Spanish Fly: The Journey Home from Morocco, by way of Spain
SAN SEBASTIAN – BILBAO – BARCELONA
This past summer I made my virgin voyage to Africa, with a tour of Morocco that took me through the Atlas Mountains, the Saharan desert, and coast to coast. It was an extensive road trip that covered at least a dozen cities and towns, 9 of which I blogged about. But sometimes, you can have too much of a good thing. As they say in France (and Morocco) – c’est l’embarras des richesses. After 10 days of being on the road, spending each night in a different town or city; and eating enough tagine, cous cous, and lamb to last a lifetime; I couldn’t quite head straight back to the grey skies and gravy of England, could I? I needed a transition destination – a holiday to recover from a holiday, if you will – in a country that was different enough to be interesting yet familiar enough to ease me back into reality. So I spent 5 much-needed days in Spain: decompressing and recalibrating in San Sebastian, Bilbao, and Barcelona. As one does…
Though not my first post-Morocco-port-of-call (that honour went to Barcelona), I felt truly relaxed in San Sebastian. How could I not? San Sebastian was designed for languid repose: geographically (perched on the Bay of Biscay in Spain’s mountainous Basque Country, the landscape itself is a hindrance to productivity), in design (the compact old town is made for walking – narrow, polished stone streets dotted with modern sculpture in surprising situations), and culturally (their answer to Spain’s tapas is pintxos, pronounced “pinch-ohs” which itself is so adorable that you feel compelled to pinch your way through every tavern’s entire menu). Clearly, the visiting crowd got the memo: Dutch tourists who merrily squeezed 4 to a car headed to Bilbao (clearly unbothered by the constraints of physics), an elderly French couple with their Cavalier King Charles spaniel (my favourite breed of dog, so naturally I’m biased), bronzed beach bums, hikers with walking sticks and all the time in the world. And then there was me, unwinding from my Morocco trip in full-unglam ie. without a stitch of makeup, hair in a messy top knot, and feet in Birkenstocks.
ABaC RESTAURANT, BARCELONA
ABaC MENU: OUR TRADITION
Lime cactus, tequila, and green leaves (above)
Cecina chip with Café de Paris butter (below)
Caramelised bread macaron with spicy tomato sauce and basil
Nori crumble, tuna belly, soy butter, botargo with cured egg yolk and spicy shoots
Fine Mediterranean herbs coca with anchovies and cured cecina infusion
Gilda de mar Bloody Mary on the Rocks (above)
Green Salmorejo
Whipped hazelnut butter with bread crusts and caviar
Chinese box: Chinese bread, fried brioche, grilled eel and wasabi
Onion soup with Parmesan spheres, walnuts, and kumquat
Black grouper, suquet & picada with romesco sauce, hazelnut and anise-flavoured leaves
Tuna rice, Mediterranean tomato stew, tuna belly, and pecorino romano
Matured sequence: steak and tendon tartare and asparagus
Camomile “pillow”, milk and biscuit roll with a touch of lightly spicy citruses (above)
Chocolate fragile crate (below)
Frosted tile with fresh and dried flowers, yogurt textures, crumbled biscuit, and violet ice-cream
“Sweet pumpkin”
Successfully acclimatised from the sensory overload of Morocco via the comforting charms of Spain, I was ready to head home to London. Tell me – Do you plan post-holiday holidays? Do you ease yourself from the exotic back into daily life by extending your trips to familiar territory?