A Collection of Arcs de Triomphe (none of them in Paris) Part 1: Pre 1900

Triumphal Arches - What is and What is Not

This is the third iteration of this post. The original, published 01/04/2014, was ‘Four Arcs de Triomphe (none of them in Paris). The second, 29/06/2018, included newly collected arches, but also omitted Lutyens’ India Gate from the earlier post on the grounds it was a War Memorial, not a Triumphal Arch.

Defining a Triumphal Arch is difficult. Some arches called Triumphal have no associated triumph, and then there are Monumental Gates and War Memorials which can look very similar.

Although retaining the title, I have chosen a new and more inclusive definition for these posts (there are now two of them, this one and post-1900). For the purposes of this blog an ‘Arc de Triomphe’ is an arch with no structural purpose. This definition includes war memorials built in arch form – like the India Gate mentioned above and also Monumental Gates as long as they were built to be symbolic i.e. not city gates built as part of a wall, even if the wall has long gone. Another qualification of inclusion is that I have been there and taken the photograph.

Almost all modern arches owe a debt to the Parisian Arch, because it was (almost) the first modern Arc de Triomphe; but it was not, of course, the original. Like so much in Europe, Triumphal Arches are a Roman idea.

Classical Arches

None of my modern arches are in Paris, so none of my classical arches are in Rome.

In order of construction they are:

Hadrian's Arch, Gerasa, Jordan

Built 129 CE Visited 10th of November 2019

Jordan

There site of Gerasa (modern Jerash) in northern Jordan has been inhabited since prehistory. The city, though, was founded by Alexander the Great who breezed through in 333 BCE, or by one of his successors. The Romans arrived in 63 BCE and Gerasa became part of the Roman Province of Syria. Set in a relatively fertile area, with iron-ore deposits nearby the city could not but thrive. In 106 CE it became part of the Province of Arabia and became even richer thanks to the Emperor Trajan's road building programme. The start of the 2nd century saw much new building and a new grid plan, and then the honour of an imperial visit. Trajan, who had been responsible for much of Gerasa's recent prosperity, died in 117, so it was Hadrian who made the visit in 129, and thus the Triumphal Arch bears his name.

Hadrian's Arch, Jerash/Gerasa

The Arch of Marcus Aurelius, Tripoli

Built 165 CE, Visited April 2006

Libya

We visited Libya in 2006, the home of two well preserved/restored Roman arches. The Arch of Marcus Aurelius in Tripoli was built to commemorate the victory of Marcus's adopted brother, Lucius Verus, over the Parthians. It seems a thin excuse for building an arch so far away from the events, but perhaps he felt in need of a monument.

The Arch of Marcus Aurelius, Tripoli

The Arch of Septimius Severus, Leptis Magna

Built 203 CE, Visited April 2006

The ruins of Leptis Magna lie 130 km east of Tripoli. Septimius Severus, Rome’s only African emperor, was born here in 145 CE. He became emperor in 193 and ruled until he fell ill attempting to conquer Caledonia, and died in York in 211. He is honoured by an arch in Rome commemorating his victory over the Parthians (it seems Lucius Verus failed to finish them off) and this one in his home town.

The Arch of Septimius Severus, Leptis Magna

The Modern Link

Napoleon in a Toga, Bastia

France

After the Romans, triumphal arches went out of fashion until the days of Napoleon who rather fancied himself as a latter day Roman emperor. The wonderfully camp statue below is in Bastia the capital of northern Corsica. Napoleon was born in Ajaccio, the capital of southern Corsica – is it possible that Bastia was taking the mickey out of their rival’s favourite son?

Napoleon in a toga, Bastia

Planning the Paris Arc de Triomphe started in 1806 but it was not completed until 1836 by which time some of the shine had come off Napoleon’s triumphs. That did not deter the Parisians, nor indeed many others, as where Paris led the rest followed. St Petersburg has one (1829), as has New York (1892) and Mexico City (1938). London hopped on the bandwagon early, the Wellington Arch in Green Park dates from 1826 - though before I began researching triumphal arches I had never heard of it.

Modern Arches pre-1900

For 20th and 21st Century Arches, see Part 2

So, in order of construction....

The Corinthian Arch, Stowe, Buckinghamshire

Built 1765 Visited 30th July 2014 and subsequently

United Kingdom

The Napoleonic era may have re-invented Triumphal Arches, but my first example is an outlier. Built 4 years before Napoleon was born, it was a product of the 18th century fascination with everything classical, even when they misunderstood the context.

The Temple Family became rich from sheep farming. In 1683 Sir Richard Temple started building the first Stowe House. His son, who married into more wealth and became Lord Cobham started work on the garden. Over the next few generations as they married into more and more wealth, and acquired more names and more titles, they built one of the finest houses and the finest garden of its type in England.

And a great garden needs a great entrance. The Corinthian Arch was built in 1765 at the end of the long drive.

The Corinthian arch at Stowe, photographed from half way down the drive

Visiting great gardens was popular in the 18th century, but the casual visitor did not enter through the arch, they were diverted via the family’s New Inn. The same is true today, the road swings right to the National Trust car park behind the (not so) New Inn. Once inside, you can approach the arch on foot.

The Corinthian Arch, Stowe

The arch represents a triumph over the ‘little people’ – anybody who had less money than the Temples – which was just about everyone. Arrogant and high handed they kept on spending and in 1848, four generations after they had been the richest family in the country, Richard Plantagenet Temple-Nugent-Brydges-Chandos-Grenville (I said they collected names!) eventually spent them into bankruptcy. The rest of the British aristocracy smirked quietly.

Arcul de Triumf, Chişinău

Moldova

Built 1841 Visted 24th June 2018

The modest capital of Moldova has an appropriately modest triumphal arch, 13m high and sporting a clock that would not look out of place on a railway station.

Arcul de Triumf

There were 12 Russo-Turkish Wars, the first 1568-70 and last World War One which ended the Ottoman and Russian Empires. Designed by Luca Zauşkevici the arch commemorates the Russian victory in the 1828-9 version of this fixture. It was built to house a 6.4t bell made from melted down Ottoman cannons originally intended for the cathedral bell tower (the predecessor of the one in this picture), but it would not fit. It strikes the hour with a rather unmusical ‘dunk’.

Arc de Triomf, Barcelona

Spain

Built 1888 Visited 29th March 2008

A whimsical piece of modernista architecture with Islamic-style brickwork, Barcelona’s Arc de Triomf was designed by Josep Vilaseca and built in 1888 as the entrance to the Barcelona World Fair.

Arc de Triomf, Barcelona

The arch represents no military triumph, real or imagined, and the sculpture on the front frieze is called Barcelona rep les nacions (Barcelona welcomes the nations). It was a marginal inclusion under the previous criteria, but I felt it represented an altogether healthier expression of national (in this case Catalan) pride than any of the other Arcs de Triomphe.

Secaderos, Pork Butchers and Cooking Dinner: Sierra de Aracena Iberian Pork Experience Part 3

More Porky Business in Alájar and Aracena

Juan Carlos Navarro Fernández, Secadero de Jamones, Alájar

Spain

Andalusia

We had a leisurely start and another fine Andalusian breakfast. Our first appointment of the morning was a visit with Ángel to Juan Carlos Navarro Fernández, the village secadero. There had been a minor hitch, Juan Carlos was not planning to open today – having bought a new and larger truck and trailer he had to upgrade his driving licence and the test was this morning. But Alájar is a small village, Lucy had bumped into Juan Carlos on her pre-breakfast run and he had given her his keys. He was happy for us to have complete access to his business in his absence.

Again, we walked along the narrow streets of Alájar between the whitewashed buildings.

We may not have walked down this particular street on this particular journey, but we walked down several that were, to the untutored eye, indistinguishable

Ángel had no difficulty navigating the short distance to Calle Ramón y Cajal, but to us all these streets still looked the same. Apart from a metal grill and a notice sellotaped to the door there was little to mark out the premises from the surrounding dwellings. Juan Carlos does put out a sign when he is open, but his retail business is a side-line, mostly he works within the jamón trade.

The premises of Juan Carlos Navarra Fernández, Alájar

Ángel unlocked the door and let us in. To step over the threshold was to become comfortingly enveloped in the heavy cocoon-like smell of Iberian ham. According to popular wisdom the aroma of frying bacon has an almost mystical power to subvert a weak-willed vegetarian. The smell of curing ham does not have the same simple attraction, it is subtler and more nuanced, its appeal deeper, even atavistic. Humans are omnivores; in our hunter-gatherer past we survived on fruit and vegetables – and meat when we could catch it, and the odour of curing ham reminds us why we went to all that trouble. Meat was important then and is important now, though it has become plentiful and easily obtained so we tend to overdo it and too often treat our food animals without respect – a fate that, happily, has not befallen the cosseted Iberian Black Pig. I am, obviously, no vegetarian but I enjoy an occasional vegetarian meal or meat free day. I would go further and acknowledge that many of us (and me particularly) eat too much meat for our health and for the sustainability of human civilization. We should cut back, but we should not cut out.

In Juan Carlos’ well ventilated upper room the hams hang by their toes, curing quietly. They lose 20% to 40% of their weigh in the process, but none of their flavour which concentrates wonderfully.

Ham curing in Juan Carlos Navarra Fernández's upper room, Alajar

Juan Carlos is a secadero de jamones, literally a drier of ham, though in a well-ventilated room away from extremes of temperature they largely do the drying – or curing – themselves.

Downstairs are hams, sausages and other cuts ready for sale. We selected a couple of vacuum packs of sliced ham, a lomo (a cylinder of cured loin some 30 cm long and maybe 4cm in diameter) of much the same quality as the hams, and a shorter, fatter morcilla (a black pudding, but firmer than its British equivalent). In the absence of Juan Carlos we could not buy them, but put them aside so we could find them again tomorrow.

Produce ready for market, Juan Carlos, Secadero, Alájar

Buying the Pork for Dinner in Aracena

Aracena

It is surprising how long you can spend looking through hams and sausages and breathing in the aroma, but eventually we dragged ourselves away and strolled back to the posada. Ángel handed us over to Lucy who drove us into Aracena in search of the meat for dinner.

The road from Alájar reaches Aracena by the town’s small industrial/trading estate. We ignored it yesterday, but today swung onto the estate, passed Hierros Melcan Aluminios and stopped outside Jamones Vazquez, purveyors of Carnes Ibericas to the trade and the general public.

Outside it looked like a warehouse, inside it was an Aladdin’s cave of pork products, including a whole wall of black label hams and shoulders. Black label (see yesterday’s post) is the highest quality, free range, acorn fed, pure bred Jamón Iberico, arguably the finest ham in the world (though locally they brook no argument) and also the most expensive; shoulders routinely start around £400, the larger hams at well over £600. Guinness World Records tells me that the ‘most expensive leg of ham commercially available is an Iberian "Manchado de Jabugo" retailing at €4,100 (£3,192.76; $4,620.28) [March 2016] and is sold by Dehesa Maladúa’ . (update at end) That particular ham may not feature in my photograph, but we were in the heart of the Jabugo production region, so these are all Jabugo black label hams, the crème de la crème, to employ an inappropriate metaphor.

Wall of ham, Jamones Vazquez, Aracena

Ángel had been, quite rightly, dismissive of some of the prices. He objected to the rich but ignorant buying extremely expensive hams because they can, not because the appreciate them, and pushing prices beyond the pockets of ordinary mortals. I think some recent issue with Cristiano Ronaldo had particularly irked him – outstandingly talented footballer as he may be (Ronaldo, not Ángel!), he has that effect on many people. Fortunately, you need very few, very thin slices of ham balanced on a chunk of local crusty bread to feel you are eating like a king – if not quite a professional footballer.

Jamones Vazquez, Aracena

With Lucy we looked at the cuts of fresh meat; lagarto, lomo, pluma, presa, secreto and solomillo (there are others) are not all unfamiliar. Lucy bought some pluma (top loin and, allegedly, feather shaped) and a second we have unfortunately forgotten.

Weighed down with the pork for the dinners of all the posada’s guests we made our way back to Alájar.

Lunch, Cooking and Dinner (it’s all about food!)

An amble round the village somehow inevitably led to La Parra, the bar in the centre. A beer and a plate of goat’s cheese would have made a perfect light lunch had not the standard Spanish beer glass been a miniscule 20cl. Two beers and a plate of goat’s cheese, though, did the trick admirably. Business was good for a Thursday lunchtime, filling the tables in the little square. The clientele was largely the retired (like us) but the traditional extended Spanish lunch hour permitted a few younger people to join the party.

We spent most of the afternoon with Lucy. In her small but well-equipped kitchen she produces a three-course meal for 12 most days. Alájar is well provided with restaurants so she does not feel the need to cook every day, sometimes preferring ‘to spread the love', as she put it.

Andalusia is the homeland of cold soups, gazpacho being the name that everyone knows, but salmorejo and ajoblanca are common local variants. The gazpacho bequeathed by the Romans consisted of olive oil, vinegar, garlic and water, thickened with stale bread. This rather basic concoction was vastly improved by the addition of tomatoes in the 19th century and once cucumber and peppers had joined the ensemble, gazpacho was ready to go international. Modern variations can include anything from avocado to strawberries (I would need convincing on that one). Lucy had a name for her version which I have unfortunately forgotten; it included beetroot but stayed true to the spirit of gazpacho. It was our first course in the evening, and very good it was, too. Lynne has previously been resistant to the concept of cold soups; on a wet Wednesday in a Staffordshire January the idea is, I concede, singularly unattractive, but in the Andalusian sunshine…..

A variation on gazpacho - a delight at the right time and in the right place (and this was both)

We chopped onions and cracked walnuts, but were otherwise spectators. The Posada’s reputation depends on these dinners being perfect, the fumbling of amateur hands could not be risked. For the gazpacho and the sauces Lucy employed a clever gizmo that perhaps everyone knows but was new to us. Her blender, slicer, shredder not only does all those things, but also heats, boils, simmers, and stirs tirelessly.

She produced two sauces, one with sweet chestnuts, onions and olive oil, the other using walnuts, garlic, brandy and orange juice, a brave combination. We did not see the pork cooked, that happened later, and meat of this quality deserves quick, simple cooking. It was a sumptuous main course, the pork lived up to our expectations, the chestnut sauce a perfect match for its sweetness. I was less impressed by the walnut sauce, the brandy and orange juice seemed to be fighting each other for my attention, but others might disagree.

Iberian pork with potatoes steamed in oil, courgettes and two sauces (out of shot)

As Lucy worked and we watched, the conversation ranged from the Spanish preference for eating seafood cold to the British preference for political self-destruction.

Once all was done, we wandered off at our leisure leaving Lucy with several other jobs. She and Ángel work extraordinarily hard at making their Posada run like clockwork and creating a relaxing experience for everyone else.

Lemon mousse dessert. I have no idea where Lucy magic-ed this from

All that remained for us was to eat the dinner, which you have already seen above. So that concludes our Iberian Pork and Ham Experience at the Posada San Marcos in Alájar, except…

27-Sept-2019

…after breakfast we had to stroll round to Juan Carlos the secadero for the goodies we had set aside yesterday. The time, effort and degree of inspection that goes into producing these things means they are never cheap, but we paid a little over half the price they would have fetched on the export market. [Jan 2020: the jamón we gave to people we hoped would appreciate it, the loin (lomo) provided us a lunch a week until Christmas, each one of them a joy. We still have a stub end of morcilla]

Then we set off for our fortnight in the Algarve where we would forsake the world’s finest pork for the world’s freshest seafood and enjoy a further two weeks of unbroken sunshine.

The information about the world's most expensive ham was correct when I wrote it. The Guinness Records page linked to now has an even more expensive ham but 'Iberian bellota' is all they say about the ham - they seem more interested in the Japanese retailer selling it.

Iberian Pork

Part 1: Alájar in the Sierra Aracena

Part 2: Pigs, Ham and Tapas
Part 3: Secaderos, Pork Butchers and Cooking Dinner

Pigs, Ham and Tapas: Sierra de Aracena Iberian Pork Experience Part 2

Meeting Iberian Pigs, the Aracena Ham Museum and a Tapas Lunch

Andalusian Breakfast

Spain

Andalusia

The Posada de San Marcos offered a buffet with fruit and cereals, but the centrepiece of the breakfast was firmly Andalusian – well almost. Ángel described it as two patés made by Lucy from his grandmother’s recipe, jam and marmalade made by Lucy from her grandmother’s recipe (so more Lancastrian than Andalusian – though the marmalade involved Seville oranges) local honey and tomatoes, and butter from the supermarket (because cattle are not raised locally). The orange juice also came from the supermarket - oranges were not in season and Ángel would not buy fruit flown in from another continent.

Breakfast, Posada de San Marcos, Alajar

Bread came from a local bakery, and there were six Andalusian olive oils, ranging from sweet and nutty to strong and peppery. A slice of bread, a drizzle of oil and a smear of tomato was perfect for the patés while honey, jam and marmalade sat more happily on butter. With more time, a comparative tasting of the oils would have been interesting – maybe we will return one day.

Meeting Iberian Black Pigs

Alájar

After breakfast we walked with Ángel to meet the Iberian Black Pigs that produce the world’s finest ham; that is Ángel’s not entirely unbiased view; there are other contenders and we shall consider them later.

As we walked through the village streets Ángel pointed out the flood defences and drains. It does not rain often in Alájar, but when it does it falls in torrents not drizzle. The drains and even the streets themselves are angled to take water down to the (usually) little Rivera de Alájar which flows along the southern edge of the village, past the garden of the Posada de San Marcos.

The cleverly constructed streets of Alájar guide water gently down to the river

Heading south like the storm water, we crossed the river and looked back at the village. The sun shone from a clear blue sky, but it was early morning in late September, so it was still noticeably cool in the shadows.

Alájar in morning sunshine

Continuing down a sunken lane into the countryside we copied Ángel, keeping our eyes on the ground and picking up acorns wherever we saw them. The surrounding countryside was dehesa (montado in Portuguese). Widespread across Andalusia and Extremadura in Spain and the Algarve and Alentejo in Portugal, dehesa was developed in antiquity to manage land with soil too poor for arable use. Grassland with herbaceous species for grazing is studded with trees, mainly holm and cork oaks pruned specifically to produce acorns for fattening Iberian black pigs. The underbrush is cleared every 7 to 10 years and the cork oaks which typically live some 250 years are harvested every 9 to 12 years. The trees are spaced to maximize productivity by balancing light for the grasses, water for the soil, and acorns for the pigs.

It did not take us long to find some pigs among the cork oaks…

Iberian black pigs among cork oaks, Alájar

…and then a judicious application of acorns persuaded them into a more suitable area for viewing. The black pigs are actually dark grey, their name comes from their jet-black trotters. They are, Ángel, told us, like ballet dancers, not a comparison that leapt immediately to my mind. They have dainty ankles and dance on the tips of their toes, their back toes never touching the ground. I seriously doubt that Darcey Bussell has ‘back toes’, but let us allow Ángel his flight of fancy.

A magnificent Iberian black sow

As we walked Ángel explained the importance of the two oak species, the less nutritious cork oak acorns coming early in autumn and as they finish the holm oak acorns arrive giving the pigs their favourite food and fattening them up for…well, let’s speak quietly as they may be listening.

Lynne and Ángel walk down the sunken lane

Sheep and goats are raised on the dehesa as well as pigs and they share the land with wild boar, red deer, and many bird species, including the endangered Spanish imperial eagle. More controversially fighting bulls are reared on lowland dehesa where the grass is less sparse.

We stopped to pick figs from a roadside tree. I have never eaten a fig straight from the tree before - nor have I eaten one as sweet and juicy as this. Ángel pointed out the huge variety of trees, not just the Mediterranean oaks and figs, but weeping willows by the river and alpine pines in a shady dell. We did not have to travel a huge distance to see a date palm – almost every type of tree can find an appropriate micro-climate on the slopes of the Sierra de Aracena.

Goats on the hillside. Alájar

Another group of pigs greeted our arrival with high decibel squealing. They seemed to imagine our pockets were full of acorns – and they were not disappointed.

More Iberian black pigs

The Aracena Ham Museum

Aracena

We returned to the Posada, and Ángel drove us the 12km into Aracena, a tidy, prosperous looking town and, with some 9,000 inhabitants, the largest in the region. It has a castle and the Gruta de las Maravillas, reputedly among the most spectacular cave systems in Spain, but we had come to see El Museo del Jamón de Aracena - though not until we had enjoyed a lengthy circular tour, courtesy of Aracena’s parking problems.

The Aracena Ham Museum

In the days before refrigeration when most livestock was slaughtered at the start of winter, the preserving of meat was important. Beef was salted and pork legs were either wet or dry-cured to make ham. Today there is no need to preserve meat like this, but we still do – because we like it.

Northern Europe largely produces brine-cured hams while dry-curing is prevalent in southern Europe; the best known (and arguably, best) being French jambon de Bayonne, Italian prosciutto de Parma and Spanish jámon ibérico.

Productions methods are similar for all. For jámon ibérico the weaned piglets are fattened on barley and maize for several weeks and then allowed to roam the dehesa, feeding naturally on grass, herbs, acorns, chestnuts, and roots. Immediately before slaughtering their diet is restricted to acorns for the best quality, or a mix of acorns and commercial feed for lesser qualities.

Aracena has many little statues. This swineherd is, approriately, outside the ham museum

The hams are salted and allowed to dry for two weeks before being rinsed and dried for another four to six weeks. They are then hung up for curing for a minimum of 24 months.

We watched a film about the dehesa and then plunged into the world of ham classification. Spain takes its ham extremely seriously and I find this stuff fascinating - but not everybody shares my enthusiasm, so I will keep it brief(ish).

Firstly, there is Serrano Ham, which can be found in every supermarket in the UK. It comes from any pigs anywhere in Spain, but the production methods and quality are rigorously controlled. It is good ham, not in the jámon ibérico league perhaps, but much cheaper.

Jamón ibérico has four Protected Designations of Origin (P.D.O. or D.O.P. in Spanish), recognized throughout the EU.

D.O.P. Guijuelo is the largest, producing 60% of all Jámon Ibérico in Guijuelo itself and 76 other municipalities in the southeast of Salamanca province, Castile y Léon.

D.O.P. Dehesa de Extremadura is produced in the dehesa areas of Cáceres and Badajoz province in Extramadura.

The other two are in Andalusia

D.O.P. Los Pedroches comes from the district of that name in Cordoba Province.

And last but by no means least, and the most important to us

D.O.P. Jabugo. Jabugo is a small town 10km north of Alájar, both Alájar and Aracena are within the D.O.P Jabugo production area.

But it is not just where they come from, the pig’s breeding and feeding are also important, the minimum requirement being at least 50% Black Iberian in their ancestry.

The four grades are denoted by coloured labels

Colour coding for Iberian ham

Black-label is the finest grade jamón ibérico de bellota (acorn). It is made from pure bred Iberian free-range pigs that eat only acorns during their last two months. The hams are cured for at least 36 months.

Red-label is the same except the pigs are not pure bred. The percentage of Iberian ancestry must be specified on the label.

Green label is jamón ibérico cebo de campo. The pigs are not pure bred and are pastured and fed a combination of acorns and grain.

White label is from pigs fed only on grain, and must be cured for a minimum of 24 months.

We walked through an exhibition of hams from all major production areas. Bayonne and Parma hams maybe the best known but there are many more with their own DOPs. Ángel blamed General Franco. Spain could not join the European Economic Community (now the EU) while Franco ruled. He died in 1975 and it took until 1986 to get in, so the producers of Bayonne and Parma had 3 decades to get their acts together and their products known and Spain has been playing catch-up ever since.

Gloucester Old Spots - Not much to do with Iberian ham, but I like them - and I needed a picture to break up the print

And he was, of course right. We would discuss his bewilderment at Britain voting to leave the EU over lunch, a bewilderment most Spaniards (and Lynne and I) share. Then he dismissed all other hams as being made from white pigs and therefore inferior. I think his understandable national pride got the better of him. There are dozens, maybe hundreds of pig breeds, some for bulk production, others for quality – and not all the others are white. The Gloucester Old Spot, though not used (as far as I know) for air-cured ham produces distinctive and very fine pork products in the UK. I am sure the hamsters of Parma and San Danielle, Bayonne and Njeguški (in Montenegro, since you asked) are as proud of their particular pigs as the people of Alájar.

And which is the world’s best ham? Ángel would undoubtedly say jámon ibérico, but I do not know, I have not eaten enough of the best from here or elsewhere to be certain, but I will willingly concede that jámon ibérico is a serious contender.

Tapas lunch in Aracena

It was still too early for lunch when we emerged from the museum. The town curls three quarters of the way round the arid hill surmounted by its Castillo and we ambled slowly anticlockwise, past the entrance to the Gruta de las Maravillas, burrowed by nature into the hill below the castle, and continued slowly down the pedestrianised Calle Pozo de la Nieve.

Calle Pozo de la Nieve, Aracena

Water management is important in this arid region and the channel down the centre of the street carries water to the public laundry. Affluence has made the laundry redundant, but it is carefully maintained as a reminder of how life has changed – and within the memory of many older people.

Public laundry, Aracena

From the laundry we crossed the street to the Montecruz Tapas and Gastrobar. It was now just after 1 o’clock, lunchtime to us, but far too early by Spanish standards. Again Ángel blamed General Franco, who was so besotted by Hitler and Mussolini he wanted his country to be in the same time zone as theirs. Ángel had a point, almost all of Spain is west of the Greenwich meridian so it belongs in the same time zone as Great Britain, Ireland and Portugal; when Spaniards turn up for their lunch at 2 o’clock their British, Irish and Portuguese counterparts are lunching at exactly the same time, only they call 1 o’clock. I am not sure Franco can be blamed for everything and messing with the clocks would not be the most serious issue on his charge sheet, but Ángel’s theory fails to account for why the Spanish start their dinner at 10 when the rest of us are sipping our brandy and nibbling the last of the cheese.

Early we might have been, but Montecruz was open, and we settled down with a beer, olives and the ‘free’ bread and ham included in our museum ticket, and perused the menu.

Jamón Iberico, Montecruz Tapas, Aracena

We asked Ángel to order a selection of tapas typical of the region. He chose pimientos de piquillo rellenos de jabali y gurumelos (piquillo peppers, a heatless chili grown in northern Spain, stuffed with wild boar and gurumelos, a wild mushroom, aminita ponderosa, peculiar to southern Europe), flamenquin de carillera y suave queso de Aracena (pork cheeks and local soft cheese wrapped in egg and breadcrumbs) and berenjena (aubergines in the lightest, crispest tempura batter).

Pimientos de piquillo rellenos de jabali y gurumelos, Montecruz Tapas, Aracena

We were in a small bar in a small town, but the sophistication of the ingredients, presentation and flavours would have been impressive anywhere. It was a fine lunch at a very reasonable price, and one that would leave just enough room for dinner.

An Afternoon at Leisure in Alájar

Ángel drove us back to Alájar and Lynne decided to have a nap (old people do that). Then we went for a stroll around the village. There is a little more space between the houses than our first impression had suggested.

Wide open spaces, Alájar

Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara (You don’t Live Twice) is a Hindi language ‘buddy road movie’ released in 2011. Three well-healed young Indian men come to Spain to discover themselves, and unearth a tick list of Spanish clichés. In a three-week holiday they remarkably visit the Tomatina festival in Buñol (late August) followed by the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona (early July). Surprisingly, the film won awards. There is, apparently, enough room in Alájar to stage a major Bollywood song and dance number, as Señorita was filmed here over three nights. The song seamlessly blends flamenco with Indian popular music to the benefit of neither - here is a link to it on Youtube, click on it if you must.

There is enough space for dancing, but not for a good photograph of the mostly 18th century Church of San Marcos. It is reputed to have the tallest spire in the Province of Huelva.

San Marcos, Alájar

Back at the posada I had a swim. Late September nights are cold and the unheated pool does not warm up as much during the day as I would have liked. The top 20cm of the water was pleasant, but below that – and at all depths in shaded sections - the water was bracing. Such temperatures discourage idling and I am sure a few brisk lengths did me good.

A few brisk lengths, Alájar

Dinner at the Posada de San Marcos, Alájar (2)

Again, we ate at the congenial, if non-Spanish time of 7.30, again we ate outside, with a pullover to hand (the temperature drops swiftly when the sun goes down) and again Lucy provided us with a memorable meal.

The chicken liver and chestnut paté, home produced from local ingredients, gave the chestnut as prominent a role as the meat; unusual perhaps, but very good indeed. I always like a bean stew and Lucy’s chick pea stew with chorizo and morcilla (black pudding) was spot on. Dessert was a lemon and almond pastry.

Chicken liver and chestnut paté, Posada de San Marcos, Alájar

After another bottle of the house red, a light organic tempranillo perfect for swilling rather than sipping, we retired, happy with our meal and, indeed, our whole day.

Iberian Pork

Part 1: Alájar in the Sierra Aracena

Part 2: Pigs, Ham and Tapas
Part 3: Secaderos, Pork Butchers and Cooking Dinner