Crazy English Abroad

I suppose you don't really appreciate a person or place as much as when you are leaving them. This was very indicative of the way I felt after deciding to up sticks and travel the world. This was something I had often dreamed about, had been saving for, but not yet had the balls to actually go ahead and do it. The fact that I had been made redundant after seventeen years of taking the easy option of adhering to the status quo was the kick up the arse that was needed. But quite scary as well!

I had been on many walks around northern Leeds last summer and was amazed by how little time it takes to get from my front door into the countryside. The River Aire is 15 minutes away and the Billing 10 minutes, where one can get panoramic views of Leeds and Ferrybridge power station to the south and east (above), and Ilkley Moor and surrounding moors to the north and west.

The view from the Billing over Rawdon towards Ilkley Moor and Haworth. The sunsets here were always sensational. I'm going to miss living on the side of a hill in Yorkshire - but the world awaits!

One of the glorious sunsets from my bedroom window!

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I started my foray into the beautiful country north of the border with a visit to my old mate Chris. He lives in Hawick, which is a handy first stop being slap bang in the centre of the Scottish borders, and Chris likes to drink lots of beer like I do!

Hawick's most famous son of years gone by was Jimmie Guthrie. Born there in 1897 he started as a dispatch rider in France during the great war and joined Hawick Motorcycle Club on returning. They entered him into his first TT in 1923 and the rest is history, as they say.

This statue was erected in his honour in Wilton Lodge Park by the river in Hawick next to the museum where there is an exhibition featuring some of his race bikes and trophies. There is a list of his major wins in TT, Northern Island road races and countless 350 and 500cc GP`s and six titles in Europe - nearly 50 wins in all! Sadly, he fatally crashed whilst leading the European GP in Germany at the age of 40. The funeral procession in Hawick stretched for three miles. There are other memorials to Jimmie Guthrie: the Guthrie Stone at the Sachsenring, where he died, and another at the roadside spot, The Cutting, where he retired in his last Senior TT.

Another great motorcycle racer from Hawick, and one closer to my heart, was Steve Hislop. Sadly taken from his family and all bike racing fans in a freak helicopter crash, which has still not been adequately investigated in many people's eyes. Steve was one of the fastest superbike riders in the world. When he was on the pace and riding top level machinery he was unbeatable.

He won 11 Isle of Man TT titles, 3 North West 200s and Macau GPs, the Ulster GP, Le Mans and Bol D'Or 24 hour races and was British 250cc champion and British Superbike champion twice. In 1989 Steve became the first rider to top 120 mph with a TT lap at 121.34. This record was beaten 3 years later by WSB champion Carl Fogarty, but he would still only come second to Hislop who was riding a rotary Norton in that race. Foggy's record was to stand for 8 years until finally bettered by David Jefferies in 2000.

Steve was truly a great man who I still miss on the racetrack.

This life-sized bronze statue stands in the park at Hawick, and another identical one has been erected in the Isle of Man.

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My only fixed destination in Scotland was the furtherest northern point of mainland Britain, Dunnet Head which lies between John O'Groats and Thurso. This was simply because I had never gone further north than the Isle of Skye before.

I decided it was time to stop when about half way to Thurso from Hawick and ended up in a nice little town on the A86 called Kingussie. It is close to Aviemore and therefore a popular place to stay for winter sports fans.

My philosophy on finding good, reasonably-priced accommodation is quite simple - find a local pub that's open, go in and have a pint or a shot of the local brew (if possible) and, once you've been in there for a while, try to strike up a conversation with one of the locals or a member of the bar staff, or landlord, and ask where you can find the type of room you require.

This method has never failed for me, it beats tourist information and even the internet hands down. In Kingussie I went for a pint in the Star Hotel on the High Street and got chatting to a local customer who directed me past the more expensive hotels to The Silverfjord Hotel on Ruthven Road near the railway station. As well as the restaurant and bar, there is a small public bar at the hotel with very friendly locals where I enjoyed a couple of local brews. The room was decent, large, with en suite and TV for the princely sum of 27.50 sterling. I actually dined at the Star Hotel and the food was excellent.

The next day was nice and sunny - perfect for the 200 or so miles drive I had to the top of the country. What beautiful scenery it was too. The Cromarty Firth bridge was the highlight of the trip, being over a mile long with stopping places and fantastic views both inland and towards the sea and, as you can see above, the weather can be good in Scotland in December!

There was even an oil rig in the firth (see above, you can't quite see the sea as the firth bends around to the right, but the rig is to the right).

The drive to Thurso was quite long and, as I'm no early riser anyway and we're talking about a British Winter where it goes dark in the afternoon, nightfall was approaching as I drove along the deserted headland to Dunnet Head. The only other signs of life of any kind were the Highland cattle grazing on the moorland.

There is a light house on the cliff (behind me in the above picture) which is some 105 meters above the sea, yet in stormy weather water and stones still splash over the top of these cliffs!

The previous night in Kingussie I had been recommended to stay in Wick rather than the more obvious choice of Thurso. Using the trusted "Johnny" method of finding accommodation, I found somewhere to park near the harbour and then went into the nearest pub - Sinclairs on The Shore. It was a little on the rough side, but the staff were friendly and sent me to a cheap B&B overlooking the sea. Unfortunately the place was full but the lady there directed me to another place just above. This was true British Bed and Breakfast as it was just a room in somebody's house - felt a bit strange really but I was on a budget and just wanted to get something to eat and drink lots of beer!

I ended up having a "curry and a drink" special at the JD Wetherspoon pub in the market square. I don't usually go for chain pub food, but this was very nice actually (although they are prepared surprisingly quickly...). After several more drinks I ended up in a bar in the early hours where, as nearly everywhere in Scotland, I was warmly welcomed as a foreigner. I asked if there was a good local malt and was given an enormous measure which would have put a Spanish barman to shame! They wouldn't let me put water or ice in it though. After a couple of these the next thing I remember is waking up in somebody's house (my B&B) - hope I didn't make too much noise when I staggered back in!

After forcing the obligatory breakfast down the next day I headed south towards my only other fixed destination which was Ballachullish where my Mum had spent two summers in the 1940's when a schoolgirl with my uncle Ken and auntie Maureen, as he was working there as a scientist, I think at a plastics place in Kinlochleven. I also planned to stop somewhere else, probably Loch Lomond on the way back to England.

As I drove down the north-east coast I decided to stop for a walk in an area called Skelbo Wood near Durnoch just off the A9. There is a path which runs down to Skelbo Burn(above) with some fine old trees as well as the more common young broadleaves planted by the Scottish Forestry Commission to be their successors. The only wildlife I saw, though, were the carved wooden animals designed by local children which are dotted around the path!

After taking the above picture, the path continued back into the forest and I came to a crossroads with no markings. Thinking I knew roughly what direction my car was I decided to turn left at the crossroads. This must have been the wrong way as I got totally lost and ended up veering off the track to take a "short cut" through the trees in the direction I thought the car park would be. Eventually I came to a fence, so had to re-trace my steps to return to the track I had been on. It was quite bad underfoot with big clumps of grass - sometimes with previously fallen trees underneath, so I had to be very careful as breaking my ankle "off the beaten track" like this could have been very dodgy - especially as I had no signal on my mobile. Boy, was I relieved when I eventually saw my car!

The car park and my car, phew! You can just about make it out hiding in the trees (I had to brighten the photo though), not the most obvious car park in the world!

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After a longer than expected walk at Skelbo and driving many miles heading towards Loch Leven, I decided it would be a good idea to stop when I got to Loch Ness. This is the longest and (I think) deepest loch in Scotland, so a good place to explore. Whilst driving along the north edge of the loch I came across the village of Drumnadrochit which looked O.K. - apart from the jokey, Flintstones-like, "Nessie" signs for monster tours! The large hotels looked a bit expensive at the road junction in the centre though, and none of the bars there were open mid-afternoon, so I drove around for a while looking for an open pub. After looking down a few roads I saw a sign by the side of a junction for a sports bar. The good old Johnny method came good again as I asked the locals at the bar for a hotel there, and a local guy actually drove ahead of me to show me the way to a nearby hotel - and what a find it was tucked away where you wouldn't really find it yourself. The Benleva Hotel was an excellent place to stay and very cheap at 25 pounds sterling for a nice room en suite with a cracking hearty breakfast of full Scottish or cereals and, of course, porridge.



The bar stocks excellent real ales from the highlands, usually with at least one Isle of Skye brew which is lovely stuff. The Benleva was voted the CAMRA Highlands & Islands Pub of the Year 2005, for the second time in three years. The owners started having an annual beer festival a few years ago and this is now the largest in the Highlands, boasting over 50 cask conditioned ales and ciders last year. The next one is 22 to 30 September 2006 and I hope to be there if I'm in the UK then. The bar meals are delicious as well, ranging from traditional Scots fayre to more fancy stuff. You get a very friendly welcome from the hotel owners Allan, Steve and James. Brothers Allan and Steve are normally behind the bar and James, the chef, creating culinary delights in the kitchen. I enjoyed my stay here more than any other hotel I can remember.

Drumnadrochit and Loch Ness from the woods of Craigmonie and Balmacaan, standing on top of the rocky crag where legend says that the viking prince Monie retreated after a nearby battle. There are supposed to be remains of an iron age fort as well, but they must have been too subtle for me!

There are three 'proper' pubs in the village including The Benleva and they are collectively known locally as "The Triangle". The other two are the Smiddy Bar and the Blarmor Sports Bar. The Sports Bar generally opens later and has a disco at weekends. It was at this disco that I met an Australian guy called Paul who works in Edinburgh. He was partying at Loch Ness for a holiday with his mates and we had a right good laugh - G'day Mondzy!

I actually saw the Loch Ness Monster whilst driving along the loch one day, but it had just gone back under the water by the time I could stop and take this picture - darn it!

I enjoyed my time here so much that I decided to stay for the rest of my Scottish trip and not stay in Ballachullish or at Loch Lomond as I had intended to do. I did drive past the invisible Ben Nevis (hidden in the clouds for 9 days out of 10 at this time of year) and had a look where Mum used to stay in Ballachullish and parked up at Kinlochleven to go for a walk in the mountains. The walk starts on part of the West Highland Way and quickly climbs up the north side of Loch Leven.

Looking down Loch Leven towards Ballachullish with the Pap of Glencoe to the left.

I had to stop a few times on the way up to look after the old 'ticker' as I wasn't very fit - and look what happened to Robin Cook!

After climbing about 2,000 feet I saw 'Am Bodach' up ahead which rises to 1,005 meters. I decided at this point that the distance I had already climbed was enough!



Glencoe - the glen of tranquillity - apart from the A82! A pleasurable drive in the western highlands. It made me forget I still had over 400 miles to drive!

Just couldn't resist a quick stop for chill and photo of Loch Lomond.

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Nick Sanders being a famous biker who has toured probably everywhere, certainly around the world a few times - and without all the backup vehicles and people that Ewan McGregor and Charley Borman had in "The Long Way Round" either. He states on his web site that you should take as little stuff as possible - ahem, sorry Nick.

As my tour is for several months and I am also carrying hiking gear and a tent, sleeping bag, air bed and pillow, I don't think I've done that bad. Three pairs of jeans and more than a week's worth of clothes isn't too over the top is it?


The Ferry, Portsmouth to Bilbao

The ferry to Spain was, as all ferries I seem to have been on in the past, a very drunken affair, and the first two-night voyage I've been on. Once the ferry sets sail and leaves Britain's shores, then that marks the start of most people's holiday, so "let's get the party started". I met a very funny guy called Pete on the first night at the bar who ended up buying shorts for me and a Scottish bloke I had just met. Pete and his mates were driving down to Portugal in a van, for the craic! (they actually made it.... well 30kms into Portugal then had to turn around to make the ferry which they did with 15 mins to spare - good lads!) On the next day I just had time to grab a cornish pasty and a Stella from the bar before watching England's first game in the world cup. I got talking to David, who has done more travelling than I've had hot dinners. He and his wife, Stella, have a 'business' card with a globe and tropical island type logo describing them as "new age pensioners. Experts in caravanning, golf & generally loafing around". We proceeded to have a conversation about world travel which turned out to be far more interesting than England's debut against Paraguay. Then met Pete and his mates again out on the deck and got hammered!

Bilbao

Sunday morning was an early start, hungover and hot after carrying all my luggage down to the bike and venturing into Spain. Motorcycle leathers aren't ideal for comfort when it's hot! Managed to find an open petrol station near Bilbao eventually and cooled off with a snack and cold drink.

I don't have any fixed destination in Spain at all, except that I want to keep to the north during the hottest months of summer. However, some friends of mine, now living in the Bay Area near San Francisco, know a guy who is currently living in Barcelona and working for a MotoGP team (Pramac d'Antin Ducati), so I decided to head there as the Catalunian MotoGP races were on there the following weekend. I had a look at my map and decided that Logroño would be a good place to stop for the first night as I felt too rough and hot to do any major mileage.

Logroño

Remember the "Johnny" method for finding the best, most reasonably priced accommodation by asking in a bar - well it failed miserably in Logroño. I was directed to a four star hotel that was €80 a night! I told the person there that this was too much and asked for a cheaper hotel. He directed me to a three star hotel nearby and I was that hot and knackered that I decided to stay there. The room was large and air conditioned though which was a welcome relief. This was my first night in Spain, so I hadn't got the knack or sufficient Spanish to do any better. I should have used my "Rough Guide" book.

Once out and about in the city I soon came to realise that nobody speaks English and that my night school Spanish was not good enough at all to get myself understood! I also got lost whilst wandering around looking for something to eat and ended up aimlessly wandering the streets for some time. Therefore my impression of Logroño was not very good, I'm afraid. I'm sure it's a lovely place and I may return there for a proper look around during my travels. As it was, I couldn't wait to leave the next morning. I looked at the map and decided to stop at Zaragoza as that was roughly half way to Barcelona and I wasn't in a rush. This time I looked at the Rough Guide and picked a pension that was cheap near the centre of the city, so had a definite destination!

Major Bike Problems

I was on the way to Zaragoza on a reasonable 'A' road and feeling quite good on the bike and not too hot, taking it easy on less than half revs at about 70mph when there was suddenly an almighty loud clattering noise which I could hear easily above the wind noise and sound of the bike's exhaust. I had done 31 miles from Logroño and I'd thrown a valve, or something major anyway! I pulled off the road as soon as I could and found some shade outside a Mitsubishi dealers. I couldn't get the guy to understand that I wanted to use his phone to call my breakdown insurers (glad I took European cover out before leaving!), and felt a bit cheeky so managed to get a card off him with the address on it so I could tell them where I was.

The bike had had a major service the week before leaving and the mechanic had said he had 'tapped' the cam chain tensioners in to tighten the chains but they would possibly need replacing at the next service, so I wondered if that had caused the problem as my bike had only done 18,000 miles and it is a Honda after all! I'd never had any problem with it before even when pushing it to the limit on track days in hot weather (apart from warped front brake discs which Honda replaced for free even though the bike was out of warranty), but as soon as I really needed to rely on it this happens! Bolas!

This was the third disaster in three weeks with my bike:-

The day before I left my last address to see friends around England before the ferry, a van reversed into my bike and knocked it onto a fence. This caused only cosmetic damage, but to get it repaired in insurance terms would cost nearly 1,000 pounds. The guy took my phone number but never rang me - you know who you are, Jed!

The following evening I finally emptied the house and left to head down to my mate's in Kettering. I had only gone a few miles and was on the M62 when the back end of the bike started weaving around. At first I thought it was all my luggage and the wind and the fact I wasn't used motorways as I hadn't ridden the bike properly for months, but it got much worse and by the time I'd pulled onto the hard shoulder the rear tyre was completely flat! I was already stressed out and just thought "can things get much worse than this". I had thought it would be wise to take European wide breakdown cover insurance for the foreign trip with my bike insurer, but this didn't come into effect until the renewal date of my bike insurance - two days later!

I was stood there on the hard shoulder on a dark Sunday night holding my bike up as it wouldn't lean over sufficiently onto the side stand with the flat tyre and all the luggage. I racked my mind on who I might call and phoned my brother, Steve, for advice. I was then trying to phone whoever may be storing my insurance phone number details to see if they could at least organise a truck to pick me up, when another biker passed and stopped further up the hard shoulder. I thought "what help can he be with a punctured tyre". I had rearranged the luggage by now to be hanging over one side and the bike would just about stand up on it's own, so I ran up to the bike as the guy was getting off. I explained what had happened and he proceeded to open one of the fixed panniers on his BMW and produced a puncture repair kit! I can't quite explain my feelings at this moment, but you could probably envisage them. I didn't know such things existed, but there was a little tool to roughen up the hole after removing the object (screw in this case) then a rubber bung and some glue to fix it in with. Then 2 small canisters to get just enough pressure into the tyre to drive (very slowly) to a garage to blow it back up to the correct pressure.

My "Good Samaritan" then followed me all the way to a garage with his hazard flashers on (I've forgotten this saint-like biker's name sadly - he gave me his email which I can't find now in Spain - I think he was from Lincoln). I now think BMW's are cool - what other manufacturer would put hazard flashers on a motorcycle? I then continued down to Kettering at an extremely frustrating 45mph and was only about three hours late in the end.

Back in Spain I was waiting in the shade in Calahorra for the breakdown truck which arrived within an hour of me calling my insurers in England. Well done to CIS, with whom I have had my bike insurance for many years (I had a bike stolen several years ago and got very good service then also). Of course, the mechanic couldn't speak English but he also thought the clattering noise was a "válvula" hitting a "pistón". We loaded the bike onto the truck and I asked the Spanish telephone operator by phone if we could go to Zaragoza as that was my destination. We couldn't do this so we proceeded to head back to Logroño! However, once there the breakdown guy phoned the Honda dealers and they were shut as there was a fiesta about to start! So we had no choice but to head for Zaragoza after all.

We got to Zaragoza about 7.30 and unloaded the bike at the Honda dealer. I was told that they would strip the engine and should know what the problem is by eleven o'clock the next morning. Fingers crossed, eh!

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Instead of using the "Johnny" method of finding accommodation, I used the independent travellers' guide book, which listed a cheap, centrally-located guesthouse, the Pension La Peña in Cinegio Street. The guide had the number, so I sorted out the room from the bike shop after being taken there by the breakdown recovery truck (or rather Paco, who runs the shop, did).

The taxi from the Honda dealer seemed to take ages, as there are many road works in Zaragoza (English name Saragossa). Then the driver couldn't actually drive right to my guesthouse, so I had to carry all my luggage and leathers quite a way and up some stairs to reach it. I was also on the third floor, so was knackered when I got to my room. The room was very clean and a bargain at €20 a night. The bathroom and toilet were shared, but that first shower was priceless. I went out to find a bar nearby, and though it was called "Harry McNamara's Bar", yet again no English was spoken there.

Feeling a bit down about the bike troubles and not being able to speak to anyone, I began to think that Zaragoza would be another Logroño-type experience, only in a bigger city, and I'd be just as glad to leave there, when I rounded a corner heading towards the central plaza, or square, and was greeted with the street view below.

This is Calle Alfonso I which leads to the city's central plaza and straight ahead is one of the towers of the Basilica de Nuestra Señora Del Pilar. My spirits lifted immediately and I thought "this is more like I expected".

The Basilica is on the north side of the Plaza del Pilar, an amazing square which was paved in brilliant pale stone when remodelled in 1991. It is about 500m long and gives a sensation of great spaciousness.

Every major epoch in the city's development is covered around the square. The city was founded in 24 B.C. by the Romans on the site of an ancient Iberian fortified town on the banks of the River Ebro. It was named Caesaraugusta in honour of its founder Emperor Caesar Augustus. It was surrounded by a rectangular wall with four gates. These walls were up to seven metres thick in many places, the outer part consisting of alabaster and limestone, the inside mortar being amazingly hard (opus caementicum).

At the east end is the old cathedral, La Seo, which was extensively restored a few years ago.

In A.D. 714 the city was conquered by the Muslims and became known as Saraqusta. In A.D.1118 it was captured by the troops of Alfonso I, the Battler, and become the capital of the Kingdom of Aragon. The cathedral was built shortly after, hence the Gothic-Mudéjar style, a combination of architectural design and materials used under centuries of Muslim rule, and later superimposed Christian Gothic.

By far the most amazing building in the plaza is the Basilica of Nuestra Señora del Pilar. This Baroque masterpiece is one of Spain's greatest and most revered religious buildings and one of the most important sanctuaries devoted to the Virgin Mary in the Catholic world. It flanks the River Ebro's southern bank in majestic style.

According to an ancient tradition, prior to her death the Virgin Mary came from Jerusalem on the night of 2nd January A.D. 40 to visit the Apostle Saint James, who was preaching the gospel to early converts on the banks of the River Ebro. The official i/DN tourist guide to Zaragoza says she came and brought the Pilar ('pillar' or 'column') with her, on top of which was to be built the first chapel. Other guides say that she descended from heaven as an apparition on top of the Pilar.

Whichever version you subscribe to, if either, today the original Pilar, topped by an image of the Virgin, is constantly surrounded by pilgrims who line up to touch an exposed section. Over the centuries several temples have been built here since the original one, but the current Basilica was designed and built in the 17th century when the cult of the Virgin del Pilar reached dramatic popularity.

Apologies for all the tourist stuff, but this city has so much history right in the centre that I had to give a potted version of it to do it justice.

A small charge gets you by lift to the top of one of the towers of the Basilica, from where there are some great views of the building itself and over the whole city. I didn't go up myself, but thanks to Sean for the photos below.

Apart from the Plaza, the other main attraction of note is the Aljaferia, which was built in the middle of the eleventh century in the heyday of the rule of an independent Moorish dynasty, the Ben Kasim, thus predating the Alhambra in Granada.

The next day was "the day of reckoning", when I would find out just how much damage had been done to my motorcycle. I went to the Honda dealer expecting mucho expense and time to work on the engine. On arriving there, I was taken into the workshop by the mechanic, who could speak a little English, and was shown the front cylinder's cam chain tensioner, whose spring had disappeared (disintegrated, I hope, and not somewhere in the engine). So the noise I had heard was the cam chain rattling, but there was no evidence of damage to the rest of the engine. The repairs would simply be two new cam chain tensioners, as the rear one could be suspect too. Excellent news compared to how bad it could have been. They said I could pick the bike up the following evening if the parts arrived on time. Marvellous!

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3 of Pablo's "Horse" sculptures, 1927-28

The sculptures were excellent and Gargallo, a good mate of Picasso, is considered to be one of the most significant artists of the Catalan avant-garde and the master of cubist sculpture working with iron.

Pablo Emilio Gargallo Catalan was born on January 5th, 1881, in the town of Maella in the province of Zaragoza (Aragon). His father owned a blacksmith's which was a good start to working with metal. His family moved to Barcelona and in 1895 he entered the studio of Eusebi Arnau i Mascort (great name, eh?) as an apprentice. From 1900 he frequented the "Els Quatre Gats" cafe for literary gatherings with the likes of Picasso, Nonell and Canais. He later moved to Paris, taught in Barcelona until getting sacked for political reasons before setting up permanent residence in Paris. Here he made large pieces out of thick metal. He created sculptures for the Montjuich Olympic Stadium and the 1929 World's Fair in Barcelona and other events in New York.

Urano, 1933.

Urano is my favourite of those on display. I have seen a few photographs of it, but they all look dull, including the one in the museum pamphlet. They look more iron than bronze.

In addition to traditional sculpting methods, Pablo developed a style of sculpture based on the creation of 3 dimensional objects from pieces of flat metal plate using paper or cardboard cutouts for his designs, many of which can be seen at the museum. He contributed to the renewal in european sculpture by working with new materials like lead, copper and iron and created a new sculptural language by presenting empty space or void as a kind of volume.
In 1934 Gargallo put on very successful exhibitions in New York and Barcelona but then unfortunately suffered from a sudden fulminating bronchial pneumonia, causing an early death at the age of 53.

The Prophet (St. John the Baptist), 1933

Next post coming soon, "Zaragoza When the Sun Goes Down".

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I don't think I need an excuse for another picture of the Basilica de Nuestro Señora del Pilar, so here's one of the sun setting over the Rio Ebro.

This river winds all the way across Spain to the mediterranean from it's source in the Basque country, a large lake called the Embalse del Ebro in the aptly named Pico de los Tres Mares (peak of three seas), only about 70 kilometres south of Santander on the Atlantic coast. It is the longest river in Spain and it is believed that the ancient Greek name for this river was "Iberus", which was first documented in the 6th century BC by a Greek author in reference to the Iberians, or the people who lived along the Iberus river.

Ultimately the word may well derive from the Basque words ibai (river) and ibar (valley), and also from ur meaning water. Linguists have noted similarities with the names of 200 other European rivers and streams (such as Ibar in Serbia, Ebrach and several Eberbach in Germany, Irwell in The UK), suggesting that a form of Basque was once spoken throughout Europe before the arrival of Indo-European tribes and languages. I will cover this, and recent genetic studies from Oxford university pointing to Basque origins of British people, in my forthcoming posts about the marvelous Basque country (where I ended up staying for four months on my "travels"!).

I grew up in a pub and they are the places in which I feel most at home. Well that’s my excuse anyway! Therefore bars are an important part of my trip. They are the best places to meet people as well, so another good reason to frequent them as much as possible, eh? The trouble is that, if you spend a very long time in them, you end getting very drunk. It was the day after one of these occasions, where I had even (unusually) ended up in a night club, that I found the following picture on my camera.


I had no memory that this, and another picture of the guy at the front, had been taken. I had run into these youngsters several times on the way home from a night out and they would practice their english on me (poor sods). On this night I had my camera attached to my belt as I'd been out since the afternoon, so that would explain it then!


Zaragoza is going through a massive building and restoration programme ahead of hosting the World Expo in 2008 which, appropriately enough for this desert region, is entitled “Water and Sustainable Development”. Most of Spain is short of water and in Zaragoza there have been ideas put forward to drain the old canal, whereas in Valencia (where I am now) they are working on a desalination project.

As a result of this the traffic is even worse than other Spanish cities, and hundreds of local police can be seen waving their arms and blowing their whistles in an almost impossible attempt to keep vehicles moving at rush hour. There are also many temporary walls around building sites, and the like, where the local graffitists soon get to work. I have included just a couple of examples on a wall around the corner from my pension. It certainly beats the stuff at home!

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The first bar I made my local was Harry Macnamara's on calle Mendez Nuñez which was just around the corner from my hotel. They do a decent "desayuno" (breakfast) deal consisting of juice, toast with butter and marmalade, and coffee for €2.25. They keep serving this into the afternoon which is handy for late-night revellers like myself! The staff here are very friendly, but you need to be able to speak some castellano (spanish) in order to get what you want. Watch out for my future blog, "English Idiot Guide to Spanish" to find why it is better to refer to the spanish language as castellano, rather than español, when in Spain.



Despite the bar's name and the above logo, it is a spanish bar. The only scottish touch being a tartan tammie and scarf on the spanish beer pump! Apparently the barmaids used to wear short tartan skirts but, alas not any more. However, here's how it might have looked if I'd have been there in 2004.......




The local beer here is Ambar, which you can get on draught in this bar. It's brewed in Zaragoza and quite nice.



Nobody spoke english in the bar so it was a bit of a challenge to order anything other than wine or beer, even when I asked for a "café con leche", I got blank looks. Pronunciation is the key thing here, and mine wasn't good enough at this stage. I met one guy, Joaquín, who could speak english and he "took me under his wing" and tried to help me learn.

Joaquín with tammie!
He drank a lot of a spanish liqueur called Pacharán. It's very popular in Spain and very nice, if a little sweet. It originated in Navarra in the Basque Country as a home-made drink(it's Basque name is Patxaran). When I was later in Vitoria-Gasteiz and took a basque girl out on my bike, we were walking in the country and came across some blackthorn bushes, she immediately started fervently picking the sloe berries so she could make some Patxaran. It is made by soaking the berries in anisette, with a few coffee beans and a vanilla pod, for several months.

Joaquín shattered my illusions of being able to speak spanish fluently within a few months, and told me it would take a couple of years! I now reckon he was right too.

The bar has a big screen for major sports events, which was handy as the world cup was on when I was there. The relaxed atmosphere meant it was the place where I would watch several games, particularly when Spain or a south american team were playing. As for England games, see my next posts on "Irish" bars in Zaragoza, where ex-pats and native english speakers are normally to be found.

An extra treat for any fans of the cult Australian drama "Prisoner Cell Block H" out there, the lady who runs the bar is a dead ringer for Miss Ferguson!

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The first Irish bar I found is on calle Alfonso II, close to the central Plaza Del Pilar. Flaherty's is one of a family-run chain of 4 pubs in Spain, the others being in Barcelona, Sevilla and Sotogrande. They do a hearty Irish breakfast(pretty similar to English, but using Irish sausages and bacon), and jacket spuds seemed to be very popular in here.

They are big on sports here and have two reasonably sized screens. They have Sky TV, which is great for bike racing fans like myself. Provided there is no big event on, they will happily switch channels for you, so I would go here for brunch and watch MotoGP qualifying, and the like, on Eurosport.

The bar manager, Scott, is a good guy who literally lives up to his name(being from Scotland). There is also a good Spanish barman who has previously lived in England, so it was "good to talk". There were nice touches, such as, if you have a few wines, they will make one of them "on the house". Here, like most bars in Spain, you don't have to keep fumbling for cash every time you get a drink, you just settle up at the end. This is an example of how uneuropean we can be in England, as many countries operate the tab policy. Maybe it just wouldn't work, though, as several people would probably abuse the system by leaving without paying!

I was in Flaherty's one day to watch Portugal playing in the world cup. I was surprised it wasn't showing there, as was another English guy I met there. He suggested going to another Irish bar nearby to watch the match. This was to be my first visit of many to Gallagher's, which I immediately made my local.

Gallagher's is facing the roman wall ruins on calle Murallas Romanas, next to the Plaza Del Pilar. It's open until 3 a.m. on weekdays and 4 a.m. on Saturdays which is ample, even for me! They serve the usual Irish drinks and have a great selection of sandwiches with amusing names, such as Publiner, Morrison, Bono and Bowie. They are really tasty, if a little high in cholesterol. Behind the bar you will find Chris, the lovely Romanian Nonnie, Jason and Graham(or "Elvis" as I called him because he looked a bit like Mr Costello). This bar is a favourite haunt for many English speaking ex-pats, as well as having a healthy Spanish clientele. They have a bilingual quiz night, which is a good laugh.


They have a huge screen and it was the perfect place to watch the footie, particularly the England games.
The first person I met there was an Australian called Lorne. He, like many native english speakers over here, was teaching english as a second language.


Australia were doing really well in the world cup, and we enjoyed a few games until that fateful game versus Italy...

Lorne's brother was taking part in the Ozzie "Big Brother" TV program, and faring pretty good, being the only person not to have been nominated at that time.

Lorne celebrating Australia's 2-2 draw with Croatia, meaning they were through to the last 16 knockout stage.

This was the furthest Australia had ever got in their few world cup final stage appearances(they were last in the finals 32 years ago!), and the team were looking pretty good. They then went on to play Italy in a knockout match that proved to be the most controversial of the competition.

Italy had a player sent off early in the second half, and, despite having more attempts on goal, hadn't managed to score in normal time. Australia were holding their own and it was looking like the game would got to extra time. This would favour Australia as their players were known for being extremely fit and the Italians were definitely looking more tired. Four minutes of injury time were awarded, and, 8 seconds from the end of this added time, Italian player Fabio Grosso worked his way into the penalty area and deliberately fell over Ozzie defender Lucas Neill's prone body.
The referee awarded a penalty and Australia were out of the cup, which Italy went on to win. Cruel!

As you can imagine, Lorne was really hacked-off. He wanted to go and find some Italians, so we headed to Flaherty's, where I captured this image on my mobile.

The picture speaks for itself, really!


Gallaghers was the place to watch England ganes in Zaragoza. Below is a picture taken during the kick-off of the match against Ecuador, where David Beckhan would become the first English player to score in 3 world cups, despite throwing up on the pitch later due to dehydration and heat exhaustion.


I met a lot of good people in this bar, not least the barstaff, who were all friendly and a good laugh.

I don't know if anyone reading this takes any notice of tabloid newspapers in the UK, but they try and stir up rivalry with Germany at the slightest opportunity.
Two of the best guys I met in Gallagher's, where, you've guessed it, German.
Personally, I don't have any predetermined or bigoted feelings about any race, I just judge people as I find them...

Me and my good mate Sebastian

... and I found Sebastian and Kaj to be two cool dudes.
They where both doing foreign work experience in Spain as part of their apprenticeships/degree courses in the printing industry.

I never got that opportunity at university, the lucky sods!

Kaj becoming an honorary England fan for the Ecuador game.



Kaj, or "Günter", as Chris (the biggest joker and mickey-taker behind the bar) used to call him, could tell you everything you ever needed to know about printing (yawn!).

Kaj was to be sadly missed by the local Brits when it came time for him to return to Germany. This is an English mate, Saul, with Kaj on his final night.


Spain also got through to the knockout stages. I, of course, became a Spain fan for their games. For the knockout game against France, they erected a huge screen in the Plaza Del Pilar. This was sadly not to help them, though, as France were to blast them 3-1 in this game, and eventually go through to the final where they would lose to Italy on penalties.

With Spain, and later England knocked out, my interest sort of fizzled out. I even forgot the final was on, and was having a meal in a Chinese restaurant at the time. I only realised I'd missed it when walking past a large war monument in the Basque Country, which a guy had scaled to joyously raise the Italian flag, and wildly celebrate!

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Zaragoza had become like a home to me after 3 weeks there, but I realised that it was time to move on. My Spanish wasn't improving much, as most of the people I knew were native English speakers. It was beginning to feel like the easy option, I needed a new challenge and to see more of the country I was supposed to be touring around!

I had decided it was far too hot in late June to head south, so looked at the map and considered the Basque Country or Cantabria, both of which looked beautiful. If I started somewhere like San Sebastian, I could then head west and cover most of northern Spain including the stunning Picos de Europa. That was my very loose plan, anyway.

A few days before leaving I was sat on my own at the other end of Gallagher's than normal, to watch MotoGP qualifying. A guy who had just arrived walked in to check the place out. We said hello, he looked around the bar, then we had a quick chat. He was from New Zealand and on a whistle-stop solo trip to a few places in Spain. We arranged to meet up for a beer later and Sean became a good friend in his 3 days in Zaragoza.

Sean is an active tourist and covered all the roman, muslim and christian attractions of Zaragoza, far more than I did in three weeks there! It's due to him that I could feature pictures of places I hadn't photographed myself in previous posts in this blog.

After Zaragoza, he was heading to what is arguably the most famous fiesta in Spain, to foreigners anyway, the "Running of the Bulls" in Pamplona. "El encierro" at the fiesta San Fermin is where, every morning, a group of bulls are released into the streets at one end of town, and run down to the bullring. Anyone(mainly locals) brave and stupid enough to participate, can run in front of the bulls for as long as they are able to. It's very dangerous and 7 people were hospitalised at this one, 3 of them seriously injured. I like to think of it as the animals getting their own back!

I had previously realised this fiesta was on, and not too far from where I was, but thought it was too late to get a place to stay, and didn't fancy the campsite option with all my luggage. However, because Sean was going, I checked out my Rough Guide to Spain and it recommended staying away from Pamplona and commuting in for the day to enjoy the madness. One of the places it mentioned was Vitoria-Gasteiz. I looked at the map and it was on a direct train line to Pamplona, so decided to head there.

This is how I ended up in the capital of the Basque Country, a place I would come to love very much, and make many good friends. I had never heard of this city, and would probably never have gone there if I hadn't met Sean. I also wouldn't have still been in Zaragoza if my bike hadn't broken down, as I was heading to Barcelona at the time.

I wonder if this what is meant by fate?

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Leaving Zaragoza was as much of a pain as arriving, carrying all my luggage to the bike in the extreme heat of the afternoon, in my leathers! Once eventually out of the city traffic and on the open road, it was OK, and I plumped for motorways to reduce the journey time. Once I had entered the Basque country, it was noticeably cooler, and I nearly stopped to put my extra jacket on!

I arrived in Vitoria-Gasteiz (Vitoria being the Spanish name, and Gasteiz, Basque) by early evening and glanced at one of the roadside temperature gauges/clocks, which are a common sight in Spain. It was only showing 22ºC, which caused a loud cheer inside my helmet! This was half the temperature that was regularly reached in Zaragoza.

I had decided on one of the cheapest city centre pensions in the Rough Guide, which was in the old town. It took me a while to navigate the obligatory one-way system, with several roads not accessible, but I was helped by a friendly local.

This was the first picture I took in Vitoria-Gasteiz.

They have strange inhabitants here!

This guy was out walking his dog.

You can understand that I got right out of the way pretty quickly after taking this photo!



Like all Spanish cities I've been to, the heart of the modern city of Vitoria-Gasteiz is centred around the old town, with it's narrow cobbled streets, and virtually totally pedestrianised. The bars around the old quarter are very lively, and stay open late. My intention in coming here was to be able to commute to Pamplona for a day, and enjoy the fiesta San Fermin. However, "El enciero", the running of the bulls, starts at 8 a.m. each day, so to be able to get a vantage point, the train I would need to get from Vitoria left at 6 a.m.

As I was out until 3 every morning getting to know
this new city, alas, I never made it to Pamplona. My new Kiwi mate, Sean, was partying there for several days, though, and he will hopefully write an entry for this blog, telling us all about it!

He flew back to Newcastle (where he is currently working), from Vitoria, so we had a chance to meet up before he left. He was extremely knackered, and had clearly enjoyed the festivities to the full!

The "new" cathedral in Vitoria-Gasteiz, built in the early 20th century, so, very new by Spanish religious buildings standards!

The Pension I found was excellent, a larger room than the one in Zaragoza, with a double bed and sink, and very clean. Pension Eguileta was superb value at €20 a night.

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8-15 July 2006

There are two large music festivals in Vitoria each year, the Festival de Jazz in July, and the Azkena Rock Festival in August. I was lucky enough to be there for both. For the Jazz Festival, there were some concerts at large venues with entry fees, but plenty of smaller bands performing free in bars and on the streets.

I was sat in my room on the first night and could hear some kicking Jazz nearby, so went to investigate.

Just around the corner from my pension is the city's major modern art gallery, The Artium(which I will cover in a future blog entry).

This band was playing outside, and turning out some great Dixieland tunes to a small crowd of passers-by.


Crank up the volume on your computer, and click on the YouTube play button right to see and hear a short video sample, and get "Jazzed-up"!

I was in a bar the next day and the barmaid told me that there was a group playing that night at midnight. I asked "¿Qué grupo?" it was, and she said "Yazz". Well, I was amazed to hear this, as I was certain that the pop diva(whose first single "The Only Way Is Up" was the best selling single in the UK in 1988), was not performing anymore.

I later realised my error, she was simply saying the word "Jazz", in Spanish!

Free outdoor music festivals are always the best, in my opinion. They attract a different kind of audience and are more family orientated. A more peaceful atmosphere than the over-priced, high security modern festivals.

On the Sunday of the festival there was an evening of free jazz in the park at Campas de Armentia to the south of the city.

New Birth Brass Band (their name stemming from the tragic floods in New Orleans) walked through the crowd during the gaps between the stage shows, causing much amusement and entertainment.

First up at the concert was the six piece band, The Dukes of Dixieland. They represented the traditional white Jazz of New Orleans, and played compositions stretching back nearly a century, but which have certainly stood the test of time.

The second group, and the highlight of the concert, was fronted by Doctor Michael White. An institution in New Orleans, Dr. White is a musician, composer, historian and professor of afro-american music. He played the clarinet, with veterans Gregory Stafford on trumpet and Detroit Brooks on banjo.

He had even composed a song especially for the Basque audience which was enthusiastically received. However, my favourite piece was an excellent rendition of Gershwin's "Summertime", a composition recorded more times than any other in history. Click on the video link below to see the end of this song, after which I pan to the crowd to give you a flavour of the scene.




The New Birth Brass Band were out bringing the music right among the audience once again, with "When the Saints...".

Marching bands have been around in New Orleans since the 19th century, and remember that funeral scene in the James Bond movie, "Live and Let Die"?


The final band on stage was the six-piece "Spirit of New Orleans", formed following Hurricane Katrina by musicians famous in their own right, and with their respective bands. They proved so much in demand that they have taken their performances around the world. The trombonist, Lucien Barbarin, is considered the best in New Orleans and comes from a family of famous musicians, his great-uncle, Isodore, being the mentor of Louis Armstrong.


My camera has a case with a belt attachement which I normally wear on my hip. As I was sat on the grass watching the concert, this was uncomfortable, so I moved it round to the centre of the belt, which would later have dramatic consequences.....

...at this point I was busting for the toilet, but the portaloo area had been closed off, so I eventually found a building which looked like a pavilion. Inside were some toilets, so, as I had button-up fly jeans, I was desperately undoing my belt, at which point the camera fell in the toilet bowl!

I immediately fished it out, thinking "Oh my god! The camera's knackered, and I've lost the pictures and video I've just taken". I walked out of the building, cursing and swearing at my stupidity, and there was a group of smartly-dressed men outside. I started talking to the first guy and was pleased to learn he was American, and very intelligent, so could converse with someone in english, for the first time since being in the Basque country. Still stunned from the toilet incident, I told him about my camera, and that I was traveling in Spain and writing a blog about my experiences. I then introduced myself and shook hands, asking "what's your name?". To this, he slightly indignantly replied, "I'm Michael White"! I suddenly felt very small, and tried to dig myself out of the big hole I was in, by complementing his performance, especially the rendition of "Summertime". Well, I had enjoyed a bottle of vino tinto and some herbal tobacco while watching the concert! It turned out that the building I had found to relieve myself was the artists' changing area, etc.


The last band played some very lively jazz, and by this stage the audience were really getting into the atmosphere, and a number of people had started to dance near the stage. I went over to join them, and had a right good boogie. It was the climax of a brilliant day, and all for the cost of a bottle of vino tinto. Cheers Vitoria-Gasteiz.

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In Vitroia-Gasteiz, as in the rest of Spain, fiestas seem to happen every week, particularly in summer. Spaniards certainly don't need much of an excuse to have a party, and they really know how to let their hair down! During fiestas and at weekends, it is not unusual to walk down one of the narrow streets in the casco viejo(old town) after 4 a.m., and the place is still buzzing with people making lots of noise.

Following on from the Jazz Festival, there was a small fiesta in Parque de Molinuevo. The Casa Americas fiesta celebrated Latin American culture, music and dance. There is a healthy South American presence in Spain, accounting for the largest immigrant presence here, followed by Moroccans, who often brave the Straights of Gibralter in flimsy boats to illegally enter the country for the chance of a better life.

A sunny day, nice ladies dancing on stage, and a plentiful supply of drink and food were the order of the day here.

Vitoria is a very "tranquilo" place, and here in the park the atmosphere was very relaxed among the mainly Latin American audience, making for a good summer family day.

Another larger fiesta is "El día del Blusa". This happens on the 25th July every year, coinciding with "La Fiesta de Santiago", the patron saint of Spain.

The protagonists in "The Day of the Blouse" are many locals donning white shirts and blue "blouses". The traditional clothes worn date back to when groups of friends would meet to go to the bull ring on this national holiday. To avoid their clothes getting stained they began to wear protective workers' overall-type clothes, which subsequently came to resemble those of Basque farmers and shephards.

This fiesta is seen as a warm-up to Vitoria's biggest party, the fiesta de la Virgen Blanca (see next post), where these clothes are also worn during the six-day party.

The main activities of the fiesta are parades of blusas through the streets heading for the bullfight and a donkey race around the central plaza, involving about 20 representatives from the different squads of blusas.

The most bizarre thing for me, though, was a market on several streets where all the stalls sell only one thing, "collars" of garlic (see picture). Most people I saw walking in the street had one or two of these around their knecks, which must keep them going for months!


The Spanish cities I have been to have excellent waste disposal and street-cleaning policies,with rubbish bins emptied at least once a day, and street cleaning vehicles and "binmen" working through the night. One facility in Vitoria that I hadn't come across before, though, is the vacuum waste disposal system. If you look at the above picture, you will see some grey receptacles on the left of the street. In Vitoria they utilise the Envac system. This vacuum system transports waste to a central depot through underground pipes at speeds of up to 70 km per hour!


This system is particularly useful for historic streets where heavy vehicular access is not possible, like here in Vitoria's old quarter.

The system has never been used in the UK before, but is now being installed in Wembley, so could become more widespread over there in the next few years.

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The cities and towns in Spain have many fiestas, but each one has one big blow-out which overshadows the others, in honour of the city's patron saint. As in Zaragoza, the patron saint of this city is the Virgin Mary, "la Virgen Blanca". In Vitoria-Gasteiz, normally a very relaxed and tranquil city, everyone really lets their hair down for Las Fiestas de la Virgen, a six day continuous party spanning the entire city.

During the festivities there are many street processions, dancers, musicians, live statues, free concerts and bullfights.


The partying starts the night before, and in 2006 the legendary Jamaican reggae star Jimmy Cliff performed a concert in Plaza del Los Fueros. Although his opening words, "Hola España!", could have been better chosen here in the centre of the Basque Country, his later shouts to the effect of "Bush and Blair no war in Iraq" went down a storm.

The fiesta officially kicks off on 4th August at 6 p.m. when the mayor fires el chupinazo ("the bang", using rocket fireworks). This initiates the release of Celedón, an effigy holding an umbrella, who descends on wires from a church tower high above the main square, Plaza de la Virgen Blanca, reminiscent of Mary Poppins!
At the same time, thousands of people in the square light up a big cigar(puro) and pop open a bottle of Cava, spraying it into the air.

Approximately 20,000 puros and 30,000 bottles of Cava are lit/opened at this point.(The wearing of old clothes is thoroughly recommended for this stage of the proceedings!)

Several minutes later, after passing over the huge crowd of revelers(approximately 40,000 people), Celedón enters a balcony window at the bottom of the square, and then a man dressed identically appears at the window and leaps into the crowd, in true Benny Hill style!

The descent of Celedón has been used to open the fiesta since 1957, started by a group of Vitorian "blusas" and popularly believed to be in memory of, and to pay homage to, the villager Celedonio Alzola, from nearby Zalduondo. This affectionate character, born in 1796, used to travel to the fiestas every year and became a protagonist, promoting them with his affable personality. However, the song verse that is sung on his descent and throughout the fiestas "Celedón, ha hecho una casa nueva. Celedón, con ventana y balcón" was actually composed for Celedonio Iturralde, from Andagoia, by his friend from the Carlist Wars, Vitoria's organist, Pedro Fernández.

I would say, after getting the local opinion here, that the best way to look at Celedón is as a legend, an emblem or symbol representing good will and affection, all that is good about Vitoria-Gasteiz and its' region, Alava.

This statue of Celedón, erected in 2005, from what I've seen, must be one of the most hugged(by children and adults alike) and patted statues in the world! (photograph taken in 2007)


Now the fiesta really gets going, and there's no let up. The normally generous opening hours seem to be thrown out of the window for 6 days. I took this picture at around 5 a.m., a couple of days into the fiestas. An army of 200 workers and volunteers are at hand: firemen, medical staff and cleaning services(very necessary!).


Calle Cuchilleria, 5:10 a.m. The banner you can see is in the Basque language Euskara, "euskal presoak etxera" means "imprisoned Basques home" referring to political members of E.T.A. in different Spanish prisons up to 1,000 km away from their familes, and "estatus politikoa orain!" means "political status now!" for these prisoners. Banners and graffiti of this kind can always be seen in the old town, especially on this street, along with photos of the prisoners.


Brass bands march through the streets every morning to wake up anyone who's managed to get any sleep, then the partying begins all over again. After six days of this, with much regret(and probably relief), at midnight on the 9th, the people wave goodbye to Celedón who rises up from the main plaza, back to the church bell tower. This is when the people untie the blue and white handkerchiefs which have been worn around their necks throughout the fiestas

Two and a half hours later, you'd presume not much would be happening, but us die-hard party people headed to the university area where there were live bands, discos, bars, food etc. for the rest of the morning. As you can see from this photo with an old toreador, I just couldn't bring myself to remove the handkerchief!


The party crew on this evening: my mate from Sarajevo, Hardi, and some of my Basque buddies, Zuriñe, Karlos, Kaldi, José and Amaia.


Indie Basque metal band, Muted, pictured below, were rocking the place, check out their myspace profile to hear some of their songs.

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Since 2002 Basque rock fans have had a reason to smile. The Azkena Rock Festival is arguably the biggest heavy metal festival in Spain. Headliners in 2006 were Pearl Jam, but the must-see for me were Iggy and The Stooges. I first got into Iggy Pop in the early 80´s after hearing "Lust For Life" at a local club. I bought a couple of his albums which were well worn a couple of years later. "Lust For Life" and the forever played "The Passenger", are true classics and ones that I would never grow tired of listening to. All this said, I had never seen Iggy live and here was my chance 25 years later, and many thanks to my mate Kaldi who gave me the ticket.

When I arrived the Young Fresh Fellows were playing. They sounded pretty good and eased me into the festival spirit.

The Waterboys, formed by singer Mike Scott, recorded their first album in 1983. Their third album managed to reach the top 40 in 1985, and a single from this album, "The Whole of The Moon", reached number 3 when re-released in 1991. Before the gig this was the only song I could remember, thinking "they must have had other hits". Listening to the band, though, I was surprised how many songs I actually recognised.


At this stage of the evening it wasn't too crowded, so I could get right to the front to take some pictures. There I met a couple of Irish guys. One of them, Mark, was shouting "Steve-O, Steve-O" at the top of his voice, for the Irish fiddle player, Steve Wickham. I joined in initially, even though I´d never heard of the guy, but stopped after realising that Steve was a bit uncomfortable about it. His fiddle playing was awesome, and the whole set was excellent.

Another band, Green on Red, were next on another stage but we decided to stay in our good spot at the front for the main act of the evening, Iggy & The Stooges.

The Stooges were formed in 1967 and made a couple of low-selling albums before breaking up due to Iggy's growing heroin addiction. They were reformed in 1973 to record the punk landmark album "Raw Power", produced by Iggy's friend, David Bowie. The band would soon split up again, though. In 1977 Bowie and Iggy moved to East Berlin to wean themselves off hard drugs(?), and Bowie produced and co-wrote some tracks on two Iggy Pop albums, "The Idiot" and "Lust For Life", regarded as Iggy's finest solo works, and the ones I would come to buy later.

The big break in Iggy's life would come years later, as a result of these albums. In 1983 Bowie recorded a cover of "China Girl" from "The Idiot" on his massive "Let's Dance" album. The single was a major world-wide hit and Iggy, as co-writer received substantial royalties. On Bowie's "Tonight" album in 1984, there were also two covers from "Lust For Life", "Tonight" and "Neighborhood Threat". This would give Iggy the means to take a long break and conquer his heroin addiction, getting married in the process. The two other surviving members of The Stooges, Ron and Scott Asheton, joined Iggy on his 2003 album "Skull Ring", and would later reform the group, becoming "Iggy and The Stooges".

Positioning yourself at the front is great for the view and the atmosphere you experience, and for taking pictures. When Iggy came on stage I was thrilled to be so close, but this also has it's drawbacks. You certainly get close contact with people around you!, and when the crowd get warmed up it can be a challenge to stay on your feet. Many people were hurling various liquids towards the stage as well, much of which was beer judging by the state of my hair afterwards!

The crowd had really got going, Iggy being very popular here, as everywhere, and when he invited the fans onstage for the song "No Fun", both my head and shoulders were used as stepping stones for the large number of fans trying to accept the invitation. Many were caught by the security in front of the stage and escorted away, but the intrepid ones made it, and were paid off by joining him for the song.

This is the typical melee you will find at a gig like this. Not for the faint-hearted and not many people will come out unscathed. Having said this, it's a friendly, if quite physical experience. The bruises I had later were worth it!

I remember being at concerts by both The Cramps and Killing Joke in Leeds in the mid-eighties, where I really couldn't keep on my feet and was continuously knocked over. Each time, though, somebody would catch me before I hit the floor and help me back up!

The final band of the evening were The Misfits. Formed in New Jersey in 1977, they were the first ever "Punk Horror" band. Although not really successful at the time, and having split up in 1983, the band's underground fame grew and their records had been reissued and selliing well in the late 80's. In 1995 the original bassist and now singer, Dave Only(or "Weird Hairstyle" as I call him) and guitarist Doyle Wolfgang von Frankenstein reincarnated the group. Tonight's line up was Only, Dez Cadena on guitar and Robo on drums(both former Black Flag).

The group has been cited as spawning many later "horror punk" bands, but also influencing mainstream groups, such as Marilyn Manson, Metallica, Green Day, Red Hot Chilli Peppers and Guns N' Roses. They certainly put on a spectacular show for their age, and still have it in them to perform, if lacking the talent of earlier days.




If you want to read more about this festival, especially the other days including Pearl Jam's apparently "top drawer" performance, have a look at this blog post by someone more "in the know" regarding heavy metal music, Lou from Pittsburgh.

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Every year since 2002, on the third weekend in September, Vitoria-Gasteiz becomes home to a three-day long medieval fiesta. Many market stalls spring up lining the streets on the crest of the hill in the old town. In the rest of the city there are street artists, jugglers and jesters, dancers and ancient battle games, including jousting and sword fights.


The market features dozens of stalls and is the biggest of it's kind in the Basque Country, with people coming from all over Spain to sell their wares. There are many food stalls and even pigs being roasted on spits, and a plentiful supply of "sidra" (cider).


My friend Hardi was on hand selling his fine jewelery, but you have to keep an eager eye on some of the customers........

......like the lovely little Iris, my mate Jarrod's daughter, a budding kleptomaniac caught in the act in this picture. By the age of 1, she had already got her Mum, Maitane, in trouble from store detectives with her light fingers!



The medieval atmosphere is enhanced by strolling minstrels and music coming through megaphone speakers, which is very similar to medieval music you might hear at similar fetes in England, but with a distinct arabic feel to it.

When I thought about this it was hardly surprising as, during medieval times, Spain was ruled by the Moors. "Moors" is a term for the Muslims from North Africa, of Arab or Berber descent, who conquered the Iberian Peninsula within 8 years of their invasion in 711 AD.

They ruled most of Spain for several centuries, with the exception of northwest areas, such as Asturias, and the largely Basque regions in the Pyrenees. Their attempts to extend their territory across the Pyrenees failed when they were defeated by the French.
My name in Arabic, from a market stall here.

All this Muslim history may well go unnoticed in visits to many Spanish cities, particularly in the north, with the many beautiful and ancient catholic churches to be found, but 8 centuries ago, in 1200 AD, 80% of Iberia's 7 million inhabitants were Muslim, hence buildings like the Alhambra in Granada and the Aljafera in Zaragoza, pictured below and in my post Zaragoza, History and Bike News.

I was in Valencia for several months and you would be hard-pressed to find a lot of Muslim influence there, but this was probably destroyed by the legendary El Cid when he laid siege to the city and carved out a small kingdom for himself at the end of the 11th century.

Christian resistance grew from Visigoth enclaves in the northwest and different kingdoms slowly extended their power. In the early 13th century, combined forces under the leadership of Alfonso VIII of Castile drove the Muslims from central Iberia. A later marriage between Ferdinand II of Aragon and Isabella I of Castile(Reyes Catolicos) united all the christian kingdoms and in 1492 the last Muslim stronghold of Granada surrendered. This was the time of the Spanish Inquisition, aimed mostly at Jews and Muslims who had officially become christian but were thought to be secretly practising their faiths. They were expelled, forced to convert to christianity or murdered. Cartman, from South Park, would have fitted in right well there! :-)


Anyway, back in Vitoria, a flavour of these many battles is provided on the Saturday and Sunday evenings of the fiesta with medieval games in Plaza del Los Fueros. Here the protagonists line up before commencing battle.



The jousting warmed up using targets, but then one-to-one combat which was pretty realistic with the knights being knocked off their horses. I certainly wouldn't care to be on the receiving end of one of those lances!



This caused some unscheduled "equine frenzy" entertainment when a horse bolted following one of the jousts.




There was a woman fighting in the games, and she could certainly wield a sword! The crowd became partisan and had their favourites, on our side it was the "chica" and the other a scary black knight. She did very well, despite appearing to come a cropper in this video, she got back up and defeated this lesser knight.




The black knight was ruthlessly slaying his challengers and winning more support from the crowd. The finale saw him fight against the chica, and despite myself and our side of the crowd cheering in support for her, the knight proved to difficult and would come to win the day.




The locals like to get involved also, here's the Harley-riding barman from Rock Bar Rivendell on Calle Cuchilleria with his henchman! You'd better behave when head-banging in his bar!


Also here's the lovely Susana, the best barmaid in Vitoria, from bar Txistu where they serve the best Irish coffees in Spain.




They had gruesome methods of torture in those days, here's Karlos giving me the head squeeze for being an English infadel! Australian friend Tony can only watch and laugh - so much for Commonwealth solidarity then! He he!


I did get my revenge later though!

The market features dozens of stalls and is the biggest of it's kind in the Basque Country, with people coming from all over Spain to sell their wares. There are many food stalls and even pigs being roasted on spits, and a plentiful supply of "sidra" (cider).


My friend Hardi was on hand selling his fine jewelery, but you have to keep an eager eye on some of the customers........

......like the lovely little Iris, my mate Jarrod's daughter, a budding kleptomaniac caught in the act in this picture. By the age of 1, she had already got her Mum, Maitane, in trouble from store detectives with her light fingers!



The medieval atmosphere is enhanced by strolling minstrels and music coming through megaphone speakers, which is very similar to medieval music you might hear at similar fetes in England, but with a distinct arabic feel to it.

When I thought about this it was hardly surprising as, during medieval times, Spain was ruled by the Moors. "Moors" is a term for the Muslims from North Africa, of Arab or Berber descent, who conquered the Iberian Peninsula within 8 years of their invasion in 711 AD.

They ruled most of Spain for several centuries, with the exception of northwest areas, such as Asturias, and the largely Basque regions in the Pyrenees. Their attempts to extend their territory across the Pyrenees failed when they were defeated by the French.
My name in Arabic, from a market stall here.

All this Muslim history may well go unnoticed in visits to many Spanish cities, particularly in the north, with the many beautiful and ancient catholic churches to be found, but 8 centuries ago, in 1200 AD, 80% of Iberia's 7 million inhabitants were Muslim, hence buildings like the Alhambra in Granada and the Aljafera in Zaragoza, pictured below and in my post Zaragoza, History and Bike News.

I was in Valencia for several months and you would be hard-pressed to find a lot of Muslim influence there, but this was probably destroyed by the legendary El Cid when he laid siege to the city and carved out a small kingdom for himself at the end of the 11th century.

Christian resistance grew from Visigoth enclaves in the northwest and different kingdoms slowly extended their power. In the early 13th century, combined forces under the leadership of Alfonso VIII of Castile drove the Muslims from central Iberia. A later marriage between Ferdinand II of Aragon and Isabella I of Castile(Reyes Catolicos) united all the christian kingdoms and in 1492 the last Muslim stronghold of Granada surrendered. This was the time of the Spanish Inquisition, aimed mostly at Jews and Muslims who had officially become christian but were thought to be secretly practising their faiths. They were expelled, forced to convert to christianity or murdered. Cartman, from South Park, would have fitted in right well there! :-)


Anyway, back in Vitoria, a flavour of these many battles is provided on the Saturday and Sunday evenings of the fiesta with medieval games in Plaza del Los Fueros. Here the protagonists line up before commencing battle.



The jousting warmed up using targets, but then one-to-one combat which was pretty realistic with the knights being knocked off their horses. I certainly wouldn't care to be on the receiving end of one of those lances!



This caused some unscheduled "equine frenzy" entertainment when a horse bolted following one of the jousts.




There was a woman fighting in the games, and she could certainly wield a sword! The crowd became partisan and had their favourites, on our side it was the "chica" and the other a scary black knight. She did very well, despite appearing to come a cropper in this video, she got back up and defeated this lesser knight.




The black knight was ruthlessly slaying his challengers and winning more support from the crowd. The finale saw him fight against the chica, and despite myself and our side of the crowd cheering in support for her, the knight proved to difficult and would come to win the day.




The locals like to get involved also, here's the Harley-riding barman from Rock Bar Rivendell on Calle Cuchilleria with his henchman! You'd better behave when head-banging in his bar!


Also here's the lovely Susana, the best barmaid in Vitoria, from bar Txistu where they serve the best Irish coffees in Spain.




They had gruesome methods of torture in those days, here's Karlos giving me the head squeeze for being an English infadel! Australian friend Tony can only watch and laugh - so much for Commonwealth solidarity then! He he!


I did get my revenge later though!

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There are many good bars in Vitoria-Gasteiz, most of them being in the old town. My favourite tipple is red wine, and the average price for a small glass of the local red, being the excellent Rioja Alavesa, is 75 cents! Rioja is the most famous red wine region in Spain. This price is for wine "del año" or "joven", which means it's been aged in an oak barrel for less than a year, and probably bottled within the last year.

You can also buy the crianza, which has been aged for a minimum of two years, at least one year in oak. This costs about twice the price and comes in a "copa" (glass with a stem), rather than the standard glasses as pictured here in bar
La Riojana.
In this picture we got a "lock in" as a couple of my biker friends had escaped the inclement English weather for a late-november blast, so they opened the kitchen for us. The bar is always lined with plates of mouth-watering tapas, or as they're called in Basque "pintxos".

Another great bar for tapas is Txistu, where I would recommend the nice portion of king prawns you can enjoy very cheaply. The Irish coffee in here is excellent, and not the normal Spanish version you will see in the guide books which has iced cream in it. It is made by mixing some sugar and plenty of Irish whiskey in a metal jug. This is heated to a very high temperature using steam from the coffee machine, then set fire to. Whilst it's burning the coffee is prepared. These are then mixed and poured into a small glass and the cream added to the top. The result looks like a mini pint of Guinness and is absolutely delicious. (When I go back there next month I will attempt to video the lovely Susana making one of these, and include this here).

Around the corner from here is bar El 7 which serves up the best bocadillos(sandwiches in Spanish A.K.A. French bread), especially the freshly cooked tortillas with various fillings, and the "pollo completo" (minced chicken with bacon, lettuce and mayonese) is definitely worth a try. Their Patatas Bravas (deep fried chunks of potato with all-i-olli(garlic and olive oil) and spicy tomato sauces) are renown here.
The food is served right up to midnight, which is when you'd normally find me and my mate Hardi, although sharing a bottle of wine with him involves having to drink pretty fast! They have a good music selection in here with some of the best Spanish groups, and it becomes a disco bar by midnight on Friday and Saturday, more popular with the young folk.

A great bar on the end of Calle Cuchilleria as you enter the old town is referred to as The Red Bar. This is because it doesn't have a name and the window frames are painted red! It is run by two brothers, one of which, Edu(pictured here), likes practicing his very poor
English on me, saying things like "one wine red" when I walk in.
He plays some good chilled music, the "Buddha Bar" CD's being among his favourites. Vitoria is a very laid back city, so much so that I keep expecting to bump into the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers or Cheech and Chong sat outside a bar here.

One thing you will immediately notice about most Spanish bars is how filthy they appear. Although there may sometimes be ashtrays and bins around, everyone just throws rubbish and fag-ends on the floor. I have really got into the spirit of this after 2 years here, but it is a difficult concept to grasp for other foreigners I have met. Here's my American mate Jarrod demonstrating his disdain in bar Boca a Boca, the best place for kebabs in Vitoria..

The best pint of Guinness in town can be found in another pub with no official name, The New Bar, where young owner Ion provides a very good American and English rock music selection. There are so-called "Irish" bars in the newer part of the city which sell Guinness, but none worthy of a mention here.

My favourite bar for brunch and to while way the afternoons and early evenings is Bar Gora. It has very tasty pintxos, especially the large tortillas with fillings like spinach and a tasty layer on top of tuna or mushrooms or ham with mayonese - delicious! There is free WiFi here which is very useful for a traveling blogger.

I was in there one evening on my laptop when I overheard English being spoken by some young lads on the next table(not only English, but northern English as well). This is unusual in Vitoria so I asked where they were from. They replied "Sunderland", so, after the normal football team chat(my town's team is Blackburn Rovers), I asked what they were doing here and they said "we're the band".

This is how I came to meet up-and-coming young indie group THIS AINT VEGAS. Their gig at a bigger venue in town had been cancelled, so they found this smaller venue the night before, which was lucky for me. I hadn't heard their music before, but really enjoyed their set. Check out their Myspace page here.
They even burned me a demo CD of their next single "Shortterm:longterm" which was released the following month.
After we had been nicely fed courtesy of the bar, I had a chance to show them a few bars and get suitably wrecked - rock and roll style :) Cheers guys, and good luck!

Other bars worthy of a mention for free WiFi are Hala Bedi, which also has it's own radio station, tasty pintxos and good menus in the evening. Out of the old town, head for Bar Pura Vida.

On an otherwise quiet Monday night, the bar to head for is Bar Segundo(yes, another bar with no name!), which is the second bar along Calle Cuchilleria, where they usually have live Basque folk music and dancing. Some of the music, and especially the dancing, is a little reminiscent of Celtic music(see future posts on Galicia and Asturias for more on the Celts). They have the high leaps, as seen to the right, and a trick where they place a glass of wine on the floor and attempt to jump onto the edges of the glass with both feet and balance for a second. If they don't break the glass or spill the wine, they get a round of applause and triumphantly down the contents.

The guy on guitar is singer-songwriter Mikel Urdangarin, a very nice guy who is based in Vitoria. He has produced several albums and his music is very relaxing, almost melancholy. You can listen to some of it through his YouTube space here, although it's in the Basque language, Euskara(which pre-dates ALL the surrounding Indo-European languages, thus sounding pretty alien), it's very soothing and the perfect antedote to a stressful day! I only recognise the odd word, such as "maite" (love). There's a short biography(in English) on his website, and on the englishpen site, which also has a translation of one of his songs "Hauskor" (Fragile) into English, although I'm not convinced on it's accuracy.

One of my favourite haunts, especially at the end of the night when the other bars are closing, is Extitxu. Peci gives you a hard time if you enter when the shutters are half closed, but is a great bloke. He has the best, or at least most diverse music collection in town. For example, one night I was in there and heard Peter Murphy's 1989 album "Deep" playing. His former band, Bauhaus, were one of the best, if little-known, gothic bands of the 1980's and their song Bela Lugosi's Dead is a true classic. Even later revellers head for the infamous El Bodegon, a real bohemian place where you will come across some interesting characters, and a few weirdos as well, but quite harmless.

If you want to carry on drinking and chatting when the bars close, you can always get drinks in plastic glasses to take away and sit in one of the plazas, as we're doing here outside the city's modern art gallery. The police, who are rarely seen - especially in the old town, don't hassle you. Vitoria is the city I feel most safe in. You do sometimes see police in full riot gear at weekends when the youngsters are out, but pitched battles in the streets between young Basques with separatist tendencies and riot police are, thankfully, very rare.

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However much I came to love the Basque Country and it's people, it gets blummin' cold there in winter! Possibly due to it's elevation (525 metres above sea level - that's 1,722 feet to old buggers like me), it gets colder in winter than England does!(in the evening, but there are still more sunny, warmer days) By November I decided to leave. The original plan was to head for Valencia for much warmer climbs and the MotoGP races at Cheste, but as the championship was so close between Rossi and Hayden, the national press were advising not to go there if one didn't already have a ticket, so here's a photo of Valentino sporting a one-off Austin Powers paint scheme from my archives(Cheste 2003). An important part of my motorcycle was then stolen in Vitoria, meaning I had to wait for new parts to arrive. Once I had fixed the bike, I looked on the map and a suitable place to stop on the way was a place called Soria.

This kept up my (unintentional)record of only staying in provincial capitals, as it is the capital of the small province of Soria in the region of Castilla y León. One of the smallest capitals in Spain, housing about 40,000 people, being 40% of the region's population. This makes Soria one of the least populated areas of Europe and the perfect place to unwind. Well known for it's clean air, thanks to the mass of forests and lack of any heavy industry, it is one of the best almost-forgotten areas in Spain. I intended to stay overnight and found that I had to drag myself away from the place after a week to head south for some warmth, as Soria is more than 1,000 meteres above sea level on the high Spanish northern plains, known as the "meseta". If you really want to get away from the rat race, this is the perfect place to do it! The city's parks are beautiful, and here in Parque Alameda de Cervantes you could easily spend hours in quiet contemplation. You may even have the chance to watch some of the locals(who call the park "La Dehesa" - "The Pasture") feeding the fairly tame red squirrels scurrying around in the trees, while penning your next poem or best-selling novel! Perhaps not surprisingly, it has been home to several famous writers, and is referred to in the tourist literature as "The Poet's Town".

Antonio Machado is the most popular poet in Spain. Born 26th July, 1875 in Sevilla, he lived in Soria for several years and wrote his most acclaimed works here. A lyrical poet in a similar vein to Wordsworth. He wrote “Soria fría, Soria pura” (cold Soria, pure Soria), which is certainly true and didn't give me any refuge fom the temperatures I was trying escape, but the clean air was lovely, and bracing! Marchado doesn't look very happy in this statue, possibly due the fact that he's been decpatitated and his body replaced with a lump of stone!
It's actually a sad story, though. He came to Soria to teach French in 1907, and fell in love with his landlord's 13-year-old daughter, Leonor Izquierdo. They married in 1909, and during these years Machado produced his best work. Sadly, she died in 1912 from tuberculousis.
Here are a few quotes from Machado:
“Travellers, there is no path, paths are made by walking”
“Under all that we think, lives all we believe, like the ultimate veil of our spirits”
“There is no one so bound to his own face that he does not cherish the hope of presenting another to the world”
“Beware of the community in which blasphemy does not exist: underneath, atheism runs rampant”
Other poets of note inspired by the area are Gerardo Diego, and a generation earlier, Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer.

And if you're a history fan, then you have many treats in this province, from the many fossilised dinosaur footprints, 140 million years old(not sure how they date these things, as a period of one million years boggles my mind, but it is safe to say they are very, very old), through Celt Iberian villages from 300 BC, one of which, Numancia, bravely held off the Roman armies for 20 years, eventually surrendering by setting fire to the village and killing themselves. There is now a reconstructed home there, so you can see how people lived over 2,000 years ago. Roman arquetecture abounds, including a unique arch in Medinaceli, as well as the inevitable old Spanish churches, like the Concatedral de San Pedro, with 12th century romanesque columns and arches inside, and renaissance and baroque façades from the 16th and 17th centuries.

It is the region's scenery that firmly takes centre-stage. The nearby Picos Urbion mountains have a beautiful glacial lake, Laguna Negra(forgot to take my camera when I visited here!), and are the birthplace of the famous Rio Duero.

The Rio Duero runs by Soria all the way across northern Spain and in to Portugal to meet the Atlantic Ocean at Porto, 897 Km away. Along the way it irrigates many fine vineyards, producing the excellent Ribera Del Duero red wine, and some fine white wines in Galicia and Portugal, including the exquisite Albariño.

On the food front, the best place I found was called Piscis, on Calle Tejera. They do a great "menu", which is always the most reasonably-priced way to dine in Spain. A menu consists of a generous starter, main course and sweet, with bread and drink included. The normal menu was a mere 9.50€, with a more extravagant version for 16.50€. Those not on a strict travelling-blogger budget could try the house specials: Lomo de Ciervo en Salsa de Hongos y Fóie and Chuletón Trozeado al Barro u Cochinillo Frito. The former means tenderloin of deer in a hongo and foie sauce: foie is pate that is 100% duck's(or sometimes goose's) liver, and hongos literally means fungus, but in culinary terms refers to a type of mushroom with tubes rather than gills. Mushrooms are much reveered in Spain, where I have seen several newspaper articles about gathering edible ones over the last couple of years. Seta is the word for mushroom and usually refers to the common closed cap type seen in the UK. Champiñones are smaller versions of (button mushrooms). My Basque friend Freddy, a font of all knowledge when it comes to food or anything else Spanish, drew me some pictures on a serviette(while enjoying a glass of Pacharán Navarrro) to illustrate the differences.
The latter dish translates to a thick steak(on the bone) seared and cooked in a clay dish or a fried suckling pig.
If you would like to visit Soria, it is labout 150 miles from Bilbao, 130 from Vallodolid, and 100 miles from Zaragoza, all having airports running budget airlines.

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# posted by John @ 16:15 0 comments

Apart from escaping the winter cold of northern Spain, the appeal of the Mediterranean sea, the adventure of discovering a new city and new people, another reason for heading to Valencia was that an American friend I had made in Vitoria, Jarrod, a musician, was playing on a tour of Spain with his buddies, the legendary Violent Femmes. Check out Jarrod's website here where you can download some of his music for free.

He played saxophone and washboard for the ever changing backing group, the Horns of Dilemma, which on this European tour included legendary sax player, Dick Parry(both are pictured left, in the background), who played on various albums and tours with Pink Floyd, including their biggest selling album, Dark Side of the Moon.

As you will know if you have read other parts of this blog, I love taking photographs, so had my camera to hand. When I took the first picture of the Femmes, a security person came and told me they were not allowed. I said "but, I'm an amigo of the band", showing her my after show pass, but was still told they are not allowed by order of the band. Other people put their cameras away, but for the purposes of this blog, I carried on taking them. I don't know if I've broken some kind of copyright here, I probably have, but I'm telling the story of my travels, so be it.....

Formed in 1980 by Brian Ritchie(pictured left with his trademark acoustic bass guitar) and percussionist Victor DeLorenzo(pictured above). In 1981 Gordon Gano joined as singer/songwriter and guitarist. They were discovered by The Pretenders in 1981 as they were busking outside the Oriental Theatre in Milwaukee, and Chrissie Hynde invited them on stage to play an acoustic set. They released their first and best selling album, The Violent Femmes in 1982. Their music on this album is referred to on Wikipedia as "an innovative combination of American folk music and punk rock", coined as "folk-punk". They were never a big commercial success, the album taking ten years to go platinum. I'm ashamed to say that I had not actually heard of them before, so thanks to my old mate James for sending me this album so I could gen up before the gig. They played most songs from this record, so I could sing along and get into the atmosphere. I had presumed the gig would be full of middle-aged fans like myself, but there were a large number of youngsters there, showing how timeless their music is.

Other Horns of Dilemma members included John Sparrow on Cajun, a percussion box from Peru, and Dr Eugene Chadbourne, below playing one of his homemade instruments.

If you look on their official website or the Violent Femmes Wikipedia entry, there is no announcement that they have split up, but I don't think they will be seen on stage together again. Brian was enraged that Gano and the publishing record company allowed the song "Blister in the Sun" to be used for a burger chain commercial, as quoted on their Wikipedia entry, he said "when you see dubious or in this case disgusting uses of our music you can thank the greed, insensitivity and poor taste of Gordon Gano, it is his karma that he lost his songwriting ability many years ago, probably due to his own lack of self-respect as his willingness to prostitute our songs demonstrates". Ritchie filed a lawsuit against Gano in 2007, asking for half ownership of their music and access to royalty accounting. The only gigs they did after that were U.S. ones that had already been committed to.

After they finished their set and were shifting their equipment, I, followed by a couple of ex-pats living in Valencia, headed upstairs to a bar area for the after show party, and in typical "Idiot Abroad" style, ended up at the wrong one! We walked into the party of Scottish indie rock band Arab Strap, the support group. We were greeted by the question "Who the f*ck are you?" by the singer/keyboardist, Aidan Moffat, to which my Irish friend responded "who the f*ck are you?" and I added "we're the gatecrashers"- and we were "in".

The band was splitting up and this was their farewell tour, and you could see why. When we turned up one of them was behind the bar, helping himself, so we ordered our drinks from him. He was soon to be thrown out from behind the bar when he started rolling a joint there. After this Moffat, and other founder member Malcolm Middleton, started fighting and throwing whatever was at hand, (mainly large Valencian oranges) at each other, which I found most entertaining. It ended in tears though, when Moffat lunged with a lit candle towards Middleton, causing the hot wax to hit his face. The feeling of burning on your face is a little frightening, especially as he didn't actually know what it was. After the entertainment I went downstairs to find the Femmes party which had finished! I was in time to get a lift into the centre in their bus for a few beers though.

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