Loads of photos to make up my pithy blog posts; this is a diary, after all. Fair to say I;m not enjoying the writing as much as I do when it’s based on an English pub visit, as the bars and restaurants seem more functional, more predictable, less noisy.
The little alley outside our tiny but well-equipped Cordoba apartment was noisy though. School children in the morning, lads playing football on scooters in the evening, and this strange creature which was too quick for Google Maps to capture;
Is it a cat ?
Our base was on the edge of the UNESCO-listed Old Town with its Moorish cathedral and gelateria, near the Opera House and one of many main squares.
The main activity is walking aimlessly, and swinging your umbrella. The Spanish wear two layers more than the average Brit, and put up a huge umbrella at the slightest hint of a raindrop. And then swing it back and forth behind them to enrage Mrs RM.
But Mrs RM is becalmed by the ever-present scent of jasmine, and the prospect of cake and beer round the corner.
To be honest I wasn’t really searching out beer, but the Taberna La Cazuela de la Esparteria (“Moon Under Water”) had folk sitting drinking at the bar, a rarity in Spain, and tat in the windows, and Mrs RM insisted we popped in.
Quite a few groups clustered round the bar, toddler and all, seemingly “pre-loading” before a night at the All Bar One or Cordoban equivalent.
The bar was playing second fiddle to the restaurant area, which must have been authentic as it had that same bullfighting picture my Mum & Dad brought home from Torremolinos in 1975.
The Alhambra Special comes from a smart looking font, and must be the Tim Taylor’s Landlord equivalent as two smallish glasses cost us five (5) euros, one of our most expensive beers.
But it was cool and foamy (NFMSS 3.5), and there was laughter and life, even if we didn’t understand a word of it.
And whatever they’d been eating at the bar looked good. Perhaps it was “Secret”.
Right, back into the night.