Not So Sunny Seville — Tails of Wine

Seville apparently has 129 days of clear sunshine a year. To put that in perspective, Seville has significantly more sunny days than other typical summer holiday destinations like Alicante (97), Ibiza (98) and Mallorca (71) and is even a winter sun destination. I say apparently because I wouldn’t know. I’d love to report back with first hand knowledge of glorious weather and sun filled days, but sadly we didn’t see much of that. It mostly poured, bucketed and tipped it down. Came down in stair rods. Raining cats and dogs. You get the idea.

As you know by now, rain, sleet, snow and hurricane force winds won’t stop this crew. We keep going no matter what, professionals that we are. But apparently a little wind and rain brings Seville to a complete stand still. The entire city was pretty much shut when we arrived and didn’t unlock it’s doors even when the rain stopped. Everywhere we went, we were met with closed gates, no entry signs and padlocks. Even huge tourist areas like Plaza España were shut up, we walked down there three times over the course of three days and it was stubbornly ‘cerrado’ every time. Maria Luisa park, and Jardine de Catalina de Ribera too, in fact every single park we tried to go to was shuttered and padlocked.

So if we couldn’t do the parks or landmarks or other historical sites, we’d have to look for something else to do. Given I’m a huge fan of marmalade, and Seville oranges make the very best marmalade, I figured I’d search out the best marmalade on offer in the city (what? Marmalade is totally a thing. Just ask Paddington). To my delight, I found out the local nuns make marmalades, jams and sweet treats to raise money for their Convents. Brilliant, I thought. Get some delicious marmalade, help out the nuns, give back to the community and get to start my day with Holy Marmalade on toast. Total winner.

After much research we decided on a visit to Real Monasterio de San Clemente, which I had on good authority (ok not good authority, but at least it was a tip of sorts) that it was THE place to get marmalade. It also sounded rather cloak and dagger; you show up, you go into a room where there’s a lazy Susan type turntable, you put your money in one side and the marmalade comes out the other and you never see the nun who sells it to you. So I’ll get marmalade, help a good cause and get a little spy/espionage secret squirrel action - this may be the best thing ever!

No matter that the Covent was about 40 minutes away, over the other side of town, we needed a good walk anyway. So off we set, trying to ignore the black clouds that were bubbling on the horizon. It was a terrific walk, albeit past the padlocked parks that the WonderDog really wanted to explore. The sun even came out a couple times, it was practically summer.

Then of course came the inevitable. We got to the Convent and the gates were firmly shut. The hours were listed on the gate, open from 10am until 12.45pm and then again at 4.30pm. I looked at my watch and it was 12.30pm.

Me: “Should we call them?”
Mr T: “They seem pretty shut.”
Me: “Well, should we try? Do nuns use phones?”
Mr T: “Sure.”
Me: “And when I say we, I kinda mean you. I think it’s better for you to speak to them.”
Mr T: “How exactly? Do they even let guys in?”
Me: “Well you’re sorta religious, as in you've been to church in the past 20 years, plus you speak some Spanish. They won’t know what I’m saying and they’ll sniff me out in an instant.”
Mr T: “But you know marmalade. I know nothing about marmalade. I won't know what to...”
Me: <handing him the phone> “Here, it’s ringing…”

What followed was a fairly complex discussion in Spanish which neither of us really understood [Mr T editorial note: I completely understood], but Mr T concluded that they would come and open the gate in 15 minutes. We waited 20. I went to both gates. No nuns, no nuthin’. The WonderDog was over it, Mr T was impatient and I was cranky. We’d come all this way to try and do a good thing, and now no one would open the door. And then, as if by divine intervention, the heavens opened, the wind whipped up into a frenzy and we got completely drenched in a downpour of epic proportions. Clearly no marmalade was being bought today.

Our epic streak of luck continued as we went home to cook the fresh fish we had bought from Sintra only to discover there was no oven and no pan big enough to cook our wee snapper. But after a few wines, this crew can think on their feet. After some real time adjustments (and with apologies to Mr Fish, but you weren't using that tail again anyway mate!) we had a delicious meal, some great wine and made a plan to tackle the nuns again tomorrow. I’ll do a good deed if it kills me! We also found out with more research that if they are closed, just push the buzzer and apparently they will open the gate. We made the mistake of calling instead so as not to bother them too much. Lesson learned.

So long story short, if you’re in Seville and you feel like buying marmalade, sweets and other trinkets from the nuns, I’d suggest you head to Monasterio de Santa Paula, a 15th century Convent which seems to do the largest selection of jams and marmalades. They are set up for tourists so although there is no cloak and dagger stuff, they are incredibly friendly and helpful, and at that stage I was just happy to be buying marmalade. I can confirm their marmalade is delicious. As are the biscuits. And the jams.

We went straight from buying marmalade to a cheese and wine tasting Airbnb Experience run by a lovely chap called Andre who owns a wine shop in town. There we tasted a range of sherries and wines as well as some delicious local cheeses and learned all about the Sherry Triangle of Andalusia. Naturally we got soaked going both too and from the shop as Seville gave us our heaviest downpour yet but given we’ve been sopping wet for a while now, we hardly noticed. Once we’d dried out a little, dinner was at a tremendous place called La Azotea on Calle Zaragoza, they cooked up some of the best food we’ve had in a while including a delicious but very ugly scorpion fish. The menu changes every day so there's always something new to try, and they have a great range of local wines by the glass.

Our next major stop would be Granada but we had a couple of stops along the way to break up the journey. The first was in Cadiz, thought to be the oldest continuously inhabited city in Western Europe, home to the Spanish Navy and it's a seafaring hub with a reputation for being battle hardened. This place has literally seen it all. Founded in 1104 BC, Cadiz has been ruled by Hannibal, the Romans, the Moors, attacked by the English, caught up in the Napoleonic Wars, and has the most interesting mix of architecture because of it. To my mind, I expected the place to have the feel of the Mos Eisley cantina - the Star Wars bar known for it’s chancers, outlaws, hard drinks, quick wits and occasional fisticuffs. We saw it in the daylight and only for a couple of hours but I’d love to come back at 11pm and see what it’s really like.

Following a run on the beach for the Wonderdog, the most entertainment I got in Cadiz was when Mr T decided to try out the public toilet, one of those phone box sized public loos that they have here in Europe. You basically put in a 20 cent piece and the door automatically opens, you step in and it closes behind you. When you’re done, you hit the button and the door opens to let you out. Hopefully. This loo was rustic to say the least, but the lad was busting so needs must. As he put in his 20 cents and the door creaked open I felt sure he’d back out, but in he went, brave soul. Just as I was walking away to give him some privacy (and I didn’t want to be loitering around the public lav) I heard some scrabbling and saw a pair of white knuckles clinging to the door and a foot jammed in the door way. As a handful of coins came flying out, I just about heard the words “In case I get stuck in here…” before the door slammed shut. So now I’m on my hands and knees picking up small change outside the public lav. Not a great look folks. All ended well though, Mr T was relieved in more ways than one to get out of there alive, so we can tick that off the list of first experiences.

Our second stop was in olive and citrus country just outside of Ronda. I won’t mention the weather again because it’s getting tedious now, but let’s just say that between the downpours, we had a lovely time. The rural hotel that we stayed in, Hotel Molino del Arco, was so peaceful, cozied up between olive groves with an epic view of the hills around and everyone was very friendly. After a good nights sleep we headed on to the main centre of Ronda, and it was breathtaking. I had done no research at all so it was a complete surprise to read all about it as we were going around. This is another place that has a reputation for outlaws, bandits and ruffians, in addition to something I’ll give no ink to here - bullfighting (Ernest Hemingway has already given it all the ink it needs, and clearly they love him for it here). Animal cruelty and legendary outlaws aside, even if you know nothing of Ronda, you can’t help but be wowed by it’s beauty.