Places with Encanto: Almohalla 51, Casa Rural and Guest House in Archidona, Malaga

Sending special thanks to the dozens of you who participated in my giveaway with Your Spain Hostel for a 30€ voucher. I’m thrilled to announce that the special winner is Revati!! Please get in touch, guapa, and I’ll relay all of the details! Speaking of staying in Spain…

If only the walls of Almohalla 51, an ancient rural house cum gorgeous boutique hotel in Archidona, Spain, could talk.

“The whole place was decrepit, you see,” David tells us on the quick ride over from Antequera, where he’s met us at the train station. “Just absolutely uninhabitable.”

David and his partner, Myles, bought the house – which hadn’t been lived in for fifty years – and the one adjacent to it, merging the two into a five-bedroom hotel. The 14-person family who sold them the houses were true archidoneses, and the house had the original beams intact. The place is steeped in Andalusian charm.

Upon entering the cozy entrance hallway, David offers us a glass of Mahou beer and some salty olives. “You know,” he starts, topping off his own cerveza, “Myles’s family had been coming down for years and living on the Costa del Sol. There’s this great picture of his mother dancing with the wife of the owner of Mahou before the family sold the company to San Miguel.” Like many British expatriates I’ve met in Spain, there is always some kind of story, some legend, anchoring them to Spain. Myles summered in Estepona during his youth before he and David decided to relocate to Spain permanently, choosing picturesque Archidona as their new home.

Collecting our beer glasses as Lana del Rey crooned from the nearby reading nook, replete with books and old editions of magazines in both Spanish and English, David and Myles offer to show us the rest of the property. Passing through a small courtyard just behind the entrance hall and up a set of stairs, a small but inviting pool was the focal point of another patio and small bar.

“We operate on an honesty policy,” Myles explained. At any hour of the day, guests are invited to help themselves to refreshments, tea or coffee. My guest, Hayley, duly noted that the sweeping views of the nearby mountains and a dip in the immaculately kept pool would be worth coming back for in the summer.

I curiously notice a wrought iron Osborne bull nestled next to a small olive tree just in front of the pool. David, sensing my curiosity, tells me that the tree had actually been brought over from London when they moved to Archidona 18 months ago.

“Does it fruit?”

“Yeah, yeah. But the birds enjoy it more than we do.”

Inside, we are shown to our room. Wood beams stand out against the whitewashed walls, and Andalusian hallmark. Two fluffy twin beds with linens brought in from Mumbai stand next to one another and a weathered wardrobe. A private bathroom features smooth, gorgeous tiles and modern fixtures. Setting down our bags, we continue through to the other guest rooms.

The duo enjoy pointing out each part of the house that had been left over by its previous owners –antique headboards adorning the beds where they’d been born,  an interior patio where horses had been led – as well as the treasures Myles’s mother had found in antique stores and estate sales around England. The other bedrooms each have their own charm, like a split-level with a cavernous shower or a crystal chandelier. I suddenly can’t wait to dive into bed and relax with a book, convinced that the fresh air and sleepy midday would lend to a gorgeous rest.

After lunch in town at Bar Central, we join guests Mary and Thomas, an infinitely friendly and interesting Irish couple, near the fire. Their first trip to Spain, they recount us their tribulations driving on the other side of the road and trying to understand the bullfighting museum in Antequera.

“Dinner’s at half eight girls, but come round earlier for a cocktail.”

Squashing any girlish desires, we refrain from jumping on the small mountain of bed and instead rest up for the evening. The last light of the day is streaming in from the skylight as we read in bed. I drift off for over an hour, lost in the soft mattress and heaps of blankets.

Aperitifs are served promptly at eight, and we all sit round the fire chatting about whatever comes to mind – travels in Spain, language blunders, Mary and Thomas’s work as anthropologists, David and Myles’s favorite scenes as the resident guiris in Archidona. As sweet smells waft from the hallway we are ushered into the dining room.

“Yep, well several of the sisters claim to have been born in this very room,” David had told us earlier, but now the room is crowned by a gorgeous hutch with carvings related to the city of Granada – pomegranates and a knight – and a rustic wooden table whose legs were the originals. While doing the work on the house, Myles used local artisans to give the house a makeover rooted in both old and new.

What follows is one of those epic meals where your wine glass is never empty, your belly is full and the conversation and company can’t be bettered. We had a chutney made of local pears with warm goat cheese and puff pastry, followed by succulent lamb, steamed broccoli and papas a lo pobre. After nearly five hours, a rehashing of Catalonian independence and the draw of the Camino de Santiago (which Hayley and I are walking this summer), and a coffee and gin tonic, Hayley and I barrel into the beautiful Plaza Ochavada for a drink.

The next morning, David and Myles serve the four of us breakfast in the dining room, as rain had hampered plans of having breakfast on the terrace. I dig into coffee, fresh orange juice, natural yougurt with honey and cinnamon, fruit and toast with fig jam and cheese. David invites us to walk up the hill to the bastions and hermitage, affording us the views of the surrounding countryside. From this vantage point, one can see the nearby provinces of Sevilla and Cordoba, as Archidona is practically in the geographic center of Spain and just 45 minutes from Malaga’s international airport.

David comments on the city’s raucous festivals, from a bullfight in the oval of Ochavada to the pedigree dog shows. Their own dog, Ronny, barrels up and down the hill, bounding around the hermitage where faithful crawl on their knees during Holy Week and to the city walls at the top of the mountain. These walls can talk on their own, too, of course – of the Moorish Reconquista and the rebuilding of one of the city’s most recognizable landmarks.

And we’re listening.

If you go: Almohalla 51 is located in the village of Archidona (Malaga), near the geographical center of Andalusia and the A-92 motorway. Its five bedrooms are charged based on high and low season, and include breakfast, housekeeping and all local taxes. Guests under age 14 are not permitted.

 My stay at Almohalla 51 was graciously provided by David and Myles. All opinions, as always, are entirely my own. If you stay, tell them I sent you!

Seville Snapshots: Love Locks in Florence, Italy

Actions always speak louder than words, right?

I mean, I teach English and I know more idioms than I would ever need to know, but my knees goes all jelly and my heart melts when I see random acts of kindness or unnoticed displays of affection on the street.

During our recent trip to Florence and Bologna, where we chose tagliatelle over tourism, we stopped at the Ponte Vecchio, one of my favorite parts of the city. I’ve long loved bridges and the chalky colors of the jewelry shops perched on top of the stone bridge are no exception.

On my first trip to Florence four years ago, I saw the bridge at night. The cobblestone was slick with rain, and I was in a hurry to meet my couch surfing host for a glass of wine. This time around, the Novio had forgotten his sunglasses and we squinted at one another as we walked arm and arm from the Uffizi Galleries.

Like us, love locks were arm-in-arm with the wrought iron of the statue on the bridge. In a city in close proximity to the Eternal one, eternal love was scrawled in permanent marker across heart-shaped ones, small luggage ones, and the type I had on my locker in high school. Cheesy, maybe, but a testament to love in one of the most romantic places I’ve ever been to.

Do you like love locks, or are you against them? Where have you seen them around the world?

How Much Spanish Should I Speak to Travel or Live in Spain?

One of the most common questions I’m asked about moving to Spain is the level necessary to be able to understand and be understood while traveling and working. This is a loaded question, as Spain is a place where English is both commonplace and rarely spoken. 

When I came to live in Seville, I had years of study and a few months in Valladolid as backing. Little did I know that Spanish was such a complex language, or that doing adult things like opening a bank account and settling claims would turn into such a frustrating task. After all of this time and the pummeling of different accents, my own manner of speaking is laughable.

Still, the importance of learning languages has hit Andalusia full-force, and English is much more widely spoken than five years ago. Here, your questions answered:

What Level of Spanish Do You Need for a Trip to Spain?

Spain is rightly regarded as one of the most exciting travel destinations in the world, but regardless of whether you decide to soak up the sunshine on a long, sandy beach or enjoy the food and exciting culture of cities likes Barcelona and Madrid it is a good idea to learn some of the Spanish language before you go. Of course, how much you need to learn depends upon what you intend to do with it and here are a few examples of to get you thinking.

I recommend having a working knowledge of transportation vocabulary and basic phrases, and the same goes for food and lodging. While many people in the travel industry will have some English, a little legwork goes a long way, especially if there’s a problem.

To Make Friends

The Spanish people are famously friendly and outgoing, making Spain a wonderful destination for anyone who is interested in becoming friends with people from a different culture. In this case, you will want a fairly wide vocabulary and to be able to speak in as relaxed a manner as possible. You probably won’t be overly worried about some grammatical faults, as you will iron these out once you start talking to your new Spanish friends.

Intercambios, or language exchanges, are becoming ever more popular with Spaniards and foreign residents alike. These weekly meetings are often held at bars or public spaces, and encourage language participation on both ends. In Seville, couchsurfing usually meets for an exchange on Thursdays, and there are several in the Alameda. You can also use University message boards to look for a one-on-one.

To Sample the Food

Spain is also famous for its magnificent cuisine. If you love food then you will want to try the likes of paella, tortilla de patata and other local treats. In order to get the most out of your culinary experience you might like to learn a good variety of food related words. This is going to be especially relevant if you plan to head off the beaten track and eat in small restaurants where English might not necessarily be spoken. If you are able to say, the best of my Spanish lessons in Miami is the bit where we talk about food for hours then you will be on your way to learning what you need.

Knowing regional dishes will not only enhance your visit, but also help you guarantee that you’re getting great service. I tend to shy away from places where English, French, German and a handful of other languages are present on menus, though I still have to learn parts of the pig in English!

To Look for a Job

Perhaps you are planning a dramatic change in your life and want to look to further your career in Spain. This is becoming an increasingly popular option in these days of the globally mobile workforce. There are some parts of the country with a high population of English-speaking expats and it is possible that you could land a job there with little knowledge of the Spanish tongue. Still, you’ll want to have a decent grasp of some formal Spanish phrases in order to make a good impression on the person interviewing you.

Yeah, Guiri Puss, aprende español!

Interested in studying for an exam to prove that you’re a Spanish crack? The DELE diploma is valid in nearly every country in the world, and I passed the C1 in November 2011. Check out my Do’s and Don’t post and what to expect on the exam.

This post was made possible by an outside source. As always, I reserve all rights of submission.

Do you learn any language bits before you travel? Looking to learn Spanish in Spain? Contact me for the inside scoop on the best language schools!

Tapas Thursday: Eating Italy

Little known fact about me: Italian food is as much a part of my family’s table fare as meat and potatoes. And I have not one ounce of sangue italiano in me.

There’s two parts to this story: firstly, my mom studied gelato and fashion in Rome in the 70s, developing a love for Ferragamo and fromaggio. And my great-aunt Mary Jane married the boy next store, my beloved Uncle Mario, whose family arrived from Northern Italy when they were in high school. Mario Rubenelli started the Dell’Alpe food import company, whose products can be found around Chicago. Imported olive oil, pepperoncini, balsalmic, and parmesean cheese were always on our table.

When I surprised the Novio with a weekend trip to Bologna, we had little else on our itinerary but gain a few kilos and wash it all down with Chianti. Add an overnight trip to Florence, and our food hangover was coupled with an art and architecture one.

Upon arrival to Marconi Airport, we steered our car south towards Firenze. Eager to eat, we arrived frantic and without a place to park. Our hotel recommended a small trattoria, and we snuck in just before they closed. The place, Trattoria da Guido, was cozy and lit with candles with a plain view of the kitchen. We communicated with our waitress in Spanish with a sprinkling of Italian – vino, prosciutto, acqua, grazie.

My eyes immediately went to the gorgonzola ravioli with walnut sauce, and Kike’s choice of tagliatelle with wild boar meat – a symbol of Florence, anyway – was clear. My chianti arrived with our salad topped with mozzarella and Parma ham, and our fresh pasta a few minutes later. Manggia, we did – I didn’t even take any pictures! My dish was heaven – creamy with nutty undertones and just the right amount (Via Faenza, 34. Open daily for lunch and dinner).

The following morning, a breakfast with a view of the Medici Chapel and the Saturday market met us early. After an espresso, hot panini and even some nutella for my banana, we stopped by the nearby San Lorenzo food market. On a sleepy Saturday morning, many of the stalls hadn’t even opened, meaning the Novio and I had nearly the entire maze of fish and vegetable shops to ourselves. But I was on a mission: to bring back a hunk of parmesean, even if it mean donning more clothes on board our return flight if my suitcase was overweight. Tempting were the rolls of salami, mortadella and tiny flasks of limoncello.

The morning was punctuated by stops in sunny piazzas for another caffeine jolt or Moretti beer. I was aching to get the sightseeing done and get onto having another meal, this time in a student pizzeria where I’d eaten years ago. The wood-backed chairs and exposed brick walls of Osteria del Gatto e la Volpe lent a comfortable atmosphere for our crostini appetizer as we poured over a six-pages of pasta, pizza and calzones. On my first solo trip, spent in Florence, I’d had a simple pizza and a small jar of wine, and the waiters seranaded me from a small corner table on a busy Saturday night – I needed that pizza again.

In the end, we split a hearty potato gnocchi with pesto and a margherita pizza with parmesean and ruccula (Via Ghibellina, 151, near Santa Croce). The meal was a perfect balance and a great value, and it filled us up during a day of driving back to Bologna and a long winter’s nap once there.

Emiglia Romano is the unsung food hero of Italy, home to Parma (of ham fame), Modesto (of basalmic vinegar fame) and tasty regional capital, Bologna (of the meat sauce fame). The gritty capital is not only known for its food, but for its modern university, which meant cheap and plentiful food options abound.

After a long sonnichiarre, the Novio and I bundled up and got a glimpse of the Due Torres, San Petronino church and Piazza Neptuno. Our hotel was right next to a highly-recommended osterria, but the early dinne crowd had us huddled in a bar, drinking beer. Upon changing locations – an aptly named bar called Siesta – the bartender asked the Novio what kind of beer he wanted via the young Italian sitting next to us.

Peppino – with two Ps, not to be confused with the vegetable – had studied in Las Palmas de Gran Canaria and spoke pretty good Spanish. Adopting the When in Rome Bologna, do as the Bolognians do frame of mind, we followed Peppino and his friend Eliza to a swanky, low-lit supper club called Bravo Caffe, where we ordered a bottle of suave red from his hometown of Lecce and a platter of cured meats – mortadella, prosciutto, parma ham and pancetta. (Via Mascarella, 1. Bologna).

A woman took the stage as the lights dimmed, meaning we’d be eating with very little light. Our appetizer of squid with caramelized mushrooms arrived, opening the floodgates of my hunger. I had ordered potato gnocchi with pecorino cheese, smothered in parmesan, olive oil and fresh parsley, a staple on my Italian side of the family. Ignoring the music, the company and everything else that wasn’t on my plate, I popped potato ball after potato ball in my mouth. If there’s one thing that makes me a horrible guest, it’s the presence of good food in front of me – I don’t even remember what Kike ate!

After such a hearty meal, a grappa seemed to be in order, followed by a cocktail. The next morning’s alarm went off and I had to roll off the bed, thanks to a still-full stomach and a slight tequila hangover. We wouldn’t consume much more that day, sharing sandwiches on the plane ride and even skipping dinner.

Back at home, I purveyed my pantry: a new hunk of parmesan, marked with PARM REGG, three types of pasta, and all of the Dell’Alpe spices I’d hoarded from my family’s company. Not bad for a non-Mediterrean.

Like food posts? I also told you everything I ate while in La Rioja, Spain’s de-facto wine capital. Do you like Italian food (or food gluttony)?

Am I the only one who doesn’t like Barcelona?

I am a person who believes in second chances. You can ask my dear friend, Phil (hi, friend!).

And when it comes to cities that I didn’t like the first time around, I’ll always willing to make another trip. So many of my travels could have been spoiled by rain, strikes, food poisoning and culture shock, but some cities and I are just not amigos, even after multiple visits.

Barcelona is one of those cities. Three second chances later, and it’s still not grown on me.

In all fairness, I love the whimsical architecture, the Mercè festival, the oceanfront. But the positive aspects seem to end there.

I find Barcelona too busy, too big, too expensive and not well-lit. It’s not friendly in the same way that Valencia is (another Spanish city I could take or leave), nor did I ever stop feeling like a tourist. Having my family with me was stressful as I repeated, “No, Mom, I can’t read it; it’s in Catalan and I don’t speak Catalan,” or tried to ask directions, only to find the person I’d asked spoke no English or Spanish. Apart from the sites I like, such as Parc Güell or the Gràcia neighborhood, I felt like I wasn’t really savoring a second chance in a city – and I swear I tried!

I hear loads about the cuisine, but being based in El Born, couldn’t find much that wasn’t chain pintxos and tapas, or menus riddled with poorly translated English – always a sign the service and prices will be exorbitant. What’s more, I come from a family of picky eaters. We had pizza, two consecutive meals at a pintxos bar and burgers.

And what is with not a single place being open for coffee before 9am, save Starbucks?! Even the 24-hour McDonalds wasn’t open when we left early one morning for the Pyrenees! I can always count on an obscure cafeteria opening early for a coffee in every other part of Spain I’ve traveled to, so I was surprised that all the bars seemed shuttered until 9am.

I’m also not into the Catalan ‘tude. Spearheaded by Artur Mas, a campaign for Catalonian independence has transformed the city into an alien landscape of sorts, which independence flags hanging from balconies and Mossos, the Catalan version of a cop, all over the place. I can’t argue that their claim  that their language and culture was oppressed under Franco, I don’t think that their reasons for leaving will necessarily make things any better. The kicker? They want to be recognized as an EU sovereign state but still stay in the BBVA Spanish soccer league! (if you’re interested in learning more, check out Simon Harris’s book project, Catalonia is not Spain: a Historical Perspective)

I also had to laugh when our host called to ask us how the trip was going. Considering we’d invariably come during three back-to-back holidays, I told him we’d had to escape the country on the whole and go to Andorra. Qué lujo, he responded, and I told him about my plan to travel to 30 countries before 30. His response? That Cataluña is another country, even though it’s illegal to secede from Spain. Different, yes, but still Spain.

What is great about Barcelona is its proximity to the Pyrenees, Girona and Costa Brava. Navigating through my cell phone, we took quick breaks to Andorra, Girona, Besalu and Monstserrat. Getting out of the city meant having my head cleared and experiencing a part of the country whose tourism is highly developed and thriving. Returning, I tried to see Barcelona a bit differently, but I just ended up pouting like a three-year-old when I had to pay more than 1,20€ for a beer and use my cell phone as a flashlight for opening the door to our place in El Born. 

Have you ever given a city a second chance? Were your thoughts swayed? Is there a destination you’re not keen on returning to? Watch for the response to this post from Aga, part of the traveling duo of Aga Nuno Somewhere. If you decide you have to see Barcelona, considering checking out Barcelona Home for apartment rentals while in the Ciudad Condal.

Seville Snapshots: The Statues of Ayamonte

Ayamonte, in my mind, has a touch of good and a smear of bad. On one hand, my dear friend Meag lived there for a year, and it’s impossible to think of the small city that shares a border with Portugal and not burst into giggles. But then again, I was once stuck there during a holiday when my bus to Faro was late, and I missed the last one to leave for Seville.

Still, reader Jill contacted me about sharing pictures of this seaside village, and I was happy to oblige. For a sleepy city, Ayamonte’s art patronage stands out.

Ayamonte is situated on the river Guadiana, which marks the border between Spain and Portugal. Historically it was of strategic importance and has always been associated with fishing and seafaring. The last twenty years have seen a growth in tourism, but it is often still dismissed as the end of nowhere! However, nothing could be further from the truth.

The Ayamontinos have a great loyalty to their town and its culture and traditions, from the devotion of Semana Santa, to the Music Festival in August and the patronal festival in September. It is a town where artists and sculptors have flourished. Even Joaquin Sorolla painted one of the fourteen panels commissioned for the Hispanic Society of America in Ayamonte, entitled La Pesca de Atun.

What has fascinated me about the artistic life of the town are the sculptures on roundabouts and in the squares. These are mainly modern, commissioned as part of the expansion and restoration of the town, but commemorating the history and traditions of the location. Statues associated with the past life of the town are those which remember the water carriers, the lime manufacturers and the fish conservers. Before the arrival of piped water the water carriers delivered fresh water.

The ‘caleros’ manufactured and transported the lime used to make the whitewash for the typical white buildings. Fish preserving was almost exclusively the domain of women, and still exists today on a much reduced scale on a modern industrial estate.

The association with sea faring is commemorated by a statue of sailors who joined Columbus’s voyage to the New World. Additionally there exists a statue of women awaiting the return of the fishing boats, though currently being restored after being damaged.

There are also religious statues prominent in the main square and park, as one would find in every Spanish town. Religious statuary is seen at its most historic and elaborate during Holy Week, when the statues – often the work of well known sculptors of the past – are carried through the town on the ‘pasos’.

Ayamonte even claims Santa Ángela de la Cruz as one of its own, as she founded a house of the Sisters of the Cross in the town in the late 1870’s and she too has her statue. Much broader concepts are celebrated too, such as the family and music.

I hope you have enjoyed this tour of the public art of the town, and will visit one day, when the red roses are in bloom to welcome you.

Jill is a retired teacher who lives part of the year in England and part in Ayamonte, Spain, as well as enjoying travel. Catch up with her on twitter, @mumjilly. If you’ve got photos to share of Southern Spain, please send them to sunshineandsiestas @ gmail . com, and check out my Facebook page for more of Andalusia and beyond.

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