Our Andalucian paradise

Foggy landscape. Photo © Karethe Linaae

They say that when it rains, it pours, and that can certainly apply to Spain. After several years of intense drought, all the precipitation we should have had during the last 12 months came in a single night or just a few hours. The tragedies and destruction, especially in Valencia, are unfathomable. As I write this, rescuers are still searching for the missing, while the cleanup and rebuilding will take years. So, what can we do? Light a candle, donate blankets, brooms, first aid kits and money, and be as prepared as possible for when (as it is no longer a question of if) tragedy strikes again.

Jailed seaweed art. Photo © Karethe Linaae
 

Whether we like it or not, November is here, and if you, like me, come from the north, you probably grew up hating it. As a youngster in Norway in the 1970s, we thought it was the most dreadful month of the year. It was dark and gloomy and cold and wet. The days fluctuated between snow, slush, freezing rain, deadly black ice and more snow. November was the month when nothing happened that was worth living for. Halloween was not yet 'invented' (If I recall right, it only came to Norway in the 1990s). Nobody had heard of Black Fridays and Cyber Mondays, and the decorations for December’s many festivities - Advent, Santa Lucia, Jul (Xmas) and New Year - were still in boxes in the attic. November was a month we wished we could skip over. The mere mention of it made us want to go to bed on the 1^st and hide under our down comforters until the 31^st, sleeping through the entire thing! 

Frozen leaves. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Now in the so-called autumn of my life, I see November in an entirely different light. It has been years since I looked forward to Christmas as such. Instead, I look forward to every day, especially fall days. Perhaps it comes from living in rural Andalucía where the sun rarely stops shining, but now I find myself longing for that special November mood.

Forest. Photo © Karethe Linaae

As I spend a few days in my native land, I cherish the foggy mornings, the mist-filled air, the sudden crescendo of the wind and the dancing leaves. A more subtle colour palette replaces the bright fall colours, showing barren trees against an ever-changing sky.

Sky. Photo © Karethe Linaae

I treasure the soft golden afternoon light, the threatening clouds and the surprisingly early hour of dusk. I delight in the iridescent green moss that suddenly appears among the soothing earth tones and grey hues of the latter year and the forgiving feel of walking on the leaf-covered ground, helping nature withstand another winter.

Fall ground cover. Photo © Karethe Linaae
 

Late fall brings a whole new understanding of the Scandinavian concept of cosiness. A warm blanket, flickering live candles, a steaming cup of hot tea, the smell of a wood-burning fire, comfort food in the oven, aged wine, woollen socks, nature walks dressed to the gills and simply being at home. That is, for those who are lucky enough to have a home, something one should never take for granted.

At home. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Global warming has changed the Novembers of my childhood, although it still offers gale-force winds, sleet and unimaginable whiteouts. These days, I value the so-called ‘bad’ weather of the season, whether I admire it from behind a windowpane or immerse myself in it. Barring recent weather tragedies, there is something cathartic about foul weather: high winds with feisty waves and seaweed slung far ashore, thunder and lightning, torrential downpours and drifting sheets of snow.

Calm before the storm. Photo © Karethe Linaae

In my latter life, I see the beauty of the fall season through different eyes and am thankful for all the November-ness that it brings. I hope this month won’t be remembered for all the suffering but as a November of solidarity, generosity and compassion.

Candle in the wind. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Organic olive oil tasting in the open air. Photo © Finca La Donaira

In Andalucía, we have almost unlimited possibilities to participate in wine tastings - in vineyards, bodegas, or even wine shops. One learns to distinguish between young and well-aged wine, understand the concept of terroir, know whether the wine comes from sweeter or drier grapes, and try to recognize the wide variety of flavours and aromas - from old wood to berries and roses. But what about Olive oil, another product for which the Andalucía region is at least as famous? How does one taste el oro líquido? ‘The liquid gold’ as it is called has as many aromas and flavour varieties, an equally long and fascinating history, and sommeliers who specialize in classifying olive oil. Let us therefore take a closer look at the quality assessment of this oil that has been produced for more than 6000 years and of which Spain produces more than any other country so that you can do your very own olive oil tasting.

The fruit

Olive. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Extra virgin olive oil is the highest quality olive oil and the products I refer to here. Olive oil is among the healthiest fats you can use, but in addition to the health benefits, the oil is delightful to taste.

There are more than a thousand olive tree varieties that grow on six of the world's seven continents. However, 85 % of all olive production comes from 139 species that are grown in 23 countries – with Spain in the top position. 90 % of the fruit from the trees is turned into olive oil, which gives opportunities for endless variations in taste, aroma, consistency, colour, and quality.

Century-old olive tree at LA Organic. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Olive oil made from a single variety is called monovarietal, while oils made of two or more varieties are called coupage. It is estimated that almost 1/3 of the world’s olive oil production comes from the variety called Picual. Arbequina is the second most common with around 10 % of the global production, while the third most common is Hojiblanca, and all these three species are of Spanish origin. Simultaneously, new varieties are created every year by crossing species to create so-called genetic improvements according to the taste preferences of today’s consumers. However, according to the specialists, no olive oil is ‘better’ than others, as the choice ultimately lies in the taste buds of the consumers. 

The most common olive variety is Picual from Spain. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Methods and parameters for olive oil classification are regulated by The International Olive Council (IOC). The quality and taste of the oil can depend on a variety of factors such as soil quality, the health of the tree, and the production process used, in addition to temperature, light, and hygiene conditions as well as packaging. During production, several issues can arise that can affect the quality of the oil. Therefore, when you open a Premium bottle of olive oil, remind yourself of the love and effort and the long and complicated process that has gone into creating a harmonious and well-balanced product.

Olive oil sommeliers
 

A selection olive oils. Photo © Karethe Linaae
 

While the demand for cooking oils and affordable olive oils has decreased recently due to the increases in the market price, the demand for exclusive extra virgin olive oil as well as the interest from consumers and professionals has grown tremendously in the last couple of decades. This has led to more competitions that award the best olive oils on the market and given more opportunities for consumers to learn more about the art and joy of olive oil tasting.

The French word Sommelier refers to a cellar master who specializes in all aspects of wine as well as the pairing of wine and food. An olive oil sommelier, on the other hand, is a specialist in identifying different types of olive oil, their flavour profiles, and their uses.

Some organic olive oil varieties. Photo © LA Organic

Each type of olive oil has its unique taste, smell, and texture. While a low-quality olive oil only tastes and smells like oil, a good olive oil should have the aroma and taste of fresh herbs and fruits, with a range of profiles from delicate to complex. Experts describe for example the Picual oil as "rural, with a perfect balance between bitterness and spice, and an echo of tomato plants, artichoke plants, beans, and olive leaves". Arbequina oil has a fruity aroma reminiscent of apple, banana, and pears, and is said to be sweeter and milder than other varieties. In contrast, the Hojiblanca oil is described as herbaceous, medium spicy, and not too bitter. It is precisely this complexity and the rich nuances in aroma, colour, and taste that make olive oil so unique and different from other vegetable oils.

Smell and taste sensations

The taste buds. Photo Karethe Linaae

The sense of smell is the most sensitive sense we have. It is stimulated by air molecules and volatile compounds that are transported to the nose, mouth, and finally to the brain. Olive oil aroma is the result of complex mixtures of volatile compounds that vary according to the quality of the oil. Contrary to what one might think, a high-quality oil will have a simpler profile than a low-quality oil that will present more volatile compounds that create unpleasant aromas from enzymatic and chemical treatments.

Four basic tastes are normally recognized in our Western culture: sweet, sour, salty, bitter, and umami (meaty flavour). Sweetness, which is perceived in the first second and disappears within ten seconds, is felt on the tip of the tongue - all you need is to moisten the tip of the tongue in the oil. A sour taste is perceived along the sides and back of the tongue, salt is perceived along the sides, but not on the surface of the tongue, and bitterness is felt at the back of the tongue and lasts the longest. Spiciness is not a taste stimulus as such, but the sensation can be experienced throughout the oral cavity and is most noticeable in the throat (as with spicy food). Bitterness and spiciness are otherwise considered positive qualities in a good olive oil.

Although the subjectivity of human sensory analysis is greater than when using technical systems, it is currently the only authorized way to classify olive oil. The analysis is done by certified taste panels that assess appearance, smell, taste, tactile, and kinesthetic elements that are identified on a scale from pleasant to unpleasant.

Going to an olive oil-tasting

Sign to LA Organic. Photo © Karethe Linaae

 

Many large and medium-sized olive oil producers in Andalucía offer olive tasting for groups or individuals. The easiest thing is to Google cata degustación de aceites de oliva in the area where you wish to try the oil. In the province of Málaga, we have partaken in fabulous olive oil tasting in the open air at the exclusive organic resort La Donaira outside the mountain village of Montecorto.

Olive oil tasting in the open air. Photo © Finca La Donaira

If one is a family, a group of friends, or a slightly larger group, I would however recommend the experimental organic olive growing facilities LA Organic outside Ronda. When we were there recently, we were shown a short video about olive cultivation before our guide Andrés took us on an hour stroll around the vast grounds as he explained the process, surrounded by centuries-old olive trees, fragrant herbs, and artwork by Philippe Starck. The tour ended back in the reception hall with a tasting of their organic olive oils. Here you learn to distinguish between a so-called mild olive oil (Coupage of 80% Arbequina, plus Picual and Hojibanca) and an intense oil (100% Picudo). The latter oil was awarded as the world's best organic extra virgin olive oil in 2015 and has been one of the top five in the world ever since. The tasting starts with trying the oils for yourself and ends by dipping bread into the liquid gold, possibly with a splash of vinegar made from Pedro ximénez sherry. Simply heavenly!

Olive oil tasting. Photo © LA Organic

Try it yourself!

Even if you are not an expert, you can try at home with two or three types of quality olive oil. To experience the true taste of the oil, this is done without other food.

The first sense you use is your eyes. Note the colour and consistency of the oil as you pour it from the bottle. (Since quality olive oil should never be stored on clear glass or in plastic, one should not be able to see the oil until it comes out of the bottle). The olive oil can be golden, a sunny yellow colour, or a greenish shade if it is a fresher and/or unfiltered oil.

Pour 1-2 tbsp. oil in a small glass cup/bowl. Professionals most often use cobalt blue glass with a glass lid, but you can also use a small stemless wine glass.

Observe the oil's colour and consistency. Photo © LA Organic

Cover the top of the glass (a cardboard coaster is perfect) and let it sit in your hand, so the oil warms up naturally until you're ready to smell it. The ideal temperature for tasting olive oil is 28 degrees. 

Swirl the oil gently in the glass to release the aromas. You can smell an intense oil from a greater distance than a mild one. Experiment with bringing the glass further away from and then closer to your nose. Place the tip of your nose near the edge of the glass and inhale deeply. What aromas do you detect?

Taste the oil first by touching it with the tip of your tongue. What are the sensations? Take a sip the size of a tablespoon. Slurp (like tasting a fine wine) to emulsify the oil and disperse it in the mouth, as this helps to release the flavours. What are the taste sensations you get? Is the aroma pleasant, mild, strong, or somewhere in between?

Swallow slowly. Do you feel bitterness on the back of your tongue, and if so, how intense is it? Is the oil bitter or spicy, so that you feel it in your throat when you swallow?

Taste one oil at a time and follow the same process: eyes, nose, lips, tongue, oral cavity, and throat. A milder oil is more suitable for cooking salads and can be combined perfectly with vinegar, while an intense oil is like a mature whisky that you take out for special occasions.

Olive oil with bread - simply a delicacy. Photo © Karethe Linaae

In the same way that wine connoisseurs use all the words in the world to describe a wine, olive oil connoisseurs might describe the aroma and flavour of olive oil with words such as tomato plant, artichoke plant, cinnamon, eucalyptus, grass, green fruit, almond, banana, tea, mint, pine, butter, flowers, nuts, ripe fruit, black pepper, cherry, citrus, hay, and wood.

Personally, I have a hard time describing wine as an old tobacco pouch or olive oil as a green banana, but if I close my eyes and take in the aromas and flavours, I can almost imagine myself lying in a meadow of wildflowers while long straws sway their heads in the breeze on a sunny Andalusian early summer day.

Try it yourself and see where the taste experience brings you!

Olive trees. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Parasol. Photo © Karethe Linaae

It is not only the Spanish real estate market that was competitive this summer. It also applies to every square meter of sandy beach on Costa del Sol and other parts of the Spanish coastline. Unlike the real estate market, however, public beach spaces are not for sale but intended for general use. This means that if you want to find a space to lay down your towel, you must get to the beach as early as possible. For this reason, some beachgoers will try to ‘reserve’ a space for later by leaving for instance their parasol, something local police have been trying to combat. Welcome to the Big Parasol War of 2024!

The early bird gets the worm

The early bird gets the worm. Photo © Karethe Linaae

The beach race happens every summer when bathers compete against sun lovers in the battle to get the best spot in the sand. Some head down to the beach just after sunrise with a deck chair or an umbrella, so they can place their item and hold the spot with the optimal tanning potential and the fairest ocean views. Of course, they do not want to sit there moping all alone in the early morning hours, so they go home to eat breakfast, shop, or do chores. Only when the sun is high in the sky do they stroll back to settle down on their 'reserved' piece of beach real estate.

But when they get to the playa which is now overcrowded with people, they discover that their stuff is gone. Is it stolen? they perhaps ask themselves. Some other beachgoers might inform them (slightly maliciously ...) that the police were there to remove their abandoned belongings. Our indignant beachgoer who hijacked the spot in the early morning has not only lost his or her reserved space but must collect their belongings from a police warehouse. And on top of it all, they will have to pay a fine.

Reserving beach spaces for later has always happened and is as common as when people grab a seat at the cinema and then go back out to the long popcorn queue. The only problem is that with today's mass tourism and overcrowded beaches, there is no longer room for everyone - at least not enough room for everyone to reserve a place and then go for lunch for several hours while, in their absence, their towel serves as a placeholder for their valuables seat in the sand.

Since this type of possessiveness is getting worse, local police in certain towns have started to remove towels, parasols, and other possessions that are left for hours. This summer, La Guerra de las Sombrillas (The Parasol War) caused several municipalities on the Costa del Sol to create regulations prohibiting 'space reservation' on public beaches. In 2015, Algarrobo was the first Málaga-municipality to introduce a ban on this unwanted practice, and several other Costa del Sol municipalities have also joined the crusade.

Municipalities take action

Swimming beauty. Photo © Karethe Linaae

One coastal municipality has introduced fines of up to 300 euros for beachgoers who reserve a space and then disappear for several hours. According to the town hall, sanctions have been implemented by the local police to eliminate this "uncivilized behavior", which otherwise is classified as a minor offense. What the municipality tries to discourage is particularly users who arrive at the beach at 07.00 in the morning and reserve a front-row ocean spot and then do not show up to use it until late in the afternoon. The town hall’s reasoning is simple - they want both locals and visitors to enjoy their beaches without having abandoned chairs, umbrellas, and tables in front of them for hours.

The regulations do not mean that beachgoers cannot go and buy food at a chiringuito, go for a walk, or take a dip in the sea without being fined. Allegedly, the police officers always ensure that the space has been empty for several hours before they remove abandoned property. They also usually leave a message for the owners about where they can pick up their confiscated beach gear and take pictures of the belongings before removing them.

The regulations specify that the seized objects will be stored for a maximum of fourteen days before they are destroyed (one coastal municipality is now considering whether unclaimed objects can be donated to charity instead of being discarded). The fine, which must be paid before the fortnight deadline, is a minimum of 30 euros. According to coastal media, the local population has applauded the measure, as many cannot believe that there are people who want to exploit a public sanctuary in such a manner.

Other antisocial beach practices:

The squatters

My interpretation of Miro - space invasion. Photo © Karethe Linaae

It is not only the Space Hoggers who create a bad atmosphere on Costa del Sol's beaches. Just take what I call the Squatters. These are the families that come with the entire clan, from great-grandmothers to the youngest grandchild. The tribe carries with them seemingly all their earthly belongings, which may or may not include: chairs, tables, coolers the size of small sarcophagi, tents and tarps for extra shade, a playpen, pram, and Ikea baby tent, giant inflatable toys, swimming rings and swimming wings, frisbees, footballs and beachballs, chess boards and surfboards, sun hats, sunscreens, and change of bathing suits, plastic buckets, shovels and ready-made plastic beach castles, sun spray, mosquito spray, and jellyfish spray as well as a manly barbecue and enough food to feed a small army. In extreme cases, they will also bring with them a party tent (estimated 30 m2) which they install, walls and all, though I must admit that I have only observed this once. It should also be added that the squatters rarely leave their siege site at the same time. There is always a distant cousin who stands guard while the rest go home to shower and come back in the early evening.

The space invaders

Feet in the sand. Photo © Karethe Linaae

The space invader is yet again a type that is not only known to frequent beaches but all public spaces, such as park benches. Let's say you get down to the water early. There is plenty of room so you can lie down to enjoy the beach in near solitary bliss. Life is good. Then you hear voices and see a couple beelining straight towards you. They have the entire beach to choose from and plenty of open space, yet they choose to lay their stuff right next to your peaceful paradise. It does not help to hint that there is a lot of space to choose from. Neither will you alter their plan of action if you suggest that perhaps they could move a little further away. It's not because they want to be near you. They just want the exact spot you are in, and nothing can make them change their mind.

Both the squatters and the space invaders are not breaking any laws as such, just social customs and common courtesy. But many other beach activities are illegal, especially commercial ones. This applies for example to the sale of towels and sunglasses on the beach, unregistered rental of beach umbrellas to tourists, uncontrolled sales of food and drink (like the people who go around selling Mai Tais from coolers without any kind of hygiene control), and perhaps the most unpalatable of all - people walking around in the heat offering 'professional' beach massages without any health precautions. In addition, certain prohibitions apply to the activities performed by the beachgoers themselves, such as playing loud music, peeing in the water (how in heaven’s name they can patrol that, I have no idea!), and, as mentioned above, space reservations.

With tens of thousands of people on the Costa del Sol's beaches on a busy summer day, there is no wonder local authorities have chosen to crack down on illegal activities. But not all see banning space reservations in the same red light. The topic became one of the summer's favorite themes on social media where both supporters and opponents posted their photos and videos, often with thousands of comments. A certain TikToker complained that the police actions were excessive and far too controlling compared to what is being done to other lawbreakers. Does it make sense, they asked, that the police can remove the belongings of beachgoers who may be spending an extra-long lunch at a chiringuito nearby, while people who occupy somebody else’s house for months and years are protected by Spanish law?

They got a point there ...

Place saver. Photo © Karethe Linaae

A collection of fans, not made in Spain. Photo © Karethe Linaae

You see them everywhere. Most Spanish shopping streets are filled with tacky souvenir stores. They have walls covered with fans, miles of Spanish-inspired ceramics, figurines of bullfighters and Flamenco dancers, trays with Alhambra patterns, coffee cups and eyeglass cases with reproductions of Picasso’s art, aprons and dish towels with Velasquez’s Las Meninas, castanets in wood and plastic with or without ‘painted’ flower decorations, and even so-called Flamenco dresses. And what does this merchandise have in common? Almost 99 % are made in PRC, meaning that virtually all the ‘Spanish’ souvenirs that tourists bring home from their trip are made in factories in the People’s Republic of China (who started using the alias PRC after Made in China became the universal badge of poor quality).

T-shirt with Flamenco dancer. Photo © Karethe Linaae

When we first visited our present hometown, Ronda, twelve years ago, there were fewer souvenir stores than now. The ones that did exist, had at least a couple of crates with hand-painted antique tiles, a few shelves with an unrefined type of local pottery made in La Serranía, and salad utensils of olive wood that likely were Spanish-made. But almost all of that is gone now. The last gift store that sold genuine Spanish fans disappeared during the Pandemic. Now, virtually all the fans sold in our town are produced in Asia, although the costliest ones claim to be Designed in Spain.

This morning, I stopped by a dozen souvenir stores in town to investigate if anything in their stock was original and Spanish-made. Unfortunately, they are now almost exclusively franchises and chain stores. All have the same mass-produced stock that one will find in their stores in Granada, Sevilla or Barcelona. Only the town name printed on the cup with a bullfighter is altered. Every piece I checked, was made in China, except for some slightly more exclusive-looking ceramics without a label that certainly didn’t appear to be hand-painted.

Bulls abound. Photo © Karethe Linaae

The one item I found that claimed not only to be Designed but Made in Spain, was the classical postcard with a dancing señorita in a real fabric skirt that can be lifted. These are allegedly still made in the Canary Islands, and although they aren’t as nicely embroidered as when I was a child, at least they are Spanish!

The classic Spanish tourist card. Photo © Karethe Linaae

According to El Mercado Global, Spain’s ten most frequently sold souvenirs are postcards, keychains, fridge magnets, fans, T-shirts, castanets, ‘fine China’ thimbles, decorative small plates, Flamenco dresses, and fashion jewellery. And most of these will be cheap and cheery, and almost guaranteed Hecho en PRC.

A genuine Málaga trinket – fridge magnet with live cactus. Photo © Karethe Linaae
 

If one wishes to invest in a real abanico (fan) made from pear wood with hand-painted silk, it will take one back at least €100. Flamenco dresses, which should be bought in speciality shops, will cost several hundred euros even for a child costume. But these are far from the synthetic junk they sell in the tourist shops. Regretfully, it doesn’t pay for the Spanish to make things by hand any longer – as who will buy a pair of hand-cut castanets in rosewood for €200 if they can buy one in plastic for €4,99? Understandably, not all visitors can or wish to allow themselves the real thing, but it is tragic that most tourists come home from Spain with ‘Spanish’ souvenirs that are far from Spanish.

Made in China. Photo © Karethe Linaae

So, where does one find Spanish souvenirs? One has a greater chance if one goes to an old-fashioned gift store or perhaps a specialty vendor, like a Mercería (Haberdashery) that sells ribbons and sewing supplies or a Zapatería selling riding saddles and other leather goods. Museum stores will often have souvenirs of better quality, but also here one risks buying something that is produced in Asia.

If one wishes to bring home a genuine reminder of the trip, perhaps one’s best bet is to buy something consumable, like local jamón ibérico, a local wild crafted honey, a good quality wine with a DO stamp (Denominacíon de Origen) or a premium extra virgin olive oil from the district one is visiting. At least then one can enjoy the souvenir at home, knowing it is indeed Hecho en España.

Locally produced wine. Photo © Karethe Linaae

View towards the Paris-inspired Triana bridge from 1852. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Most people who visit Seville admire the cathedral and the Giralda tower, stroll around the narrow alleys of La Judería, and perhaps peek into the Alcázar fort. The rest of the time is usually reserved for tapas and shopping. There are many lovely ways to experience the Andalusian capital but the most unforgettable is perhaps the least common. Only very few visitors will see the city from within the Guadalquivir River- the city’s essential artery and the reason that Seville was established on this flat and rather barren land in the first place. So why not combine sightseeing with a bit of exercise and rent a kayak to explore the historic city?
 

Kayak rental by the riverbank  

Starting by the floating dock. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Ever since I read about the Viking’s conquest of the city (that time called Išbīliya) in the year 844, I have always wanted to see Seville from the river. Preferably with a Viking ship, but let’s be realistic here… That particularly bloody story will have to wait until I can arrange a meeting with the town archaeologist and dig a bit more. In the meantime, let us rent a kayak for a 2.5-hour guided tour of Guadalquivir, straight through Seville’s city centre.

Several companies offer kayak rentals along the river, and we went with Naturanda, a company that arranges guided kayak trips all around the country. I cannot guarantee they are the best alternative. Still, their kayaks are conveniently located at Seville’s rowing club in the town centre with several parking lots only a few minutes’ walk away. The club also has showers and lockers (remember to bring a lock), and a small café selling water bottles.

We arrive early (the Scandinavian curse …) and find neither our guide nor a representative from the company. But a couple of minutes past the starting time, our friendly local guide saunters in. Alejandro is a fourth-year medical student and a native sevillano who is very proud of his city. We speak Spanish together, though he also speaks quite well English and French. While waiting for the last four paddlers to join us, we do some stretching, put on life jackets (compulsory) and bring the kayaks down to the floating dock where we will soon set off. We decided on a double kayak so that I would have a chance to take photos. The hull is of the heavy plastic type that one sits right on top of, without a keel or spray skirt. They are nothing like the fast, responsive river or sea kayaks, but on the other hand, they are almost impossible to flip (handy for the photographer). Therefore, it is considered a perfectly safe and fun family activity.   

Since the rest of the group hasn’t shown up yet, we paddle around on our own, checking out life along the riverbank, which includes beautiful flowering bushes, pampas grass, dragonflies and many species of birds. There are also people fishing by the river, although the water pollution has been proven to pose a risk to the local flora and fauna.

While we are waiting anyhow, why don’t we take a trip back in history to learn a bit more about the river?

Looking back

Perhaps it looked like this in the 17^th Century? Photo © Karethe Linaae

The name Guadalquivir comes from the Arabic al-wādī l-kabīr meaning Mighty River. And it is rather mighty with its 657 kilometres from its source in Sierra de Cazorla in Jaén, through the provinces of Córdoba and Seville, until it flows into the Atlantic Ocean by Sanlúcar de Barrameda in the Bay of Cádiz. Today it is Spain’s only navigable river that still brings large ships to Sevilla, though in Roman times, one could sail even further - as far as Córdoba.

Guadalquivir played an important role in Seville’s history. The city fought sieges and conquering armies that came up the river through the millennia. First, the Phoenicians, then the Carthaginians. Later, from 205 B.C., the Romans exported minerals, salt and fish from Seville (Hispalis) to Rome. Under the Arab rule (712 to 1248) the Moors built a large anchorage and watchtowers to strengthen the city’s defence. This was also one of the places where they had enormous chains submerged under the water, which they could tighten to destroy enemy ships. So, this is one of the ways they stopped the Vikings’ other attempts at reconquering the city.


Torre de Oro with riverboats in the background. Photo © Karethe Linaae


In the 15^th Century, the city’s shipyard was expanded with the exports of grains, oil, wine, leather, cheese, fish, metal as well as silk to the rest of Europe. With the discovery of the Americas, Seville became Spain’s economic trading centre, a trade monopoly they later lost to Cádiz. Yet today, almost 3000 years after the first exports started from this port, cargo ships and smaller cruise ships can still sail 90 kilometres into the mainland to reach Seville.

Life on the water

River paddling with the entire family. Photo © Karethe Linaae
 

The others in our group are two mothers from Paris with their young daughters. The children are ever so keen and have no problem following us, even if we are not the only ones on the river today. In addition to a couple of smaller river cruises that take passengers around, we encounter rowers in single scullers to eight-man boats as well as other kayakers and paddleboarders with and without instructors.

Lots of activities on the river. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Since the river barely has a current in this section (which is an artificial branch) and largely due to the hot climate, Seville has become a training ground for national and international paddling and rowing teams, especially in the winter months. The river also has a two-kilometre-long international regatta course. But for us who are a little less proficient, this river section is like a calm waveless lagoon.

Going under the Cachorro bridge. Photo © Karethe Linaae
 

Our group of seven follows the left bank, keeping a distance from the rowers who speed by. First, we pass the Cartuja pedestrian bridge and the Cachorro bride which is covered in graffiti, before arriving at the oldest bridge - Puente de Triana from 1852.

The interesting thing about these bridges is that although Córdoba had a bridge already in Roman times, Seville didn’t have a proper bridge crossing the Guadalquivir until the 1800s. Apparently, for several centuries the town was only connected with so-called ‘boat bridges’, consisting of a dozen boats chained together and covered with planks that led pedestrians, animals and horse carriages across the river. This is one of those times when I wish I could time-travel!  

The Triana bridge as I imagine it looked like in the 1800s. Photo © Karethe Linaae

The bridge that leads to the charming Triana neighbourhood, was designed by two French engineers and inspired by the original Pont du Carrousel in Paris. From here, we can see a copy of one of the ships that Columbus sailed to the Americas. Behind is the ‘gold’ watchtower Torre de Oro whose construction began in 1220. The name does not refer to the presence of real gold in the tower, but rather the tower’s golden reflections in the river explains Alejandro. We pass under the San Telmo bridge with a nearby palace of the same name and continue to Puente de los Remedios, from where we can admire the magnificent María Luisa Park and even a regatta in the distance.  

Regatta ion the river. Photo © Karethe Linaae

This is our turning point, and we return by paddling along the other riverbank. Alejandro informs us that what we see on our left is Seville’s most exclusive residential street, Calle Betis. The street doesn’t have the city’s largest nor the most luxurious homes, but the view of the river makes it unique, and thus the most desirable and expensive. Everybody in the group pick our favourite house with a roof terrace overlooking the river.

Alejandro with Calle Betis. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Paddling along the Triana neighbourhood once again, Alejandro points to a church. This is where his brotherhood departs from every Semana Santa with several hundred nazarenos to carry the religious statues across the bridge. Next, we pass the site for the 1992 World’s Fair, which has been abandoned ever since. Clearly this isn’t the Costa del Sol. Otherwise, property investors would have taken it over ages ago!

Safely back at the rowing club, both young and old agree that we have had a couple of fascinating hours. Kayaking the Guadalquivir is a safe, fun and unique way to experience Sevilla from a new vantage point. And, speaking for myself, it is almost as if I feel a bit more local after learning some of the city’s many secrets – by water.

Guadalquivir in all its glory. Photo © Karethe Linaae

The new trail seen from the Puente Nuevo bridge. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Millions of people have seen Ronda from the bridge that has become one of the symbols of Andalucía – immortalised in Hollywood films, international TV commercials and of course, a billion selfies. But now, you too can have a chance to see the mountain town from below. So, stroll down into the bottom of Ronda’s deep El Tajo-gorge on the newly opened Desfiladero del Tajo.

1,8 million tourists visited Ronda in 2023. I can guarantee that everyone took the compulsory walk in a constant queue of people across the Puente Nuevo bridge. But only a tiny fraction of the visitors dared (and took time to) take the trail that led down and beneath the iconic bridge. However, the so-called Ciudad Soñada (Dream City) now has a new official walking trail, El Desfiladero del Tajo, that brings visitors safely and comfortably into the depths of Ronda to see this cliff town from a whole other angle.  

A bit of history

Ronda from below. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Rondas Tajo is a 100-meter deep and 70-meter wide sandstone and limestone gorge that the river Guadalevín created through the millennia. Gradually, erosion of the soft rock shaped the unique rock formations– not only in Spain but perhaps in the world. The river is the main architect for this masterpiece which was declared an Andalusian natural monument in 2019.

The construction of today’s Puente Nuevo (the New Bridge) started in 1751 when the first bridge collapsed after a few years. The bridge which was the most costly in the world at the time, was completed in 1793, only a couple of years after Ronda’s equally famous Plaza de Toros. With its 98-meter height, Puente Nuevo was also the world’s highest bridge until 1839, when a bridge in Caille, France took over the honour.

The original trail into Ronda’s gorge. Photo © Karethe Linaae

The original path was dug into the porous cliff face in the 18th Century to bring the construction workers and materials down to the bridge foundations. For years, locals and tourists have snuck down the narrow unprotected path, but after several accidents and years of applications and red tape, Ronda finally got the approval and could reopen the trail - this time extended with a safe wide stone staircase with handrails on both sides.

Safe path with a spectacular view. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Of course, purists, nature lovers and those who used to climb down there will prefer the old, modest natural trail. The chain-link fence could admittedly have been replaced with something more pleasing to the eye (and less prison fence-like). But at least it is safe, and overall, one has to say that they have done a fairly decent job.

Now it’s your turn

Desfiladero del Tajo, first part. Photo © Karethe Linaae
 

Prepare yourself for an unforgettable experience right in the heart of Ronda. The journey starts from the Plaza María Auxiliadora in the historic part of town. From here, wide stairs lead down to la Casa de Manolillo, the ruin that has been restored and serves as a visitor’s centre with impressive viewpoints with benches and a first-class view of the bridge. This is where one shows one’s ticket (which ought to be purchased in advance online – see box). Though this may be perceived as an overkill, one also gets provided with a compulsory helmet and hair net. Presently, the local authorities only allow 30 paying visitors at a time and one has an hour to walk down and up the path to take photos and admire the view, so there should be ample time and enough space for everyone.

The new path. Photo © Karethe Linaae

On the 250-metre-long path that ends at the bridge’s foundation, one can get to know the town’s history by scanning the QR codes attached to the fence. One can say that Ronda lived off the Tajo gorge, which at one point had thirteen mills along the slope and five mills down in the alley below, some in use until the 1950s. As part of the restoration, the municipality has also cleared trees and foliage around the old mill ruins to make them more visible.

“I don’t like to compare el Desfiladero del Tajo with any other trails, as it is unique”, says Ronda’s historian and chronicler, Faustino Peralta. “This is a historical, geological, monumental, enological and patrimonial path with many characteristics that other paths do not have.”

Path with view out towards Ronda’s green valley. Photo © Karethe Linaae
 

Today the path ends in the bottom of El Tajo, where the bridge and the intensely blue sky are revealed above one’s head. Then, one must return to the starting point. However, this is just the first part of el Desfiladero del Tajo. In a couple of years, visitors will be able to walk on a suspended footpath above the river surface following along under Ronda’s three historical bridges: The new bridge from 1793, Puente Viejo (the Old Bridge) from 1616 and El Puente Romano, the oldest bridge with is said to have both Roman and Arab origins.

In the meantime, el Desfiladero del Tajo is a new, safe and fun activity for visiting families and people of almost any age. Remember to book your tickets online as soon as possible, because just on the first day the website was open, they sold 600 tickets.

For more information: https://desfiladerodeltajo.info/

Ronda with Puente Nuevo. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Dusty landscape. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Did you know Morocco was the first country to build a high-speed railway system on the African continent? After the railway line opened in 2018, one can now take a train from Tangier in the north to Casablanca on the Atlantic coast in a couple of hours, something that lasted almost five hours in the past. Not that one should rush when one travels by train, as there is no better way to see the world.

Street art, Tangier. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Morocco is a perfect travel destination for those who live in Spain. If one wants to experience something unique, it’s a different world. To my husband and me, trains are a great way to visit any country, so we head across the Strait of Gibraltar to check out the Moroccan national railway system, ONCF (Office National de Chemins de Fer).

Arriving in Tangier by ferry. Photo © Karethe Linaae

After a brief hour on a hydrofoil from the Andalusian surf town of Tarifa, we arrive in Tangier – now Morocco’s fourth largest city with just short of a million inhabitants. From here, there are high-speed trains to the capital, Rabat and on to Casablanca (which in global context still is best known due to the 1942 film by the same name). From this express line, conventional slower trains branch off to the inland cities of Fez, Meknes and Marrakech, the latter, our southernmost point on this journey.

Map with train lines. Express line in purple. Photo © Karethe Linaae

The Express from Tangier to Rabat
 

Africa’s first and fastest high-speed train, Al Boraq. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Trains from Tangier leave from the airy, modern Tanger Ville station, which features shops, cafes, a garden, and separate waiting lounges for first and second-class passengers. The station and platforms are much cleaner than in most Spanish towns and this seems to be the case at all the other stations we visit.  

The beautiful train station Rabat Ville. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Only 323 km of Morocco’s 4225 km of railway lines are configured for high-speed trains, but the plan is to expand these to connect the rest of the country. Recently ONCF issued a tender to expand its high-speed train to Marrakesh, though we won’t be able to enjoy this ride until at least 2027. What’s the rush ...

Morocco. Photo © Karethe Linaae

The Al Boraq trains are Morocco’s first high-speed railway and Africa’s fastest (max speed 320 km/h). The futuristic locomotives may resemble the French TGV trains because they are built by the same company and have similar comforts. It is wise to pre-order tickets online, as these trains, which are fast, clean, comfortable as well as punctual and reasonable compared to Europe, sell out easily. The only drawback that should be mentioned is that they do not have WIFI onboard, but at least there are plugs to charge mobile phones by the seats.

It is not only me who has to work on the train … Photo © Karethe Linaae

After a night in Tangier, our initial ride is with a two-storey high-speed train from Tangier to Rabat. The first-class ticket costs about 30 euros one way, which is quite reasonable for a 235-km journey in ultimate comfort. There are departures every hour, and we chose to leave at 11.00 allowing time for a café au lait and a walk around town before we board.

Doorway. Photo © Karethe Linaae

One can also take a night train with a couchette where one departs Tangier at night and arrives in Marrakesh the next morning. We prefer to travel in the daytime but assume that the quality and services are equally good at night. 

By mistake, we seat ourselves in a second-class car which seems quite all right, but the ticket inspector immediately refers us to the first-class carriage a little further ahead. This has two rows of ultra-wide comfortable velvet-covered seats that resemble a small sofa. The trains also have a cafeteria car, although the selection is not exactly a gastronomic experience. The seats feature large, extendable tables with plenty of space for a laptop, but I must admit that I mostly end up sitting and staring at the lush landscape as we speed south.

We arrive at Rabat’s Casa Voyageurs station one hour and 20 minutes later and have just over fifteen minutes to change trains. This proposes no problem as it happens to be on the same platform. From here, the journey continues by conventional train to Marrakech.

Traditional train – Rabat to Marrakech

Rabat-Marrakech. Photo © Karethe Linaae

The slower Al Atlas trains are the most popular means of transportation for the locals, so this part of the journey is a lively and social experience. Therefore, advance purchasing of tickets is also vital. The distance between Rabat and Marrakech is 334 km, and the journey lasts at least 3,5 hours. This segment also costs about 30 euros one way in first class, and even if the tickets are double the price of second class, it is well worth the extra dirhams.

Rabat station. Photo © Karethe Linaae

There is a crush of people on the platform, but this time we find the right compartment on our first try. The Al Atlas trains have a corridor on one side and are divided into smaller, classic train compartments on the other, something we have not experienced since travelling in India. The first-class compartments have seats covered in worn velvet with space for six passengers. Otherwise, there is only space for luggage on the shelf above the seats, so the passengers end up leaving their luggage in the narrow corridors. Eventually, the poor man with the snack trolly can barely squeeze past the huge Japanese-sized suitcases.

Snack cart. Photo © Karethe Linaae

From what I detect the second class has plastic-covered seats, more people in the same compartment and corridors filled with people. At least we are lucky that our WC has toilet paper, a seat, and a small wash basin (even if the door won’t close and potential fare dodgers use it as their smoking lounge…) From what I have read, the loo in the second-class cars still has the classic hole in the floor, but even with this article in mind, I have no further desire to confirm this.

As soon as we sit down, a couple of American travellers enter and insist that we sit in their seats (again something we only have experienced on Indian trains). Upon further investigation, it turns out that their tickets were for the day prior. This leads to a lively debate, especially when someone in our compartment informs them that the fine for an invalid ticket is 120 euros - per person. The couple decide against hiding in the toilet (like it happens in the movies) and depart at the first station to buy new tickets before receiving a hefty fine.

Ticket controller. Photo © Karethe Linaae

We have barely sat a couple of minutes when a gentleman comes in and gesticulates in a mixture of Arabic and French that my seat belongs to him. This time he is completely right. I explain that the reason why I am sitting in his seat is because the lady across from me is sitting in mine. The friendly man agrees to find a free seat in another compartment, and all is peaceful until the ticket controller comes and thus continues the eternal Game of Thrones.

Ticket controller, Al Atlas. Photo © Karethe Linaae
 

We do not have a worktable in front of us on this train. However, there is ample entertainment with the virtual United Nations sharing the compartment with us. Our travel mates are from Morocco, France, Romania, and Australia, while we represent Mexico and Norway.

Our travel mates. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Whereas the countryside between Tangier and Rabat is green, hilly, and agricultural, the journey inland is more desert-like. Between a handful of stops in some smaller towns, we pass a sand-coloured landscape with an occasional bush, houses and huts in pink, orange and camel-colour, a dusty herd of goats and most of all, sand.

Al Atlas train to Marrakech. Photo © Karethe Linaae

When we approach Marrakesh, the terrain starts to undulate a bit more. The Atlas Mountains tempt further explorations. Perhaps next time ... The trip from Tangier to Marrakesh took just over five hours, but the time flew by, far too quickly given that the entire journey was like a geographical and cultural study.

Changing society. Photo © Karethe Linaae

At the station, Muhammed (with a sign with our names printed on it) awaits to chauffeur us to our Riad – the typical Moroccan guesthouses that now often operate as boutique hotels, often with only a handful of rooms. We have a few days here and a couple in Rabat before we take the same train ride in reverse to Tangier and the ferry back to Spain. But we will certainly be back for other adventures.

Peek view. Photo © Karethe Linaae

While the lively traditional trains are an experience I wouldn’t be without, the high-speed trains of Morocco can compete with the express trains of any European country. The best thing about this type of travel is that one doesn’t need to sit cramped into an aeroplane seat, worry about getting lost while driving, or find free parking in yet another unfamiliar city.

Motor stop, Marrakech. Photo © Karethe Linaae

At the same time, one can feel good about choosing the most sustainable public transport method available.  

Happy trails!

Roof terrace, Tangier. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Ronda's cheery cobblers, Jaime, Miguel and Ismael Becerra. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Is it only me, or have you also noticed that everything lasts a shorter and shorter time? Be it mobiles that are virtually useless after a couple of years, computers that refuse to update, self-parking cars that go wild, or clothes and shoes that barely last a season - it looks like the disposable culture that we should have put behind us a long time ago, is here to stay. For this reason, I was glad to discover that some trades that have disappeared in many other countries, still prosper here in Spain.

Take their friendly shoemakers …

Jaime fixing a pair of boots with a smile. Photo © Karethe Linaae

When we lived in Vancouver, British Columbia, our Chinese shoemaker made it very clear that my French leather boots were long past their prime and impossible to fix. However, since these were my favourite boots of all time, I still brought them with me when we moved to Spain. And here in our small mountain town, the shoemaker took them in with no reservations whatsoever. He added a new sole, stitched them up, and polished them so that they lasted for another three winters, all for the price of four pairs of shoelaces!

Shoeforms. Photo © Karethe Linaae
 

Cobblers or zapateros in Spanish is one of the oldest professions in the world. It is also a dying trade and a disappearing art in many Western countries, where we have become accustomed to buying a new item when something falls apart. It is increasingly more difficult to find someone capable of - and willing to - fix something as ‘degradable’ as used footwear. But at least here, the cobbler trade is well-regarded. Although Ronda has barely 34,000 inhabitants, there are three Zapateros that I know of in our town, and all run an industrious business with a bit of bag repair and belt sales on the side.

Sign. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Everything can be fixed

Our shoemaker, Zapatería Becerra, is a family business started by Miguel Becerra Aguilar (63) 40 years ago, and judging by the row of waiting customers, he won’t be retiring any time soon. The business has only increased, and his sons Jaime (42) and Ismael (34) started working with him after they finished senior high school. Today they have children of their own, and while both express hopes that their offspring will study instead of joining the family firm, they assure me that they enjoy their work. The only drawback is that they never have a single moment to sit down.

Ismael fixing a hiking boot. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Every time I have been to the Zapatería, including a couple of times I came by to interview them in their two-second break between clients, there has been a line-up. People bring old shoes, boots, sandals, stilettoes or slippers that need fixing, dyeing, and polishing, brand new shoes that need expanding, belts and watch straps needing extra holes or a new buckle and handbags, backpacks, suitcases and jackets with broken zippers or lacking Snap-on buttons, not to mention keys to be copied. The Becerra boys can fix virtually anything!

Using stitching machine from 1865. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Just for the last task, they have a row of seven machines that represent the technical evolution of key-copying from the middle of the last Century. The most valued antique in the shop is a curious sewing machine from 1865, and the oldest key-cutting machine with a very cool built-in lamp was the first that Miguel invested in when he opened the shop in 1984, and although he has the latest in laser cutting technology, it is still his preferred tool for the task.

Miguel makes keys with the oldest and most dependable of his seven machines. Photo © Karethe Linaae

From baker to shoemaker  

Miguel started working as a baker in the family’s bakery in the 1970s when he was a teenager. The Panadería which today is run by his cousin, is still so famous for its bread that the waiting customers spill onto the sidewalk. But Miguel didn’t enjoy working through the night as most bakers do and decided to become a shoemaker instead. He knew nothing about the trade and had no equipment, but gradually he learned and started his workshop across the street from their present location.

Metal lasts. Photo © Karethe Linaae

When I ask the sons how they learned the cobbler trade, they tell me that the only way to master the profession is to do it. “Everything we know, Dad taught us”, they agree. Jaime admits that he once had a dream of joining the police or the army, and Ismael says that if he ever changed job, it would have to be to become a bureaucrat with a generous salary, a big desk and very little to do. But none of them regret their choice and both smile while they hammer and patch and sew and glue until the sweat is pouring.

Jaime at the polishing machine. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Jaime at the polishing machine. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Service with a smile

The entire family is a friendly lot and I ask them if they always are this happy.

 «Well, our smiles aren’t glued on», Miguel winks and admits that there are certain days and a few customers that try even the endless patience of the Becerras. But generally, the clients are nice, and Miguel cannot recall having had a single complaint in all the years they have run the business. And why should they? The team works ceaselessly from when their doors open at 09.30 until 20.00 at night, except for a couple of hours siesta break. Around 150 customers walk in and out every day and the master cobbler calculates that if all three are at it, they can fix 60 pairs of shoes in a day, in addition to a slew of zippers and keys and what have you not …

Ismael can fix anything. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Most clients are told that they can come back and pick up the repairs already that same afternoon or the next morning - that is if they don’t fix it for you there and then. «We try to repair everything the same day we get it in», Miguel says and adds that jobs are paid when they are picked up.

Miguel adding a snap-on button to a jacket. Photo © Karethe Linaae

With such rapid rotation, one would think that there are hardly any repairs sitting waiting to be picked up. And one would also assume that they dispose of unclaimed goods after a couple of months. That is a common business practice, no? But I could not be more wrong. Jaime shows me rows upon rows of shoes from what he calls the ‘pre-pandemic era’ that soon will have been left for five years. All are fixed, polished, and ready to go. With an average bill of let's say 10 euros a pop, they are sitting on an entire fortune of abandoned shoes.  

Under pressure. Photo © Karethe Linaae

I ask how they can keep track of the hundreds of shoes that people bring into the shop, particularly when all they ask for is people's first names which are written on a Post-it note and attached to the insole of the shoe. Miguel admits that they aren’t fully digitised yet, but they have a system that functions well by separating women’s and men’s shoes and ordering them by the date they were brought in. In addition, they know almost all their clients by their name - or by their footwear.

Dangling shoes. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Miguel remembers only once a man came in to pick up a pair of shoes that they couldn’t find. They searched high and low, but the shoes had vanished. The man called his wife who happened to be at the hairdresser’s next door to tell her that her shoes were gone. She immediately reprimanded him, saying that it wasn’t a pair of shoes that he was supposed to pick up. It was a pair of scissors!

I should have guessed. Of course, the shoemakers also sharpen knives and scissors on top of everything else they do. To me, the zapateros are an important Spanish cultural institution, and without them, Spain would simply not be the same.

Stitching machine from 1865. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Grandma's fountain pen. Photo ©  Karethe Linaae

The turn of a year makes one particularly aware of dates and numbers. We might not remember what we did on the 7^th of August, but most of us know exactly where we were on New Year's Eve and what our thoughts were about the coming year. A new year tells us how incredibly fast time flies, and for us of a certain age, reminds us that our New Year's celebrations and years are counted. With January comes taxes, annual fees, and updates of electrical systems of mobiles and computers. And that is in fact what I wanted to talk about– computers.   

The other day I had to call Apple Care, Mac’s technical customer service for products that are under their warranty. As with everything in life, none of these warranties lasts forever, though one can purchase an extension of the manufacturer guarantee to a total of four years. My old desktop, which will be nine years old sometime in 2024, is therefore far beyond the warranty period, but thankfully my sleek little laptop is still covered. In the past, nine years used to be nothing for Apple (and this is not an ad for them!). The old Macs were like the Volvos of bygone years, which drove faithfully for decades, even with several hundred thousand kilometres behind the wheel. They were practically indestructible.

But let’s get back to the warranties. Since my desktop computer had started protesting and giving me blank stares if I had more than two programs going simultaneously, I wanted to transfer my enormous photo archive to my laptop. After several failed attempts, I decided to call Apple’s technical helpline. This means double waiting in Spain, as I insist on talking to their English-speaking customer support, who likely sits in Uttar Pradesh.

Once I got a live person on the line, I explained the issue to the technician who immediately said that she had to talk to her supervisor. The reason for this was that my computer was so old that it was what they called Vintage. I was fortunate as the machine was not yet old enough to be considered Obsolete, she added gleefully. If that had been the case, they would not be able to do anything for me and my ‘antique’.  

Let’s leave the technician for a while, while we go back to the theme of vintage, as the techie’s comment got me thinking. To me, the expression vintage refers to post-WW2 style clothes, American music from the 60s, and modern classic Danish furniture from the 1970s. In other words, it brings my thoughts to the baby boomers and their gear. Therefore, I had not expected to hear that my Mac from 2015 was in any way vintage.

The rapid expiry date of technical products these days is of course not only an issue with computers, as it is much worse with mobile phones, where just a handful of years makes them practically useless. But if a computer that is barely a decade old, is obsolete, then what am I?

With different operating systems and what have you, my technical conundrum has not yet been solved. However, it made me realise something. Whatever they say about stuff being obsolete, is not always true. At least this expired, out-of-stock model is still alive and kicking. May all of us who are defined as Vintage and Obsolete, live long past our official best-before dates.

Mindfulness before all. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Grape stomping is not for wimps. Photo © Jaime Barrera
 

You might have seen one of the movie history’s most-known comedy clips with Lucille Ball stepping on wine grapes. In the black and white recording from 1956, she dances around in an enormous barrel on a fictional Italian farm. But the vintage clip refers to a tradition that goes back thousands of years, and which thankfully still is kept alive here in Andalucía. 

When our friend and vineyard owner, Enrique Ruiz, told me that they had started the year's grape harvest and would stomp on some of their most selective grapes, I immediately made my feet available for the task.

The following day I headed for his vineyard, La Real Fábrica de Hojalata outside the village of Júzcar (otherwise known for the Smurf movies). Finally, I was to try grape stomping and understand why some winemakers still choose to use this ancient method for their most valuable vintages.

First, we stomp …

José Manuel in the bodega. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Enrique and his oenologist José Manuel Cózar Cabañas are waiting for me outside the classical bodega. After a proper hosing down of my feet, I get to do a trial round in a smaller tub where the grapes only reach up to my ankles. «These are Tintilla grapes», states Enrique while I get used to the squishy feeling of having crushed fruit between my toes. 

The grapes that were picked at the crack of dawn, are gathered in tubs, and pressed by foot so that the raw grape-must comes in contact with the natural wax that grows on the surface of the grape skin. This is how the fermentation process gets activated.

Grapes on the vine with natural wax on the skin. Photo © Karethe Linaae

«We give the grapes a hand with the process so that the wine ends up how we want it», says the Venezuelan oenologist who became smitten by wine while studying chemistry in Seville. The maturing process happens completely without additives. «We keep in the grape stems, so they are in contact with the liquid», he explains as I step out of the small tub.  
 

Wine stomping in miniature. Photo © Jaime Barrera

But the work has only just started. The real stomping is about to begin – this time in a tub that one could almost drown in, which contains 750 kilos of grapes. First, my feet get another hose down, of course. Then, I climb up a small ladder and let myself gradually sink into the bubbling, orange-coloured grape mass which clearly already has been given a couple of stomping treatments. Since the mush reaches well up on my thighs, I can neither run nor dance around in the barrel like they do in Hollywood.  

While I stumble around like a drunk (not having touched a drop), it occurs to me that the ancient Greeks had a good idea when they used a rope suspended above, so the stompers could keep their balance. But practice makes perfect, and gradually I get into a sort of Zen rhythm – pushing the foot gently down and then sliding the rest of the body forward. The time-tested process instantaneously raises my appreciation and respect for nature production and the love of wine, as it is completely unreal and ever so cool to be able to stagger about in what just might be La Fábrica de Hojalata's most exclusive future wine!

The point is to stay on one’s feet. Photo © Jaime Barrera
 

This time around, I am crushing the white grape variety Moscatel Morisco in what is the bodega’s pioneer experiment of making what in old Spanish was called vino brisado. In English, it is commonly called orange wine due to the colour, but this can easily be mistaken for a Vino de naranja which gets its taste and flavour by the addition of orange peel. Vino brisado has still not received an official wine classification, despite being the most authentic wine one can possibly produce with a thousand-year-old process.

Only a small fraction of the grapes that are grown on La Fábrica de Hojalata will go through the stepping process, but all their wines are organic nature wines and are pressed with a hand press. In total, they expect approx. 700 bottles of ‘my’ specially stomped, amber-coloured vintage and 2,000 bottles of foot-pressed red Tintilla. In comparison to commercial wine producers, La Fábrica is a tiny winery, only making some 9,000 bottles per year. And while industrial wines are set to age after just 3-4 days, raw wines, or nature wines as they are called, spend up to one month while they ferment at their very own leisurely pace. «Instead of filtering and purifying the liquid, we wait until all the solids fall to the bottom of the batch before we hand press it. This way the wine purifies itself» explains the oenologist.
 

Vino Brisado and pressed raw wine. Photo © Karethe Linaae

José Manuel explains that in industrial winemaking the grapes are rinsed, sorted and stems removed before the juice is pressed in a machine. Thereafter, the first correction will take place when they add sulphur and adjust the sugar- and acidity levels with chemicals. If the must doesn’t have the characteristics and consistency that the producers desire, they will add it. And to ensure that the final product is as ‘clean’ and clear as possible, they remove the naturally occurring yeast and nutrients, and therefore have to add yeast and nutrients in addition to more sulphates. Other chemicals might also be added to ensure that the wine won’t crystallize in the bottle. While this type of mass-produced wine can contain up to 250 ppm (parts per million) of added sulphites, organic wine has a maximum of 115 ppm and raw wine has under 50 ppm. A wine totally free of sulphates does not exist, as all wine has naturally occurring sulphites (under 10 ppm).

Safely out of my first ‘grape bath’, my education on raw wines continues. For health reasons, La Fábrica de Hojalata only uses non-toxic food-grade plastic tubs for the pressing, instead of the traditional wooden tubs. They also use the latest technology in measuring apparatuses.  «Raw wine does not mean unclean wine. We make our wine with the least amount of interference, as the natural grape juice has all the wine needs – yeast, acidity, sugar, and nutrients», explains the eager oenologist.

Nature wine from La Fábrica de Hojalata. Photo © Karethe Linaae

More than 8,000 years of history

For the longest time, it was believed that the Romans (think Wine-god Bacchus), the Greeks (who stomped grapes accompanied by flute music) or the Egyptians (who also made wine from dates, pomegranate and figs) were the first to make wine, but we have to go even further back in history to find what we today consider the world’s oldest winemaking technology.

In 2015 a group of archaeologists discovered some clay urns during an excavation of a Neolithic settlement in East Georgia. The urns that were dated to approximately 6,000 BC, had traces of wine and were decorated with paintings of grapes and dancing men. These Qvevri urns are now part of UNESCO’s World Heritage List and are still used in winemaking in Georgia to this day – some 8,000 years later.

If one thinks about it, even Homo Sapiens from prehistoric times who by accident squashed some berries underfoot could have inadvertently started winemaking. Since it now is proven that the Neanderthals in Andalucía made sophisticated art more than 50,000 years ago, couldn’t they also have made yeasted grape juice? We might not be here when the discovery is made, but it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if there is still proof out there that winemaking is even older than we now believe.

Grape stomping anno 2023


First steps. Photo © La Fábrica de Hojalata

Pisado, or Pieage as it is called in French, has been the universal winemaking tradition for thousands of years, but wine producers gradually converted to mechanical pressing – the method that now is the most common for almost all wine producers. So, why in heaven's name do some winemakers still stomp on their grapes, and why has this tradition recently got a renaissance?

First and foremost, I would argue that the trend with boutique hotels, gourmet restaurants and luxury wine tours has increased the demand for exclusive wines. People are willing to pay almost anything for a unique product. Furthermore, the environmental- and sustainability trend has probably also inspired the new wave of grape stomping, not to mention the Slow Food movement. People – at least those who can afford to - want to distance themselves from mass production and get back to the original means and methods.

Why crush the grapes with one's feet?

Oenologist José Manuel explains the process. Photo © La Fábrica de Hojalata

The human foot is the perfect tool for the job. The pressure is light enough that the grape stones don't break, which can give the wine an unwanted bitterness. As most modern grape pressers crush the stones, some port wine producers still use pieage.

There are in fact also practical reasons for using one’s feet. The natural fermentation process that gets initiated can prevent damaging bacteria and mould, at the same time as the stomping circulates oxygen in the tub. The grape skins, stems and stones that come to the surface as one moves the must, contribute to the wine's final colour, taste, and natural aroma.

Traditionalists insist that pressing the grapes by foot allows for better control of the wine's taste profile and produces more complex and textured wines with a unique terroir signature. There are numerous festivals that now include wine stomping. It has become a tourist attraction in for instance Napa Valley and Brooklyn!

If one feels a certain reluctance to drink wine that has been touched by unknown feet, keep in mind that cooks use their hands and that these are often in contact with much more dangerous bacteria than our feet. Furthermore, almost no human bacteria can survive in a wine environment. The fermentation process reduces the oxygen levels, and combined with the natural sugar level that gets converted into alcohol and the grape's natural acidity, all contribute to removing unwanted bacteria and pathogenic organisms.

Wine as poetry


Vineyard owner Enrique Ruiz. Photo © Karethe Linaae

Our little group leaves the bodega and seats ourselves in La Fábrica de Hojalata's beautiful garden while the sun disappears behind the Serranía mountain range. Enrique opens a hand-pressed Moscatel Morisco from 2020 which has a deep amber colour. «When you make a million bottles, you cannot do it the natural way. It would be impossible. And one must admit that there are some excellent industrially made wines, as well”, he admits.

«What happens with raw wine, is that you get hooked», José Manuel interjects. «The more you learn, the more you want to learn. It is a fascinating world.”

Oenologist José Manuel Cózar Cabañas. Photo © Karethe Linaae

We make a cheer for this year's grape harvest, and I cannot resist but wonder if a great oenologist must be not only a good scientist but a bit of an artist.

«There are oenologists who are engineers who learn how wine should be made and follow this in every minute detail. And then there are other oenologists who are more like poets. They have the knowledge and the technique, but they make the wine with love – just like our guy here», says Enrique, referring to the oenologist at his side.

It is very doubtful that such an innovative winemaking method could have even been invented in our times. As the world gets increasingly antiseptic and mechanized, raw wine made by hand and foot, is really both old-fashioned and forward-thinking.

«A raw wine is a wine with a heart that you caress with your feet”, declares the oenologist-poet, and after the day’s stomping adventure, I have to say that I wholeheartedly agree!

The hard-working team outside the bodega after the first hand-pressing of the Moscatel Morisco. Photo © La Fábrica de Hojalata