6/27/17
Comillas
The plan established long ago, by Reed, was that my
birthday, June 27 would not be a travel day. We stuck to the plan and spent the
entire day in Comillas. Birthday #68 was an action—packed day with 12 activities
listed by me for the day. We did more touring than usual with Gaudi’s el Capricho (the whimsy) with a visit to
the beautiful palace of the Marquis de Comillas and a walk down to the statue
of El Duque, elevated on a hill near the ocean.
In the morning I bought three leather shoulder
bag/purses to be divided between Mona and Rosa from a tourist shop not far from
the palace. One bag had two distinctly different prices listed. I pointed the
dual prices to the manager much to her displeasure. She rejected any price
discrepancy and, of course, the higher price had always been the accurate one.
I paid the price. I also mailed, at some expense, the gifts for my mother
received from Amparito in Sada at the local Correos (post office). The
heartfelt gifts from Amparito demanded delivery to the USA, but the post office
seemed best, especially with the strain they placed on my crowded suitcase. A capable, attractive Postmaster lady assisted my
packages and postal stamps while her assistant followed instructions and seemed
new to the entire process.
The day’s errands taken care of, I felt liberated
to enjoy the town’s ambience, famous tourist destinations and restaurant life.
Comilla’s modest dimensions added to our energy for getting out and about.
We made a morning visit to Capricho, the Comillas
home designed by Antoni Gaudi at an early point in his career. Gaudi used a
sunflower theme, painted sunflowers on tiles appear throughout the exterior of
the home. I took many photos to document the playful, harmonious design of the
house, crowded with Spanish tourists, and it was a nice variation on the other
grander Gaudi projects we have seen, particularly to La Sagrada Familia
basilica, Gaudi’s master work in Barcelona.
We followed the Capricho with a good look at the
Palace of Comillas, a truly exceptional building. We even took a tour of the
building’s interior. The palace had a balanced, elegant architecture and left
me with a feeling of admiration for the Marquis, assuming his taste had been
the source of the building’s design. The palace rests on a hillside with a
commanding view of the countryside, no doubt a strategic advantage for dealing
with enemies and intruders. If self-defense played a role in the building’s
plans than form and function worked beautifully together. We were inspired to
see more of Comillas and the palace may have inspired the energy to do more—or
maybe my birthday added an element of ambition to the day.
Another strong theme for the day was food and drink
and the weather played a role in adding to the dining drama. First we went to
Adolfo’s restaurant for lunch, a Reed discovery probably with an assist from
Rick Steves, the patron saint of prosperous travelers. Our demure Spanish
waitress, almost reminiscent of the Pasaje San Jorge employee, brought us an
albariño wine and a salad as starters. Then we had a paella marisco, a seafood paella with nothing but seafood for its
protein contents. The mussels were good, so good that Reed mentally prepared
for our return to Adolfo’s for the evening meal, a plan that got disrupted but
with a positive outcome.
Our afternoon siesta completed, having learned to
cooperate with the local tradition, we trudged out for part two of the
day. Reed Duke wanted to walk to the
statue of el Duque, maybe somewhat in
homage to his own last name. We
circumvented a grassy field to arrive at the statue. Less inspired by the
statue than the view it afforded of the ocean below, I also knew that we were
on route to Hotel Josein, where we had the pleasant beer overlooking the
conch-shaped beach on our first day in town. The day became overcast and we
weren’t able to match the previous day’s level of relaxation as heavy gray
clouds approached from the direction of the town. Reed suggested we leave after
a single beer and correctly anticipated the downpour about to unload on us.
The hour got late, the sky darkened and the rain
got stronger. We made our way down the cobblestone lanes. The rain drops
bounced off the cobblestone and, except for concerns about our umbrellas
getting overwhelmed by the rain, nature’s floor show of sound, light and water,
complete with the musty aroma of damp air, made for added intensity and drama to
our now speeded-up journey back to Adolfo restaurant, scene of the afternoon’s successful
paella. But then disaster struck. The Adolfo was closed! No reason for the
restaurant being closed. It was just closed, dark. Reed searched restlessly for
an explanation; why the blackness on the other side of the window? Plan
shattered. But there was another—the Aldea—and it proved to be an excellent
substitute.
I’m glad we got diverted to Aldea. We had our best
whole cooked fish of the trip and it was preceded by a sald with circle of soft
cheese and toasted ham and good lettuce and tomatoes. We sat outside under an awning. The rain slowed but continued. The night air remained cool and wet.
As our meal progressed Reed made the good choice to
engage the nearby English couple. They had been speaking so quietly to each
other the words could not be discerned, though I was close enough to the man to
reach over and touch his shoulder. The man, 70 years old, obviously intelligent
and educated, measured his words so thoughtfully and expressed himself in such
calm tones—it almost made me nervous. They were liberals, like us, and the
woman, originally from Holland, smoked too much. Not too much to be an imposition
on our dining, our eating was mostly completed, but too much for our health.
She became more comfortable and spoke more as the conversation expanded.
The Brits, from Scotland, hated the Brexit vote and
said Scotland only stayed in the United Kingdom by the slim margin of 55%-45%.
That result troubled them also. The man said his son was an astro-physicist on
his way to a conference in at University of Texas in Austin, my old place of
employment. I said “you must be proud, your son is a scientist,” and he
modestly answered “nobody cares much about science these days.”
We stayed out almost until midnight chatting with
the Brits. As they departed Reed became aware of the Dutch lady’s physical
attributes, commenting on what a great beauty she must have been in her youth.
We went back to the Pasaje San Jorge for our last night there—before embarking
on another epic bus ride, from Comillas to San Sebastian.
The second leg of our northern swing through Spain
via bus proved more tedious, though not quite as long in terms of mileage—story
follows.
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