The Guiri Guide to Having a Baby in Spain: Labor and Delivery

From the looks of it, I haven’t had a baby. My belly has long since deflated and I’m walking upright again. My face isn’t swollen, the byproduct of cookies and a growing baby in my belly. I am a mother, though if I’m not totting around a diaper bag or pushing a stole like a bat out of hell, you’d hardly know I have an eight-month-old baby.

But I am changed in so many ways, from the muscle tone to the thinned out hair. Entering the +child phase of my life has been nothing short of eye-opening. Earth shattering (in the best sense). Like I’ve never been any different from the way I am now.

And it all began with his llegada a este mundo

Enrique: a (brief) birth story

“Ohú hija, qué placenta más vieja.”

I closed my legs as Eduarda snapped off her latex gloves and motioned for me to pull my leggings back up. The Novio stood, arms folder across his broad chest, stoic in the examination room. The monitors showed that Baby Man was healthy and I was having painless, mini contractions, but the grave look in Eduarda’s eyes told me that the optimism that the matrona had was not what she’d seen.

It was January 3rd, 2017 – my due date.

Her pink pen scribbled something in my patient chart, then moved furiously to a prescription pad. She avoided my glance and again looked at the Novio. “Tomorrow, this baby is coming out. Report at 8:30am: you’ll be induced at 9, sharp.”

The Novio took the prescription and gathered up my materials, painstakingly organized in a green plastic folder. I sat, dumbfounded, sweating and like someone had taken a big stick right to my placenta. Induced? After the healthiest, loveliest pregnancy?

cat-gaa-in-triana

That afternoon, I sent my family out of my house so that I could rest and come to terms with being provocada. The baby hadn’t gained any weight in the previous week and my placenta was beginning to calcify (they don’t tell you about that in prenatal classes). I tried everything that afternoon to enter into labor – half a bottle of Tabasco, long walks, a warm bath, two tetrabricks of pineapple juice.

At 10pm, I restructured my birth plan, reminding myself that my meditation for a perfect birth was always overshadowed by the advice of a medical professional. My half-packed hospital bag wouldn’t get left behind in the rush to the hospital, nor would I break waters doing some mundane task, like grocery shopping or having a Cola Cao with my girlfriends. Enrique would be born with medical intervention and on a day that a doctor planned, not him.

The following morning, the Novio made me a big breakfast and cracked open another brick of pineapple juice. I ate in silence, forcing myself to chew when my nerves seemed to be pushing the food back out. When you’re induced, you can’t eat in the event that you need an emergency C-Section. But it’s not like I had the appetite anyway.

The 350m walk to the hospital felt like a death march. Once checked into my room, María, the matrona on duty, came in to take me to the monitors. Like the day before, the fetal heartbeat was strong and I was having small contractions, but they’d need to give me medicine to ripen my cervix. An hour later, I was back in my room, bouncing on a medicine ball while reading “Homage to Catalonia” and sipping pineapple juice boxes (seriously – I haven’t drank any zumo de piña since). The contractions were closer together and getting stronger, but after two hours, Eduarda broke my waters.

Giving birth in Spain and the hospital rooms

While my contractions continued to progress, I convinced myself that I was strong enough to not have an epidural. Didn’t they say you wouldn’t be able to talk, just concentrate on riding the wave of pain? The Novio sat, glued to the chair, eyes wide in terror every time I’d squat in front of the bed, white-knuckling the plastic footboard and sucking in air. “Te ayudo?” was all he could muster as I gave him a deranged smile and assured him I could do it.

Later that afternoon, when Orson Welles was on the front lines and my heartburn tasted like pineapple, Eduarda gave me a reverse compliment: You look good. Demasiada buena, too good. I stood up and gathered my slippers, a bottle of water and my courage: I’d need an epidural because I was getting pitocín, the drug equivalent of oxytocin. So much for a non-medicated birth.

To spare you all the details, here’s the cliff notes version: monitors, epidural, nausea and extreme cold (resulting in three blankets), drop in fetal heart rate, more epidural, nine pushes, a terrified father, Krissler maneuver, vacuum, stitches. The Novio nearly missed the birth when he went to make a few phone calls to our families and likely chain smoke – I, to this day think he had it worse than me that day (but I definitely had it worse the two weeks following). Enrique was born vaginally at 9:05 pm after 12 hours in labor.

As the stupor began to dissipate, I asked the questions: What color are his eyes? They’re shut. Does he have all his fingers and toes? All here. “It is a boy, right?” Yes, twigs and berries identified.

And my favorite: “Did I say anything mean to you to deal with the pain?” No.

When Enrique V was placed on my bare chest a half hour after delivery, I honestly didn’t feel anything but relief that delivery was over and that he was out and passed his Apgar exam. I didn’t feel a rush of feel-good hormones and instant bonding as I stressed over whether or not the baby was actually mine and still stupefied that I was now a mother and a whole new stage of my life had only just begun.

bocadillo de jamon

After 30 minutes of monitoring us both, I was wheeled into my room to recover and finally have two uninterrupted hours of skin-to-skin time. Lying facing the ceiling and the dizzying, harsh lights, I was almost relieved when the pediatrician came in to take the baby for tests and immunizations because I was ravenous and exhausted. The bocadillo de jamón that the Novio brought me was a gift from the Gods.

The Eighth Month

I spent the last four weeks of my first pregnancy in Seville.

More frequent were the doctor visits: there was a general check up and blood test at 37 weeks, a stress test the following and a further check up at week 39. Eduarda examined my cervix at each. I was hopeful that I’d already begun dilating but she clucked at me and told me that long walks and gravity would help the baby coax himself out. Still feeling resilient and not terribly uncomfortable, I wanted to relish in my last few moments of a life that would always be “my past life.”

So, I got my haircut, made use of my bathtub and painstakingly folded the tiny onesies and knit sweaters.

little-boy-baby-clothes-on-a-clothesline

Because we’re in a rental in Madrid, I couldn’t truly nest until we arrived. Every afternoon, I’d take stock of everything I was missing for thee baby and order it from Amazon before passing out cold on the couch. I put together my breast pump and cleaned the pram where the baby would sleep. I tried to imagine his face, how his skin would feel against mine, what I’d do when he slept 18 hours a day. This would, inevitably, end in tears as I thought of the beautiful pregnancy and the way the Novio and I had bonded over taking the next step in our relationship by becoming parents.

For the most part, I felt prepared for the birth. I had watched videos while strengthening my pelvic floor. I gently told my mother that, if push came to shove, I’d prefer to have my mother-in-law with me in the delivery room because of the language barrier. It was everything that came after the birth that made me the most nervous.

The night before my induction, I couldn’t sleep. I scribbled notes on the birth plan in a flurry of arrows and asterisks, took another bath and tried to fight my restlessness. It seemed insane to think that, in all likelihood, I would meet my baby face-to-face (or rather, mouth to boob), within 24 hours. I willed him to burst into the world on his own so that I could labor at home and still be able to snack, but 7am on Wednesday, January 4th came without as much as a hard kick from the baby to tell me he was ready.

^^^^

Our time in the hospital after Enrique’s birth was a literal blur – I was afraid to walk too far on my own, the baby kept us on a sleep schedule of about 15 minutes every few hours, and I struggled to breastfeed between visits and pills and rest. My body felt like it wasn’t my own anymore, as I couldn’t control my legs or sit up without help from a nurse. Everything was a series of firsts – from first shower to first visitors to first realizations that I’d never be the same again, not mentally or physically.

in the hospital in Spain with a newborn

At first, I had asked for total privacy. This meant no phone calls or visits. In Spain, everyone you know, from family to coworkers, come by to see the newborn. Unsure of how I would feel, I was not interested anyone see me all puffy and broken, and I remember the look of terror and extreme exhaustion on a friend’s face when we went to visit her and her second child. Had I been at a public hospital, I would have shared a room and likely been privy to people visiting at all hours, as hospitals in Spain rarely keep strict visiting hours.

The hospital was fantastic at checking in on me and making sure I’d peed, and the matronas and nurses kept my suegro – who tried to milk me – at arm’s length. I felt that more care and attention was given to me over the baby, truthfully, though they showed me how to swaddle, bathe and feed him.

^^^^

Two days later, on Día de los Reyes, we were given the alta to go home. I had checked out in the morning after a bowel movement and a uterine massage (that was more painful than birth without much more than an aspirin in my system); the little guy was seen a few hours later by the attending pediatrician, but not the requisite 48 hours that a hospital keeps. Because it was a holiday, I would have had to wait until the following morning around 9am to be given the OK to take our little bundle of tears home if I had chosen a public hospital.

The Novio had been at home cleaning and resting while my family kept me company, but when I called him, he couldn’t come immediately: the Cabalgata was passing through. Sevilla. We returned home to a house full of people and a large roscón de reyes. I ate as if I hadn’t consumed anything since that bocadillo de jamón, gulping down water between bites. My suegro got the small toy, a plastic Tigger, and immediately gifted it to his first grandchild.

The Novio let his family and mine take care of me and Baby Enrique post-delivery while he took care of the paperwork to register the baby’s birth, update our libro de familia and get an appointment for his DNI and Spanish passport. While I fluttered between confidence and desperation as I was convinced that the baby had caught a cold or wasn’t eating, he bused himself between government buildings. Not even a newborn can escape the wrath of Spanish red tape.

^^^

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In retrospect, the first few weeks were the calm before the storm. I had plenty of help and hands to hold the baby so I could shower, stay fed and get some sleep every once in a while. The overwhelming feels, emotional highs and the breakdowns would come later, once the baby became colcicky and the Novio had to go back to work.

At my lowest, I consisted on granola bars.

But I made it. I look at my baby sleeping in my arms and sometimes struggle that we’d ever been without him. They told us in prenatal class that we’d forget all about the pain of childbirth as soon as we saw and held out babies. It’s true that after I healed and began to get a handle on everything motherhood, I forgot that it was hard to walk for a month and that breastfeeding hurt.

In those rare moments when I don’t have a baby stroller or a diaper bag on me, I wonder if other people can tell I’m a mother, or if those other frazzled mommies think that they envy me because I’m not totting kids around. My body has morphed back into its old self and my baby bump is long gone.

I certainly feel different inwardly though not so much outwardly, but find myself pace quickening as I leave work and head home for my boys.

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I’ve spilled all of the details about my transition into motherhood in a forthcoming post – from breatsfeeding to Mommy culture to something I’m not afraid to confess, even though it’s not the popular opinion. I have plenty more posts about Spain coming up, too! That is, once I put the baby down and don’t have him crawling all over me.

Tapas Tuesday: Roscón de Reyes, or the Spanish Twist on King’s Cake

The Epiphany is one of my most beloved Spanish Christmas traditions. Not only does it extend my holidays by a few days, but the Cabalgata parade means that candy literally rains down the streets of San Jacinto. Spanish children await their gifts from three wise men who travel on camels, distributing gifts (or coal) much like the Magi did when they traveled to see Christ. Santa Claus is making waves in Spain, but Gaspar, Melchor and Baltaszar are three of the most recognizable faces for a Spanish child.

Apart from collecting hard candies that will serve as bribes for my students until June, people also gobble up the Roscón de Reyes, a sweet cake filled with cream or truffle fluff that’s traditionally served during the afternoon of January 6th. 

Roscon de Reyes

What it is: A panettone-like cake made from flour, sugar, eggs, butter, milk and yeast, plus a few spices. Sliced open in the middle, the cake also has cream in the middle and is decorated with sugar-dipped fruits and sliced almonds. It’s essentially the first cousin of a King’s Cake, traditionally eaten in New Orleans on Fat Tuesday.

Where it’s from: Roscón – and its variants – have long been served in Spain on the Epiphany. The tradition actually began in Rome, when cakes commemorating the Three Wise Men’s search for Christ were served first to the poor and then divvied up for soldiers on the 12th night after Christmas. He who found the lima bean within the cake was exempt from work that day.

Nowadays, the person who finds a small plastic baby is the King or Queen, whereas the unlucky recipient of the bean must often pay for the cake the following year!

Goes great with: Coffee – it helps cut down on all the sugar you just consumed.

Where to find it in Seville: Roscón is one of those dishes that you’re better off buying – without a Thermomix, it’s pretty laborious! Head to any confitería and reserve one (I prefer Filella and Lola in Triana), or even pick one up in a supermarket if you’re in a pinch – a cake for 8 people will run you about 20€.

bakeshop

Have you ever tried Roscón de Reyes?

If you like the Three Kings Cake, try some other convent sweets like Huesos de Santos, Yemas de San Lorenzo or Roscas de Vino.

Typical Non Spanish

I did a Roscón making course as a part of the Typical Non Spanish project through Caser Expat. Unfortunately, it turned me off from every attempting to make my own!

Tapa Thursday: Tasting Jerez de la Frontera

I’ll admit it – I have a big ol’ crush on Jerez de la Frontera.

While Seville swoons, Jerez pokes and teases, yet always entices. It moves slower. It seems to stay for just one more round of ‘la penúltima.’ Jerez knows how to party, but it also knows how to stop and smell the sherry.

And at just an hour car ride south of La Hispalense, it’s easy to cheat on Seville with Jeré.

Tasting

No stranger to Spanish wine culture, Jerez – along with El Puerto de Santa María and Sanlúcar de Barrameda – make up the Sherry Triangle and produce white wine of the same name. I discovered the Feria de la Vendimia thanks to Devour Spain‘s monthly newsletter, and though we’d missed the grape stomping and the sherry cooking classes, there was still one lingering activity on a sunny Saturday late in the summer: the Feria Gastronómica.

Feria de la Vendimia Jerez

Set in a shady plaza sandwiched between the Alcázar fortress and world-famous González Byass Wineries, nearly two dozen tents offered special tapas and a drink for 3.50€ under caseta tents. Rather than do a lap, we beelined straight to a brightly colored bar at the west end of the square. Being hangry is a good enough excuse for me to follow my nose and tummy into a tent.

Jerezano cuisine is similar to that of Seville, but because the province of Cádiz boasts both sea and fertile terrain, there is more fresh fish and seafood, plus heartier meats. The Bahía de Cádiz is famed for Almendraba tuna and bull meat, called retinto. While it would have been easy to choose croquetas and solomillo, I was determined to choose tapas that were more regional.

Here’s what we devoured:

Pepe Limon Sherry Spritzer

While I’ve become a sherry convert thanks to the Feria de Sevilla, my friends find it too bitter. Pepelimón is the newest product from the makers of a fino variety called Tío Pepe that is half fino, half 100% lemon juice. Like rebujito, it’s sweet and potent (and don’t fret, I had a glass of sherry after we’d eaten).

Destraperlo beer Jerez

Craft beer is on the rise in Spain (admit you just did a fist pump), and Jerez has a new kid on the block, Destraperlo. Irene invited us in for free samples of their pilsner and red brands. La birra más burra es muy buena – it’s got more body than local favorite Cruzcampo, but with less bite than an IPA, making it just right for the Spanish palate. 

Ensaladilla de Pulpo

Thirst quenched, we stuck around in the Guardia de Ángel tent for ensaladilla del pulpo. Octopus is one of those Spanish foods that I would have never thought I’d like, but mixed with mayonnaise and paprika, the salty taste was too overwhelming.

Albondigas de Atun

Sticking with seafood, I nabbed some albóndigas de atún con queso payoyo with homemade tomato sauce. Both alemndraba tuna and Payoyo cheese are native to Cádiz, and this was indeed the star dish of the day.

eggplant tapa in Spain

The berenjena con queso de cabra carmelizada en Pedro Ximénez came recommended at Bar Papanata’s tent. Washed down with sherry, of course!

Sampling sherry in Jerez de la Frontera

Realizing we’d only been on one side of the food fair, we got one more drink at Restaurante Bar Gula. I wanted to try the hamburguesa de retinto, a bull’s meat burger, but we opted for croquetas de tomate y albahaca con jamón and a chicken satay (hey, when you find international food in Andalucía, you order it!). 

After five tapas a piece, we were stuffed!

Croquetas in Jerez

That day was one of those typical Andalusian Saturdays where you look at your watch and ask, wait! Where did the time go? Between catching up on our summers, sampling tapas and ordering another round, it was suddenly after 5pm and time for merienda.

Spanish desserts and I broke up a long time ago, and Jerez’s dessert game seemed a little off (we were so desperate we hiked to a Foster’s Hollywood, the most jankity Friday’s you can imagine, to find it closed). We settled on cakes from a pastelería.

oreo cake

While Jerez’s food culture isn’t terribly different from Seville’s, I can never resist a decent food festival, especially when all of the bars are clumped together.

While Jerez may not be the food mecca, I have a feeling that Sevill’s kid brother might soon have its swan song.

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I visited Jerez’s Feria de la Vendimia with Caser Expat Insurance’s Typical NonSpanish project. All opinions and extra calories are my own.

Have you ever been to a Food Festival in Spain?

Preguntas Ardientes: What kind of health cover do I need for living abroad in Spain?

If you’re planning to move to a new country like Spain where healthcare isn’t free for or guaranteed for all, it’s important to understand that travel insurance isn’t going to protect you if you fall ill. These policies are cheap for a reason – they cover things like lost suitcases and are only for return trips, explain the independent health insurance brokers at Medibroker.

Buying expat health cover is one of the most important, and most complicated, things you need to do before relocating abroad. Nobody is invincible, and medical bills for even routine operations can land expats in hot water if they don’t have the right insurance.

andalusian health card

Spain’s two-tier healthcare system includes both private and public doctors. If you’re working with a social security plan, you’ll be entered into the public Social Security; if you’re on a long-stay visa or self-employed, you’ll be required to get private health insurance. Several big companies exist, but not all plans are created the same.

Medical insurance is a confusing product – it’s something you have in reserve and it’s not tangible, so you have to shop around. Plans offer varying levels of cover and there’s a multitude of add-ons and jargon to wrap your head around.

When it comes to something as important as your health and finances; you can’t afford to buy a plan that isn’t right for your specific needs.

Maybe you think you’re healthy, but that doesn’t matter – nobody is too careful or too healthy to need good medical insurance. Accidents happen, and they have an annoying way of popping up when you haven’t planned for them.

Things to consider when buying expat medical cover

Your health

If you already have a health issue, getting cover is going to be more complicated. Pesky pre-existing conditions affect your choices when it comes to buying insurance, so it’s useful to ask an expert which of the 100s of plans on the market will be flexible enough to accommodate you.

Do you need a global plan?

It’s often tempting to save money by buying a local health plan. However, you should think carefully about this so-called ‘saving’. Local cover in Spain only pays out for medical treatment received within the country and access to some hospitals is restricted. There’s also a level of risk attached to buying a foreign language policy – the small print may not translate.

Ambulatorio Spain

An international plan means you’re covered wherever you go, meaning it’s a lot more comprehensive. It’s increasingly important for Brits living abroad to get international health insurance because changes to NHS rules in the UK means they may no longer be entitled to free healthcare when they return home.

Visa Regulations

It’s important to research the specific country’s rules regarding health insurance requirements for expatriates. How can you be sure that a medical plan you’ve selected is compliant? Speak to an insurance professional and be sure to add repatriation to the plan – it’s required for visas issued from outside the EU for Spain.

Budget

Your budget for health insurance will affect the level of cover you purchase. Plans from UK-based insurers are designed to control costs by limiting geographic cover. An excess or deductible will reduce your premiums, though the higher the excess the more you may have to pay when you come to claim.

Health Insurance is a complex, expensive product because plans try to meet your needs.

hospital care in Spain

The level of cover you need will depend on your individual circumstances. Even if your employer provides you with cover, you should always question its suitability. Your age, health and future plans are all factors to take into consideration and you will also have to think about whether you will need add-ons like maternity or dental cover.

You’re a person, not a category, so a comparison site can’t fully assess your requirements. Understandably, insurance providers are only going to recommend their own plans – even if there’s a better one on the market.

About the author: Medibroker can guide you through choosing a health insurance plan for your time in Spain. A personal advisor calls you to chat about your needs then recommends a plan tailored to you. It’s a completely impartial, 100% free service, regulated in the UK by the FCA.

How to NOT Plan a Trip to Riotinto, Huelva

Julián was good at exaggerating and making up words. “My town, it is the most fantastical of all the towns of Huelva, simply the bestest.”

Julián and I parted ways long ago, but his stake that Minas de Ríotinto was the most fantastically bestest towns in Spain didn’t fall on silent ears. With a claim like that, I had to make a visit.

So off I set towards Ríotinto on a particularly warm November afternoon after meeting my friend halfway along the Doñana Trail. Windows down and Guns & Roses blasting, I drove north into the Sierra de Huelva via Bollullos. All signs – the brown roadside signs, that is – pointed me in the right direction.

But I never made it. Just as roundabout sculptures went from stone monoliths to oxidized mining equipment, my GPS told me to make a 180 degree turn around a roundabout and head back to where I’d come from. Sixty minutes later, I was back in Bollullos, seeing just a trickle of the red river.

Minas de Riotinto, Huelva

Turns out that Google Maps categorized Ríotinto as both a village and protected natural area. So, really I ended up where I had intended to go, but learned a lesson: Don’t rely on Google Maps when there are directions on the website.

Resolute to visit another day, it took me until May to find a weekend to print out directions and go. I grabbed Kelly and my sunscreen and decided to enter via Castillo de las Guardas in the north rather than risk a faulty GPS and lack of roadsigns (and to avoid the beach-going crowd on the A-49).

As soon as we’d turned onto the N-476, we scoured the twisty highway for the next sign of civilization. Though the hills have been excavated for copper, silver and gold for more than five millennia, the whole region is sparsely populated. As soon as I saw a sizable town, we ignored signs and I pulled off. Instinctively, we found the church and assumed the tourism office would be there. Our GPS said we were in the neighboring town of Nerva.

Nerva Huelva

Lesson learned: do rely on Google Maps when you know you’ve punched in the correct destination.

Around 2pm we arrived in the actual town of Minas de Ríotinto, a town whose number swelled when the Spanish government reopened the mines in the early 18th Century. Kelly asked me what there was to do, and I had to admit that I’d only looked for a place to eat and had paid little attention to the attractions.

Like many websites in Spain, I found the Foundation’s website poorly put together and confusing – both in English and Spanish. So, I decided to just show up. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have ignored the website or simply have made a phone call.

Rio Tinto Mine Tour

After the mines reopened in 1724 and later came under the control of a multinational company called Río Tinto, Limited. Hundreds of Brits flocked to the busy mines for work in the 1870s, bringing with them their language, food culture, Victorian decoration and even football – el Recreativo de Huelva, a second division team, is descended from the club formed at Ríotinto.

The company grew to be the largest mining company worldwide, though their exploitation of the mines in heir namesake town had all but finished by 1925. The mines ceased exploitation in 2001.

We arrived at the Visitor’s Center, housed in the old mining hospital and current mining museum, around 1:50pm. We were surprised to find it still open when most people would be having a leisurely lunch. The museum monitor told me that there were four big ticket options in town: the museum, a replica of a Victorian House, a visit to one of the mines with a guide and a touristic train ride, but that we’d arrived too late in the day to do it all. Don’t arrive midday and expect to be able to see all of the attractions – you’re better off starting early, breaking in the middle of the day for lunch and taking the train for the grand finale.

Mining Museum Spain

Kelly and I, as Chicago natives, have likely visited the Museum of Science and Industry and its mining exhibit a dozen times each, but we knew next to nothing about mining or the history of Ríotinto. The museum was a definite, but we had to choose between the mines and the touristic train. I was about to flip a coin when the monitor stopped us. “Don’t skip the train ride,” he told us. “The visit to the mines is interesting but not as esteemed as riding an old steam train.”

Steam Locomotives Huelva

Museo Minero en Riotinto Huelva

Signs all around the museum prohibited photography and videography, but having entered the museum so late we had missed the last guided tour – this meant we didn’t have to elbow past a group. They all stood baffled as they attempted to take photos on their mobile phones. If the guide wasn’t ruffled that they were deliberately breaking the rules, I certainly wasn’t going to clandestinely take out-of-focus photos on my cell. Ignore the posters.

The museum was small but traces mining activity in the area from the Roman times – complete with an underground replica of a mine – to modern day. Three trains take up residence in the old hospital alongside cancelled train tickets, RTC Ltd.-issued uniforms and excavated gemstones.

Promptly at 3pm, we were ushered out. I had seen that one of the town’s five restaurants was renown for their English take on Spanish dishes. At La Epoca, you can’t miss the menú turístico, a three-course meal served every day of the week for 9,50€. When the Riotinto Company took over the mines, they brought their traditional dishes and savory sauces: I chose an omelette of locally grown vegetables and pollo al riotinto, a battered and fried chicken breast in coronation sauce.

Restaurante La Epoca Riotinto

The scheduled departure time for the touristic train was 5pm, but don’t worry too much about being on time for the train. We left at 5:17, seated aboard train cars once used to transport passengers between the various excavation sites. The mines employed 3,000 laborers in their heyday, and the train line that joined the mines and the province capital of Huelva was traversed by more than 1,300 transport cars, used to move both men and might.

The 12 kilometer journey was slow to start, taking in the alien-like landscapes that reminded me of Teide. Definitely don’t forget your camera because the trip is scenic, if not eery with hollowed out mine cars, abandoned equipment and tracks that lead to nowhere.

Touristic Train of Riotinto Huelva

Touristic Train Minas de Riotinto

rio tinto railway

El Río Tinto is so-called for its crimson color – it literally looks like red wine – and believed to have a chemical component that is heavy in metals and iron. While no animal or fish life can be traced, bacteria thrives. In fact, NASA studied the chemistry of the water and concluded that Río Tinto is the place on Earth that most resembles samples taken from Mars.

visit to Riotinto

Landscapes of Rio Tinto Huelva

Spain's Red River Río Tinto

El Madroño and the Mines

Red River in Spain

Rio Tinto and its Color

Don’t be afraid to touch the water or bottle some up as a souvenir – though the water will stain your clothes, it won’t do any harm to your skin. And if you do get off the train, don’t expect to call samesies on your seat – all of the Spanish abuelos will have changed spots, looking bored and fanning themselves before the train pulls away.

After so many years of living in Seville, I’d seemingly done all of the day trips. The mines and museums of Riotinto stayed off my list for years, so if you have a car and a free day, don’t miss it.

If you go: Minas de Riotinto is located 90 kilometers from Sevilla. The museum, Victorian House, mine visit and touristic train are open daily except for New Year’s, the Epiphany and Christmas Day. Plan to spend a day and around 20€ for the whole visit. Follow my advice and check the website for opening times. 

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I visited Ríotinto as part of the Typical NonSpanish Project, meant to show a different side of Spain and power by Caser Expat. All opinions, text and photo are my own.

 

Have you ever been to Ríotinto or had an unplanned day turn out to be awesome?

The Best Bites from the Devour Barcelona Tour

Food in Barcelona has always made me skeptical, despite a rich culinary history and the production of several globally recognized chefs. I’ve been to La Ciutat Comptal half a dozen times, but couldn’t recall being impressed by much, save a seafood paella in Barceloneta before I’d tried the real thing.

The Best Part on the Barcelona Food Tour

So I left it up to the experts – my friends at Devour Barcelona Food Tour. I’d taken their pilot tour in Madrid and knew that founders Lauren, Alejandro and James appreciated not just the food itself, but the person behind the dishes, making the tour a perfect mix of cultural, gastronomical and historical.

Renée met us on a blustery January morning on Passeig de Gràcia. Like me, she’d left the US for a year but found herself in Spain years later. Being the force behind Devour Barcelona is her dream job. She immediately gave us a hand out that detailed what we’d be eating on the four-hour tour, but I preferred to be surprised.

walking tours in Spain

The tour seemed to get off to a slow start. Apart from walking about ten minutes towards the Grácia neighborhood, we began with a pastry. Admittedly delicious, it didn’t tell me much about Spanish cuisine, much less Catalan. And once we reached Gràcia, a neighborhood that feels like a small city itself, our trip to the market yielded two more Spanish staples. 

We hit the 10am mark and Gràcia began to wake up – and we got a real taste for Catalan gastronomy.

Botifarra sausage sandwich with cava

Bar Pagés welcomed us into a shabby chic bar with round wooden tables, comfortable arm chairs and a smashing wine selection. The family behind Casa Pagés, a family restaurant in the same neighborhood, opened this smaller snack bar, which looks like the hybrid of a wine bar and coffee shop.

barcelona cava

Renée told us about cava, the “confused cousin” of champagne. Made mostly in the Penedès region of Catalonia, cava uses grapes native to Spain like Macabeo, Xarel.lo and Parellada. And the reason it’s so cheap? Cava is the region is largely produced by machines! And it’s also a standard morning drink, the way anisette is in Andalucía, so bubbly for breakfast didn’t feel strange.

butifarra and cava on Devour Barcelona Food Tour

After we’d been poured a glass and toast, our second breakfast was served: a simple botifarra sausage sandwich with roasted green pepper and crushed tomatoes. Simple, hearty and crazy delicious. 

Bomba de Barcelona and Pam amb Tomaquet at La Anxoveta

Like many, Carlos and his wife found themselves out of work when the crisis hit. They decided to take over a neighborhood bar called La Anxoveta and breathe life into catalan cuisine staples. Here we’d be sampling two more heavyweights of local gastronomy: pa amb tomàquet and bomba de Barcelona.

Carlos came out with his hands practically talking for him as he rattled off questions to us. He explained the pa amb tomàquet as Renée translated that this simple dish that was once a poor man’s breakfast has become one of the region’s most beloved foods. He cut two slices of pan de cristal, a thin, rustic piece of bread, then showed us how to add the tomato, olive oil, garlic and salt so we could do it on our own.

Next out came the bomba, one of Barcelona’s signature tapas. Born out of a bored cook with a revolutionary streak, María Pla invented the bomba in the 20s as a response to the anarchist violence playing out in the street. The weapon of choice was a cast iron ball with explosives inside that had to be lit with a fuse. Pla’s neighborhood of Barceloneta was a hotbed of activity, and her playful take on food and history has endured.

Bomba de Barcelona Madrid Food Tour

Renée claims the bomba at La Anxoveta is the best in the city – it’s like a glorified croqueta with potato and ground beef, sitting on a bed of spicy tomato sauce and topped with a garlicky alioli sauce. In short, perfect!

Almond pastry at Syrian bakery Príncipe

barcelona storefront

Our walk continued through Gràcia. This part of the city was once a separate village and home to holiday villas; with the industrial revolution, the city’s population surged, and L’Eixample was born. Gràcia was swallowed up by the city, but the barri is like a whole different city surrounded by a city, much like my Triana. 

Gràcia has also opened its arms to foreigners, both domestic and international, and the streets are lined with boutiques and restaurants, snack bars and pastry shops with international fare. Mustafa is one of Gràcia’s business owners, a Syrian national who came to Barcelona on holiday and decided to set up shop. He was a man who spoke very little on his visit, but I left wanted to give him a hug.

Baklava in Barcelona

Mustafa’s pastry shops is simple – it is clean, smells faintly of honey and offers only the Syrian pastries to patrons and to Middle Eastern restaurants around the city. We could choose one, and given how perfect each one of them looked, it wasn’t easy. I watched as the other four chose chocolate or honey confections, but I took a small one with almond. Growing up across the street from a Greek family, I’d loved baklava from a young age, and the almonds coated in honey and the flaky pastry layers had me back on Silverthorn Drive.

Vermouth at C’al Pepe with boquerones en vinagre

It’s almost inevitable – at 1pm on a Saturday, my body needs a cerveza. When Renée suggested going for a drink in the sun-drenched Plaza de la Virreina, I knew she’d take us somewhere great. Up the hill towards Gràcia, she confessed that finding C’al Pepe – or Joe’s House – was a totally lucky find. 

Vermout bar on Devour Barcelona Food Tour

Catherine and I were psyched – Joe’s Place is the de facto Old Man Bar of our college town – and C’al Pep did not disappoint. There was no bar, no menu, no other guiris in sight. Rafa had taken over from the original Pep and strove to maintain the bar’s ambience. It truly had the hallmarks of an old man bar: old vermouth posters hung on the walls, yellowing at the edges. Siphones and old Westerns on the TV. We even had the requisite Spanish abuelos at the end of our table.

Devour Barcelona food tour

We were served a glass of sweet vermouth with fuet sausage and pickled anchovies. Between the bar, the company and the snacks, I had fallen in love with Cal’s bar, Gràcia and perhaps even softened my hard feelings for Barcelona’s food scene. 

After one last dessert and a coffee, we did as the Spaniards did – lay down for a nap and let the food coma pass.

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Devour Spain food tours graciously let me chow down for free, but all opinions and calories consumed are my own! I also invited Catherine along as part of the Typical NonSpanish program with Caser Expat.

Have you ever eaten well in Barcelona? Check out my other recommendations for food and a chance to win an eBook from Eat Guides Barcelona!

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