We had rain overnight [shock, horror] and it didn’t show signs of stopping in the morning. Morning is late in Spain at his latitude with sunrise not being until about 08:30 at this time of year. Bonkers!
Our pal had spent a comfortable night in his glamping pod and, after being inspected for the return of his security deposit, he bad us fond farewells and embarked upon his journey home to Jalón. [Lucky, lucky bastard.] From Scotland, he had been keeping an eye on the internal temperature of his house and it had not dropped below 24°C.
We sat, feeling a little alone, in the continuing rain waiting for it to brighten up, as el tiempo the Spanish weather forecast, was suggesting. It did not look promising.
Sure enough, a little before midday, a small, lonely blue patch made an appearance. Eventually, after midday, the blue patch was joined by a few reinforcements. We were getting hungry by now so we selected “prepare for anything” clothing and began sauntering back to the central main square of Haro.
Haro is adorned by murals of folk having imbibed a little too much of the local produce. Like Burgos, Haro is also decorated by bronze statues relating to the wine trade, or its consumption. I get the opinion around here that folk don’t worry too much about a nanny state 14 units a week limit. Far from it; here, wine is a vital part of enjoying life. More power to them.
I had been recommended a tapas bar but up until today it had been closed. Now it was open so we went in and settled down to lunch with a couple of glasses each of Rioja. The array of tapas was relatively easy to select from; there were mushrooms, which had been described as “epic” to me, and navajas [razor clams] which we find irresistible and these were undoubtedly the best I’ve ever tasted. We nibbled some banderillas [skewered hot green peppers and olives] while we waited for the clams and mushrooms to be cooked.
We were still keen on yesterday’s visit to Beethoven I, though, and decided to pop back, just down the street, for a spot more Rioja. There was an interesting looking pincho, a tapa on bread, so I asked for two. “Muy picante” [very spicy], said the barman. “OK, uno”, I replied. He gave me one picante, which would be fine for me, and one “no picante”, which Francine would prefer. Naturally these required a further couple of glasses of Rioja.
With such a wide variety of excellent red wines around here, I just don’t know how the locals manage the choice. I have not been keen on red wines of late, and certainly not of Rioja, but I’ve clearly been drinking the wrong stuff. The examples we’ve had here have been delicious, even those that don’t cost an arm and a leg. €2.30 a glass gets you a very decent crianza that far outstrips the classic Campo Viejo reserva in our home supermarkets, which is frankly disappointing. Nothing here has been disappointing.
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