Whining on, again

I'm not such a big fan of wine. It's not that I don't drink it but I'd nearly always go for other sorts of booze first. Maggie, my partner, on the other hand, is a bit of an enthusiast. One of the things she often does is to take our visitors on one of the bodega tours. Indeed, years ago, she used to organise tours for tourists as a business venture so we got to know nearly all of the bodegas in Jumilla and Yecla and a good number of the bodegas close to Pinoso that allow visits.

Jumilla, Yecla and Alicante all produce wines that have Denominación de Origen Protegida (protected designation of origin) as well as wines more suited to drain unblocking or unarmed combat. Lots of the stuff that isn't D.O.P. is shipped to other countries, particularly France, where it is mixed with local wine and then sold as being from that country. The unloved wine is the sort of wine that you would use for things where any old wine will do - preserving fruits, cooking, turning into vinegar etc. Sometimes it tastes OK and sometimes it doesn't.

D.O.P., often shortened to DO, is a sort of quality mark which says that the product comes from a specific place, and that its characteristics are to do with that geography, with the methods by which it is produced and that there is a process for checking that those standards and rules are maintained and followed. Round here for instance the monastrell grapes grown on the wire trellis for machine picking aren't for DO wine. The good stuff comes from the vines arranged in the rows that make "diamond" shapes and are picked by hand. Wines are often D.O. - that's why we can talk about a rioja or a sherry - but cheese, ham, sausage and even tiger nuts and horchata (the drink made from them) can have D.O. 

I don't know about you but I still think of wines as being quite posh. Expensive restaurants have people who select and serve their wines with the same panache as the servers present those fiddly plates of food. It seems wrong, to me, that this classy product starts with grapes hauled by old tractors in even older trailers and, when those grapes have been mashed up to yield juice, the liquid is moved from one steel tank to another using industrial pumps and thick rubber hoses laid across concrete floors.

I also find the whole wine tasting process at the bodegas a bit false. The normal routine is that you are shown around the unloading bays, the fermenting vats, the cellars where the barrels are stored and the bottling plant before the guide takes you to try the wines - anything from three to five different types - with a bit of ham and cheese to accompany the drink. The company line varies from bodega to bodega. If one adds yeast that produces the best wine if another doesn't, but relies on the natural yeast on the grapes, that's the best. One lauds the steel tanks another their concrete ones. When it comes around to tasting they instruct you on the correct way to hold the glass, how to swirl, the sniffing, the looking at the colour against a white background and so on. In one of the bodegas they suggested that you should use all five senses when tasting wines. Listen how it gloops into the glass. Ahem! They always talk about the colour. I understand that the colour may say something about the time and place that a wine has been stored, or the grape it came from, but so would the label, and more accurately. You are asked to smell the wine. What "notes" do you detect? - peach, strawberry, thyme, chocolate? I often wonder which is best. I usually think it smells of alcohol but if it smelt floral would that be good or bad? 

I once had the temerity to ask why one wine was more expensive than another. I can see, for instance, that wines put in barrels to mature will cost more than wines that are bottled more or less straight away because there is no barrel to buy, there is no energy needed to keep the wine at the right temperature and nobody has to be paid to keep an eye on the maturation but when the harvesting is done by hand, when the storage time and method is the same, when all the variables are the same I don't quite understand why one wine is several times more expensive than another. I didn't get a proper answer.

But, as I said, I don''t much care for wine so maybe I'm just biased and if you've never done a bodega tour I'd definitely recommend one.

¡Costaleros! - ¡al cielo con el!

Easter in Spain is spectacular. Every town has its own Easter. The floats, religious carvings, rolled along, or, much more impressively, borne on the shoulders of men, and nowadays women, along time honoured routes. Some people are in it for the religion, some for the culture, the tradition, or maybe it's just an opportunity to collect bags and bags of sweets. Some of the processions are joyous, some are military, some verge on the bizarre whilst others are organised chaos. I've not seen many, maybe twenty different towns, a few famous ones on the telly and whilst each is similar none is the same. But I'm not out on the streets now. I'm not listening to a plaintiff saeta sung from a balcony or watching mantilla wearing women or bare footed Nazarenos. There will be, almost certainly be no silent and unlit streets and no black hoods as Thursday becomes Friday when death is the order of the day. All because it's raining.

There are associations that fund raise and work all year for Semana Santa, for Holy week. We were in Jumilla this morning and we saw two very ordinary garages where people were preparing religious statues for their outings. In the Museo Jesús Nazareno about a dozen people were working on the floats, arranging flowers, fitting candles, hoovering and generally smartening up whilst lots of well wishers and lookers on came and went.

It was drizzling when we went for lunch but when we came out the streets were awash. We checked Facebook and there was the message to say that the processions had been cancelled. All that work wasted. The opportunity to process gone. I suppose as well as the potential damage to the statues, their clothing and the float in general there is also a potential danger of runaway floats or of statues carried on shoulders crashing to the ground as the carriers lose their footing. It seems a terrible shame though and I really feel sorry for all the people involved.

We hoped that it might not be raining in Pinoso but a Twitter message said no for the 8pm outing. There is still the vaguest possibility that the Cristo de la Buena Muerte will be lofted skyward as he leaves the Parish Church in the darkened streets of Pinoso at midnight tonight followed by hundreds of people carrying candles but I'm not that hopeful.

The title is something like: Bearers - to heaven with him! It's a cry to the people carrying the "Christ of the Good Death."

I'm pleased to say I was wrong. I went out for midnight and the procession was on. Leaden skies but no rain. As it turns out it was a temporary truce. The rain came back with a vengeance and all of the Good Friday processions in the area were cancelled. On Saturday morning it is still pouring down

Mainly the Archaeology Museum in Jumilla

Spanish museums used to be awful. Piles of stuff in random order often without any labelling or information. Most, though not all, are much better now and some of them even have levers to pull or computer screens to tap. There is still a tendency for the information to be a bit long winded (something I get accused of), and only very infrequently do you get the news story type labelling with a brief résumé in the first paragraph and more detailed information below. The most common style is a four or five hundred word description on each section. With all good intentions I read the first couple of information boards, scan the next two or three, read the first couple of lines of the next dozen or so boards and then start to wander aimlessly without reading anything unless it catches my attention. Usually the notices are in Castilian Spanish and quite often in English too. Occasionally around here, it's just in Valenciano which always annoys me.

It was sunny yesterday and neither Maggie nor I had work in the afternoon. We went for a bit of an explore and, more by happenstance than design we ended up heading towards Jumilla. I knew that there was an exhibition called Capturas individuales at the Archaeology museum there, the Museo Arqueológico Jerónimo Molina, but, I wasn't sure whether it was photos or paintings. If we were passing we may as well pop in to have a look.

Archaeology museums tend to be organised from old to new. Pre-history with cave paintings, arrowheads and the like close to the entrance moving on to the stone carvings of jewellery bedecked Iberian women and so on through Greek vases, Phoenician boats, Roman central heating. Then on to the Goths, the North African Moorish Invasion, onward to the Middle Ages and upwards through time stopping wherever the collections or the curators see fit.

We've done the Jumilla museum a bundle of times. We've listened to live music as we leaned against the display case that hold the two and a half thousand old year column featuring an armed rider. We've been on the roof on Museum Night to listen to poetry where the Republican prisoners took their exercise when the building was used as a prison and we've been to a talk about old Jumilla surrounded by Roman mosaics. So, when the bloke behind the desk asked us if we'd ever been before we said yes and that we'd only come to have a look at the temporary exhibition. The museum was not awash with people. Indeed we were the only customers. Moises, the man on the door, wasn't too busy. Our saying that we'd been before didn't stop him. He caught up with as we lingered over a bit of Iberian pottery on the first floor and started to give us a guided tour. His English was good and he knew his exhibits well. Altogether a very interesting tour. We didn't really get to see the temporary exhibition - they were paintings by the way. But, thank you, anyway Moises.

Not just Cadbury's Cream Eggs

I think it was Catworth. There was a deconsecrated church and a theatre group called something like Reduced Theatre. Very reduced, just one man. Dressed as an Anglican vicar, he filled time as he waited for this evening's speaker, a speaker who will never arrive. Rural theatre. The ersatz vicar at one point bemoans the heavenly future of someone he knows - a Wesleyan and a Geologist - enough to consign anyone to a fiery eternity. My baptism took place in a Wesleyan church; my degree is in geology. The Cub Scout pack I briefly belonged to met in a Methodist Hall. The Grammar school I went to sang the Winston Churchill preferred version of Who Would True Valour See and we would all troop to the Anglican Church on Ascension Day. But that was closing in on 50 years ago now.

Now Easter in the UK, for me at least, was basically about chocolate eggs. I'm told it's also about rabbits now. That and a Bank Holiday for workers or the end of one term for people involved in Education. Not a lot of religion. Not a lot of cocks crowing thrice or Pontious Pilate and nothing about Veronica, the woman who wiped Jesus's face on the way to Calvary.

In Spain it's different. People still think Spain is a very religious, a very Catholic, country. The  statistics don't bear that out but nearly all Spaniards are brought up in a country that is conditioned by Catholocism, by rituals and customs related to the Roman Catholic Church, even if the number of practising Catholics, especially amongst younger Spaniards, is very low.

As a consequence Easter provides an incredible display of religiousness that fills the streets of Spain. It also fills the aeroplanes with people setting off on holiday but that's a different story. The variations on the Easter story are endless and that's where my ex Wesleyan, Methodist, Anglican and long forgotten religious indoctrination puts me at a severe disadvantage. On the TV news there are quick stories from all around the country of famous carvings, religious tableaux, graven images, carried through the streets by groups who form around them and maybe about the personalities who are involved in the groups. So maybe you have a carving called something like Our Chained Lord or the Black Virgin. This will be a wooden carving, possibly carved hundreds of years ago. or maybe in the 1940s after the original was burned or lost in the Civil War. The carving itself will be polychromed and dressed and go onto an ornate platform which may be fitted with wheels or carried through the streets on pained shoulders. The people who escort the figure often wear the tall pointed hats to hide their identity; the idea is that the people are indistinguishable, rich or poor, young or old. All together to pay homage. Not everyone wears pointy headgear. Women wearing mantillas and Roman soldiers are pretty common but there can be almost anything from people in doublet and hose or blacked up through to flying angels.

Your carving may go out on the streets on a couple of days during Holy Week or it may be out every day. It depends. Some groups, brotherhoods in translation for lots of them, may have several pieces of statuary so they go out with different floats on different days. The routes, the variations, from joyous to silent vigils vary from day to day. The discipline of the week may disappear with the joy of The Sunday of Resurrection or it may be that, Friday apart, the parades are as much about distributing sweets to the children amongst the spectators as they are about religious observance. The handling of the big floats may be of supreme importance with the dipping, reversing and lifting of the two or three ton floats being roundly applauded or it may be only of passing interest. Every town has its customs, its traditions and its idiosyncrasies from burning Judas to running at full tilt with the float of Mary on your shoulders, as she rushes to meet her risen son.

In the years we've seen lots of processions in lots of towns. This year we've been out in Pinoso, Jumilla and Albacete. In Albacete we went to see the Encounter, the part of the story where Jesus, fresh from the tomb, meets his mother on Easter Sunday. Two parades from opposite parts of the town bring in different imagery. In Jumilla it was the solemnity of Good Friday and for the rest we were in Pinoso including the procession from Thursday night to Friday morning where the lights of the town are turned off, muffled drums beat solemnly and black robed penitents carry just one float, the Christ of the Good Death, through the streets. The float is accompanied by lots of ordinary people carrying candles.

As an event I liked Jumilla best, overall Pinoso was my favourite though because it's ours, through our streets and with people we know. So the bronze to Albacete.

Having a laugh

Normally, when I go to the theatre or somesuch I put the photos on Picasa or Facebook and that's it but I just have to tell you about the Flamenco performance we went to see last night.

The event was at the Teatro Vico in Jumilla. Getting the tickets booked was a right faff because the box office was only open when I was at work. Jumilla is 35kms from home and they have no Internet presence. Then, to top it all, I kept confusing the performance on Friday with the performance on Saturday in my various messages. By the time I'd finished I reckon I could ask the bloke from the box office to be my best man should I ever get married - I'd have to ask by WhatsApp though.

Our seats were on the front row. Right at the front. Just the orchestra pit between us and the tight flamenco suits and frocks. To get to the seats we had to pass by a very severe looking older couple who seemed as unmovable as Joan Baez. As I squeezed past under their piercing stares the vision of me standing on her foot, stumbling and crashing into him flashed before my eyes. I made it to my seat without incident.

The couple did not move through the whole performance. No applause, almost no asides to each other. The man looked at his watch by grasping the casing with his right hand and staring intently at the time for at least thirty seconds. He was so obvious about it, he did it so often and he was so near the stage that the performers must have noticed him.

As usual the event started late. Spaniards call it courtesy time. It never seems very courteous to me to the people who turn up on time but I suppose that's my funny British sensibility. It wasn't late enough for a couple of people though. We got under way for the 9pm event at around 9.20 but some chap in the third or fourth row of the stalls turned up a few minutes afterwards. He didn't lower his voice at all as he and his partner discussed who should take which of the two seats assigned to them. The seats were at the aisle end of the row. He chose the more interior seat so, ten minutes later, when presumably his bladder betrayed him, there was another full volume conversation and quite a lot of noise as he headed for the toilet.

On row two, behind us there was a conversation that was perfectly audible above the music. The only part of it I caught though was about how and what one of the women was going to eat later. Maggie said that when a phone somewhere behind her rang the woman didn't hesitate to answer it or to have a perfectly normal conversation. All in all it was a very unsettled audience which is a bit unusual for flamenco.

Up on stage the flamenco wasn't bad at all. Four, I think, different acts doing their set. Singing, playing, dancing and even some poetry. It did seem to go on a long time though. The compeering was done by a chap who must have gone to great pains to choose his very light coloured suit. The trousers were long, the jacket was tight across his stomach but a bit big on the shoulders and the cuffs were palm covering. Later we had a cavalcade of local presidents of this association or society to hand out certificates and bottles of wine to the performers. Not one of them wore trousers that were not brushing the ground. One bloke, with a cardigan and flat cap looked like he'd come directly from his allotment. Another had a slightly grubby looking combination of black shoes, blue trousers, pink shirt and green jacket. Choosing that ensemble could not be pure chance.

All in all it was a very enjoyable event and not all of the fun was in the performances or even on the stage.

La Tamborada Nacional

I was a bit of a celebrity in Jumilla last night. Lots of people shouted at me just before they grabbed their friends around the shoulder, smiled broadly and stared in my direction. They wanted me to take their photo. Nowadays photos are everywhere. Every event is a forest of mobile phone cameras. So why the excitement? I can only put the interest down to the stick, the mono-pod, that was attached to the bottom of my camera. They presumably thought I was press or at least a proper photographer.

It didn't help though. Despite having racked the speed on the camera up to ISO 2000 and having the stick to help steady the camera every single one of the photos I took was blurred. Mind you I've still loaded lots of them up to various photo sharing websites because they're sort of friendly.

The information about the tamborada was a bit vague. No, it was a lot vague. A tamborada is a drum event; people walk around beating drums. The name is presumably based on the Spanish word for one sort of drum, un tambor. I've been to one other tamborada, in Hellin in Albacete province. There it's a pretty easy story. During Holy Week the church processions included official drummers. Over the years the drummers escaped the confines of the formal processions and simply wandered around beating drums at Easter time. Nowadays the mayhem of drummers wandering the streets in packs is part of Hellin's culture. They drum for hours on end. In Tobarra, in Albacete again, they drum for 104 hours without stopping from the Wednesday afternoon of Holy Week through to midnight on Easter Sunday. I've heard of tamboradas in Cuenca, in Andorra in Teruel, in San Sebastian. There are tamboradas all over Spain. Most of the tamboradas are associated with Holy Week

So before we went I vaguely assumed that I had simply missed this particular event in Jumilla in previous years. Jumilla is in Murcia but only 35 km from home. I supposed that the tamborada was in some way associated with religion and with Easter. After all the drum association in Jumilla is called Asociación de Tambores Santísimo Cristo de la Sangre, or something like the Holy Blood of Christ Drum Association. It turns out though that this particular drum group was only formed in 2005 and is named for one of the statues in a local monastery. It's strange actually. Spain has a long Catholic tradition but I wouldn't say that it's a particularly religious country nowadays. The Catholic Church has a long history of siding with the oppressor rather than the oppressed (particularly in the last century) yet socialist mayors and leftist politicians in general seem quite content to pop out and kiss the feet of the Virgin or carry the patron saint of the town on their shoulders. Left leaning administrations happily pay out thousands of euros for fiestas which usually have a religious theme at their core. I suppose it's something similar to the way that people who haven't been to church for years are determined to have some sort of cleric officiate their wedding and why I don't kick up too much of a fuss if someone invites me to a Christian funeral or baptism.

Anyway, after going back and forth on a whole range of websites it now seems that the event we were at in Jumilla last night was simply a coming together of the drum associations from all over Spain. It has taken place in other towns with a tradition of drumming in past years. And, despite lots of the drummers having Christian insignia on their tunics and variations on penitent type robes this was nothing more than a celebration of drumming.

Excellent fun. The drum was the main protagonist but, being Jumilla, there was a wine event tacked on. We were getting a glass of wine from the Casa de la Ermita stand and Maggie mentioned her Secret Wine Spain venture and the chap suddenly clicked. He knew her site and he knew Maggie's name. His girlfriend had a drum though. People everywhere were beating drums. Lots were in organised groups, representatives of their towns or their association but there were several families too or just bunches of pals. We left long before we could take the offer of the bargain breakfast at one of the food stalls but my ears are still ringing nonetheless.

Secret Wine Spain

Maggie likes wine. It's no secret. She likes a good Rioja and she likes Ribera del Duero too. But Maggie thinks it's very unfair that so few people recognise the quality of some of our local wine particularly the product from the Jumilla wine region.

Jumilla shares a border with Pinoso so it's very local. We also share a border with Yecla which has a separate quality mark for its wine and, of course, we are in Alicante which produces some excellent wine too. We even have a small bodega in Culebrón village. There are lots of bodegas to visit but some tours and some wine are better than others.

Maggie likes to eat out. She can wax lyrical about some of the local food though she can also be disparaging about the chop and chips menus of so many places. You have to know where to go she says. You need local knowledge.

Maggie says that we have some breathtaking scenery around here. I can't disagree. Sometimes just driving up from La Romana or over to Yecla I just break into a big grin as I watch the landscapes pass. Staying here can be a treat but knowing where is more difficult.

So Maggie had an idea. Maybe she could help people to appreciate our local wine, our local food and our local scenery. So Secret Wine Spain was born. It's a work still in progress as Maggie comes to grips with marketing, website building and blogging but if you fancy a tailor made wine tour in Murcia or Alicante then Maggie's your woman.

El Tenorio

Wikipedia tells me that Don Juan Tenorio,written by José Zorrilla in 1844, is the more romantic of the two principal Spanish-language plays about the legend of Don Juan. The other is the 1630 El Burlador de Sevilla probably written by Tirso de Molina. So now you know.

It's a Spanish theatre tradition to perform El Tenorio on All Saints Day as part of the Bank Holiday "celebrations". In turn this has made it one of the most lucrative of Spanish plays. It's a pity poor old  Zorilla sold the rights soon after he wrote it. He thought it was just another pot boiler.

I fear that a play written in the mid 19th Century, based on an older 17th Century work, is going to be a bit of a push for my Spanish. But blow it. Something traditional that we still haven't done being performed in Jumilla just 35k from home with the most expensive tickets priced at just 10€. Why the hell not? It must be worth a punt. We can always sneak away at the intermission if needs be. Maggie was remarkably easy to persuade.

So just the tickets to buy. There didn't seem to be any online ticket sales but there was a box office number. I tried ringing a couple of times without success. Then I checked a few Google searches and found that the box office only opens for a couple of hours on Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings. Fiddlesticks!; I work all the time that the box office is open. Bit of a problem then. Anyway the website said that any tickets reserved by phone have to be picked up and paid for at least a couple of days beforehand or they will be resold - more of a problem. Reading between the lines I guess I can't buy tickets over the phone with a plastic card.

I've found an email address and I've written. Provided they read their email, and I suspect a theatre will, I'm sure they will find a solution.

Interestingly, well it's interesting to me, on the way home tonight I bought a couple of tickets for a play In Pinoso this weekend, The only way to get them also seemed to be to go to the box office in very restricted opening hours. The difference is that I could. For Don Juan I can't.

Nothing like making it easy though.

PS The next morning, before 8.30, the theatre had responded and said they'd keep a couple of tickets.

As traditional as...

We were in Jumilla today for a while. Jumilla is a town just over the border into Murcia. They have "always" produced wine in Jumilla but it just keeps getting better and better. Today we were there for a very small part of their Fiestas de la Vendimia -the wine harvest festival.

So wine is a traditional crop in Jumilla just as pelotas and gazpacho are traditional food. We Pinoseros also claim wine and gazpacho as our own but as we are only 35km away I suppose that's fair enough. After all it's Yorkshire Pudding not Barnsley, Ripon or Cleckheaton Pudding though thinking about it we do have Bakewell Tart and Caerphilly Cheese. Anyway.

So when do things become traditional? Family names, surnames, generally pass from generation to generation. Surnames like Thompson, son of Tom, are equivalent to the Arabic ibn or bin names whilst the Spanish tend to use -ez endings, as in Dominguez. But why did it stop? My Dad was John so why am I not a Johnson? And if it's Fletcher and Barber and Smith why not Mr. Web Designer?

Although they are quite different outfits Spanish bullfighters, the ones who fight on foot, wear costumes based on 18th Century dress as do their horse mounted counterparts. Why did it stick at the 18th Century - why not the 16th or why aren't they dressed, like cyclists or swimmers, in the latest technologies?

So. Just 35kms between Jumilla and Pinoso but in Pinoso the traditional dress for women, in the Fiestas at least, is an incredibly ornate affair The local women folk dancers wear a much simpler skirt that seems to be of circle of cloth made to work as a skirt by multiple pleats. In the Villazgo festival in Pinoso traditional dress for women is more practical, less ornate and the men wear a black smock and neckerchief. Over in Jumilla the costume is much simpler again. It actually looks like something that people may have worn everyday at some time in the past. Cloth and woven grass shoes, simple skirts or trousers, white shirts for both sexes with shawls for the women and waistcoats and cummerbund like sashes for the men

This traditional clothing is only trotted out for traditional events. Women heading for the supermarket wear everyday skirts and jeans and shirts and tops. If anythinng were traditional summer dress for women at the moment it would be shorts and vests. For men shorts and T-shirts. Flip flops or sandals and not the traditional rope soled alpargatas.

I'm pleased to say that this divide between what's trotted out as traditional and what people actually do is not true of the wine or food. Just as Lancashire Hotpot is alive and well so are local traditional foods. In fact maybe it's time for a nice longaniza sandwich with a drop of monastrell to wash it down?