We decided we would buy a motorhome once we had sold our property in Spain. Mainly we wanted to see more of both Spain and Europe, and not be forced into buying 'somewhere else' immediately as a place to live.Our travels have brought us westward. We are in Jerez de la Frontera to give it, it's full title, and after a lazy Sunday breakfast, plus a listen to the Archers omnibus edition we decide to head back into town for further exploration.
Again it's a great mild and sunny day, so out came faithful 'moto' or scooter and off we went exploring.
We parked outside the local cop shop, in the hope that they would keep their eye on 'little moto' for us, and set off looking for the bus to continue our journey. I have to say, timing is not exactly our strong point.
After missing the LPG gas fill-up by a few minutes, on Saturday, you would think it might have dawned on us that we are destined to be too late for our own funerals . . . The bus had left 5 minutes before we arrived.
As it happened, fickle finger of destiny, and all that, just down the road from the bus stop was the Gonzalez Byass sherry bodega, and a tasting tour was just about to start! - bingo, problem solved.
The tour guide was a rather amusing young German. The tour was divided into 2 sections, - Spanish speakers, and English / German speakers.
As it happened, everyone owned up to speaking English, so without the need of extensive translations or discussions about the war etc., the tour proceeded apace. Briefly, the story goes thus:
"Senor Gonzalez, (who was a book keeper), decided that he would rather grow vines and produce wine, than conjure with columns of figures, (and who can blame him for that!), anyway, in 1835 he set up a small Bodega in Jerez, to produce 'wines from Jerez', (which the English knew about from earlier Moorish times as Sherry wine, this being the Moors name for Jerez).
He decided that he needed a 'special name' for his offering to distinguish it from others, and decided to name it after his uncle Joe, or Tio Pepe.
Pepe is the 'friendly' version of Jose, which of course, is short for Guiseppe or Joseph, - and Tio is, as you either know or have already guessed means 'uncle'), Why he thought wine called 'uncle Joe' would take off and sell world wide isn't clear, but he was right and it did.
The 'Byass' part of Gonzalez Byass, which is the largest privately owned producer of Sherry wine world wide, (they recently took over Croft, of 'Croft Original' fame), was brought about by the English distributor of the same name, putting money into the company in the nineteenth century.
As well as a wide range of Fino, Olorosos, and Amontillado sherries, they also produce fine sherry 'brandies' from the in-expensive popular Soberano, to the fifteen year old, and extremely expensive Lepanto.
Part of the tour took us through the signed 'visitor book' section. This consists of 100's and 100's of sherry barrels signed and dated on the ends by various visiting dignitaries and class "A to Z list" celebs. From the great Winston Churchill and Ayrton Senna to Prince Phillip, and the Beckhams.
As I say, A list to Z list, (no offence Victoria).
One of the most interesting, (or at least amusing) parts was the 'mouse cellar'.
Apparently back in the early nineteenth century, one of the head cellar men believed that the mice around the Bodegas were connoisseurs of fine wines, and as such brought good luck. After watching them 'attacking' the drips with relish, he started leaving a glass of Oloroso out for them each night, (he even constructed a special 'mouse-scale' step ladder to allow them to reach the lip of the wine-glass and drink their fill.
They are still there, and can be seen scurrying (or staggering depending on the time of day), back and forth, up and down the ladder, helping themselves to the 'best free happy hour in the world'.
Can this be the source of the term "Mouse arsed"?
There is a rumour around Jerez, that when Jack Warner of Warner Bros. studios visited the Bodegas, he saw the mice, and thus came up with an idea for a cartoon about a cat and mouse pair called 'Tom and Sherry' . . . . . and if you believe that, you've either partaken of too much Oloroso, or maybe you will believe anything!
Finally the tour ends in the hospitality tent, where each guest is served with Jamon de Serrano, and cheese tapas and 'wine', accoring to the programme.
This translates to several glasses of Tio Pepe or Croft Original and various typical Spanish 'delicacies' to soak up the alcohol. Unfortunately, my wife, whose alcohol tolerance is already "3 below zero after a heavy meal", and, who, owing to her strict dietary regime, was unable to eat any of the tapas, and was thus 'severely lacking in protein or any other vital solid food intake' , . . . . . . . got more than slightly p*ssed.
Driving a scooter through the narrow, twisting and shiny surfaced cobbled streets of Jerez, with a pillion passenger who is at least three sheets to the wind, is not to be recommended!
The fact that I taught Barry Sheen, and Carl Fogarty all they know about motorcycle riding is the only thing that kept us alive on our return scooter journey to the motorhome, (moored at the local Gypsy site). Thus I am safely here to relate this (largely true and factual tale), and if you believe . . .
http://www.realspainbreaks.com/
http://www.spainforyou.net/
http://www.rvsrus.co.uk/
Thursday, March 25, 2010
"Ever thought of retiring to Spain?", she asked . . .
My wife was becoming restless, after selling up her pet grooming business, she needed a challenge, a change. She was an avid watcher of "A Place in the Sun", which was on Chanel 4 TV virtually every afternoon around that time.
"Ever thought of retiring to Spain?", was her query when I returned from a particularly tiresome meeting with an unusually disagreeable client. "How quickly?", was my response. And so it came to pass . . .
We were set to sell up the large family home and bank the majority of the proceeds, but - what to do?, where to go? Where in the World, (or at least Europe), could we retire to on our savings? We were'nt due to collect any sate or personal pensions for another 9 years!
It was January 2002 when my wife and I, set off in our slightly dilapidated VW Passat, towing our vastly over-loaded Ifor Williams box trailer, replete with our life-long possessions, heading for southern Spain.
We had visited Spain the previous January and 'sussed out' the country, by taking an Easyjet flight from Liverpool to Malaga and hiring a Daewoo Matiz, ( which is similar to a dinky toy car, for those of you unfamiliar with the vehicle), and proceeding to drive 2500 miles around Spain in 10 days.
Needless to say Georg, the car hire tout at the airport, who rented it to us, said on seeing the speedometer when we returned the vehicle: "Ze nes' time senyor, mebbe you rent ze larger car", (or words to that effect).
He was probably starting to regret accosting us in the airport forecourt, where after the flight arrived late, and the car hire office had closed, we were stood looking non-plussed. His vehicle had probably depreciated in value by 20% with the additional mileage alone, let alone the wear and tear.
It was only our second visit to the country, and our previous visit to Spain had been in August 1993 to Barcelona. The year after the city had hosted the Olympics, so we weren't fluent in the language, nor did we have friends there, but I guess we decided that we had to start some where, and what the heck! - "Carpe diem", (or maybe Fugit was starting to Tempe).
We had booked a couple of nights at the 3 star "aparthotel" in Benalmadena Costa, (the True Spain??), and after spending a couple of days acclimatizing and working out a plan, as well as visiting local 'beauty spots', such as Mick and Tracy's Guinness bar, we decided that this part of Spain was definitely not for us!
We set off inland towards the 'white towns' of Alhaurin El Grande, Competa, Coin, Pizarra and Alora, which were OK, in a sort of 'raggy round the edges way'.
Don't get me wrong - I am not knocking these places. To each, his own. Far be it for me to run down towns which find much favour among British ex-pats, it's just that they weren't what we were looking for as an idyllic spot to retire to.
We had this vision of the "Real Spain" or at least as seen through the eyes of the curvaceous Amanda Lamb, and "A Place in the Sun", (yes by now I had also gotten addicted, though fairs fair, did you ever get an eyeful of Amanda in 2000?).
Not for us the 'kiss me quick' hats and English pubs serving Cornish pasties and fish 'n' chips for lunch, whilst watching English soccer on large Sky TV screens! - we wanted to speak the lingo, fraternise with the locals, walk the walk, live the dream.
My wife, Anne had read "Driving over Oranges" by an erstwhile pre Phil Collins Genesis drummer, so a decision was made to head east toward the province of Granada.
If we didn't like what we found there, we would head for Almeria, and up the coast of the Costa Blanca toward Valencia.
http://www.realspainbreaks.com/
http://www.realspainbreaks.com/
"Ever thought of retiring to Spain?", was her query when I returned from a particularly tiresome meeting with an unusually disagreeable client. "How quickly?", was my response. And so it came to pass . . .
We were set to sell up the large family home and bank the majority of the proceeds, but - what to do?, where to go? Where in the World, (or at least Europe), could we retire to on our savings? We were'nt due to collect any sate or personal pensions for another 9 years!
It was January 2002 when my wife and I, set off in our slightly dilapidated VW Passat, towing our vastly over-loaded Ifor Williams box trailer, replete with our life-long possessions, heading for southern Spain.
We had visited Spain the previous January and 'sussed out' the country, by taking an Easyjet flight from Liverpool to Malaga and hiring a Daewoo Matiz, ( which is similar to a dinky toy car, for those of you unfamiliar with the vehicle), and proceeding to drive 2500 miles around Spain in 10 days.
Needless to say Georg, the car hire tout at the airport, who rented it to us, said on seeing the speedometer when we returned the vehicle: "Ze nes' time senyor, mebbe you rent ze larger car", (or words to that effect).
He was probably starting to regret accosting us in the airport forecourt, where after the flight arrived late, and the car hire office had closed, we were stood looking non-plussed. His vehicle had probably depreciated in value by 20% with the additional mileage alone, let alone the wear and tear.
It was only our second visit to the country, and our previous visit to Spain had been in August 1993 to Barcelona. The year after the city had hosted the Olympics, so we weren't fluent in the language, nor did we have friends there, but I guess we decided that we had to start some where, and what the heck! - "Carpe diem", (or maybe Fugit was starting to Tempe).
We had booked a couple of nights at the 3 star "aparthotel" in Benalmadena Costa, (the True Spain??), and after spending a couple of days acclimatizing and working out a plan, as well as visiting local 'beauty spots', such as Mick and Tracy's Guinness bar, we decided that this part of Spain was definitely not for us!
We set off inland towards the 'white towns' of Alhaurin El Grande, Competa, Coin, Pizarra and Alora, which were OK, in a sort of 'raggy round the edges way'.
Don't get me wrong - I am not knocking these places. To each, his own. Far be it for me to run down towns which find much favour among British ex-pats, it's just that they weren't what we were looking for as an idyllic spot to retire to.
We had this vision of the "Real Spain" or at least as seen through the eyes of the curvaceous Amanda Lamb, and "A Place in the Sun", (yes by now I had also gotten addicted, though fairs fair, did you ever get an eyeful of Amanda in 2000?).
Not for us the 'kiss me quick' hats and English pubs serving Cornish pasties and fish 'n' chips for lunch, whilst watching English soccer on large Sky TV screens! - we wanted to speak the lingo, fraternise with the locals, walk the walk, live the dream.
My wife, Anne had read "Driving over Oranges" by an erstwhile pre Phil Collins Genesis drummer, so a decision was made to head east toward the province of Granada.
If we didn't like what we found there, we would head for Almeria, and up the coast of the Costa Blanca toward Valencia.
http://www.realspainbreaks.com/
http://www.realspainbreaks.com/
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