--depending upon your perspective--with graffiti.  We saw a lot of graffiti, especially along the rail to Sitges as it passed through rougher neighborhoods, tenements to the south of the city.

The most interesting street art--guerrilla and otherwise--is seen on the security doors of storefronts around the city.  The artists, using the corrugated steel doors as their "canvas," often leave the surrounding stonework of ancient buildings untouched.

Graffiti is often frowned upon and seen in America--especially among those who support the "Broken Widows Theory" of criminology--as a precursor to increased crime and the lowering of property values.  If the infamous and mysterious street artist known as Banksy can be believed, some of his work is actually having the opposite effect.  In his book "Wall and Piece,"  he publishes a plea received on his Web site asking him to cease working in a London neighborhood because it is leading to its gentrification.  In other words, it is raising rents because it is becoming so cool to be living near his artwork.

I don't know how the residents of Barcelona take to the guerrilla art around them (It's probably mixed), but it does appear the art is co-existing very well with the tourists of the city.

At the least, the creative spirit, laced perhaps with a dose of the rebel's thrill, cannot be suppressed.

Here are three photos of the best we saw.  Click here to see a few more.

If someone has a link to a good, balanced discussion on this topic, I'd be pleased to consider including it here.


              --- RCH

Spain: Being a Tourist is Tough Work

We arrived in Barcelona a day earlier than Larry and Maggie.  Hoping for a comfortable bed, we ended up seeing the early action of morning delivery trucks on the night-lively Placa Reial, just off La Rambla, Barcelona's famous promenade.

The flight had been a long one, crowded and noisy, with mediocre food and cramped seating; your typical Atlantic air crossing.  But we held hope of some rest in a comfortable bed in our comfortable apartment, right off the Rambla.  But it didn't work out as planned.

We had arrived early at the nearly-abandonded Barcelona Airport, greeted by sleepy Spanish customs officials who dutifully stamped our passports.  We exchanged some dollars for Euros and hopped on the A-1 bus to downtown, and arrived at our apartment about 8:30 a.m., before its reception staff.  After an hour wait, we got the word: We could not move in until 3:00 p.m.  What do you do for six hours, dragging around luggage and in dire need of sleep and a shower?


What to do?  We staggered over to a nearby plaza.  It turned out to be Barcelona's most lively square, and one of our favorite sites of the city.

We had stumbled upon the Placa Reial.  Built in the 1850s, it is adorned with palms and carriage
lanterns designed by Gaudí.

"Placa" is Catalan for Plaza, and the "C" should have a little serif at the bottom to be accurate.  We were confused at first by the reference to Placa Garibaldi, the famous Mexico City gathering space, but figured some enterprising city planner arranged for some sister city exchange with the "Ciutat de Mexic," catalan for Mexico's capital.

There is something magical in these old 19th century plazas.  You feel it as you dine in the chilly night air, yet warmed by the musical sounds of buskers playing everything from gypsy violins and accordions to familiar American Rock tunes on acoustic guitars.

One evening the rain made everything glisten.

Click here for more photos of the Placa Reial.


We made it through that first day in Barcelona.  After convincing apartment staff to keep watch over our luggage.  We kept awake by walking the streets of old Barcelona--the Barri Gotíc, tasting tapas along the way, falling asleep while sitting up, and at one point, I even stumbled to my knees.

As we said many times during the tour, "Being a tourist is tough work."

Barcelona is a visual feast.  Click here to see some photos of Gaudí's work and other photos from Barcelona.

       --- RCH