Madrid

My time in the capital turned out to be a weekend feast of fine art, plazas and parks on this final weekend of the rugby world cup. It was a difficult navigational exercise driving into central Madrid and by the time I had found my way to Atocha station, where the hire car needed to be dropped off, the game had begun. I found an Irish bar showing the rugby and settled down for the second half of the France v Argentina third place play off match. Argentina turned on the style and were again too strong for France, who walked off the pitch looking decidedly disappointed with fourth place in a tournament they had hosted. The following morning, I decided to start with the wealth of modern art on offer at the Reina Sofia. It does free entry on Saturdays, so it seemed the natural choice.

Picasso's Guernica is the galleries most famous painting, a huge 3.5m x 7.8m piece which dominates one room. Much has been written about this thought provoking piece on the horror of modern warfare. It depicts the Nazi bombing of Guernica during the Spanish civil war in 1937. It certainly draws the attention more than the smaller, more colourful pieces on display nearby. The sense of dislocation which is often Picasso's cubist trademark is fully realised here. The Reina Sofia concentrates mainly on Spanish art from the last century or so and as you would expect, Dali, Picasso, Miró and Gris all get plenty of space, alongside others who were influenced by the movements they inspired. Its one of the worlds modern art treasures, with colour and ambition permeating every corner of the building. Definitely somewhere to lose yourself for a afternoon of contemplation.

I took a leisurely evening meal, very early by Spanish standards and then returned to a bar, I had earlier earmarked near the Plaza Mayor as a good candidate for watching the World Cup final. Despite arriving some 30 minutes or so before the game was due to start, the place was packed to the rafters and there was an animated debate taking place outside on the street, in both Spanish and English, as to where the game could be seen. I fell in with an English trio, who seemed to know where they were going but when their venue turned out to be closed, I led them back to the Irish bar of the previous evening as it seemed certain it would be showing the final. As luck would have it, the bar wasn't too busy and some pleasant conversation was had, while the powerhouse packs of England and South Africa ground out an edgy but un-captivating performance. The Springbok's always had the upper hand and although England put up a much better show than they had against South Africa in the group stages, the outcome never seemed in doubt.

Sunday offered up what would be to most a tough choice between the Prado and the Thyssen-Bornemisza galleries. However, as I'm not really a huge fan of old masters, religious or renaissance art, the Thyssen got the nod. It did not disappoint, the galleries host one of the worlds finest private collections, principally spanning the major art movements of the last few centuries - impressionism, expressionism, cubism and pop art all get a look in. Most of the major art figures of the these movements all have a painting or three on display, its a richly rewarding experience.

In between visiting the galleries, there were the cities monuments and plazas to explore, the rather gaudy, over the top, royal palace and the beautiful Buen Retiro park. People seemed to be making the most of the fine autumn weather and there were still three more Spanish cities to look forward to as I made my way south and into Andalusia.

Castilla y Leon

Leon's principal attraction is its grand 13th century cathedral, a gothic masterpiece. It was beautifully lit that evening as I explored the town, looking for somewhere to eat. I wandered past Gaudi's Casa de Bontines and into the Barrio Humedo, the cities gothic quarter, eventually settling for a quiet place on a narrow street just off the picturesque Plaza Mayor. Inside the cathedral, the following morning, light was beginning to permeate its stained glass windows to reveal an equally impressive interior.

I continued south deeper into Castilla y Leon province, stopping for lunch at the ancient town of Zamora. Its cobbled streets contain some beautifully preserved Romanesque churches dating back as the 12th and 13th centuries. The remains of its castle and city walls delineate its western edge overlooking the Rio Duero. Another hours drive south took to me Salamanca, a city rich in artistic and academic history.

Sophisticated Salamanca revealed itself to be a real treasure and I regretted not allowing at least a full day to enjoy its charms. The elegant Plaza Mayor, with its splendid 18th century baroque facades, is very much the cities heart and an enjoyable place to pass the time. The beautiful old town is dominated by the hybrid of the old and new cathedrals, a fusion of romanesque, gothic, churrigueresque baroque and byzantine styles. There was just about enough time to appreciate its interior before being told it was closing, denying me the chance to climb the tower of the old cathedral. The sandstone facade to the universities entrance is another architectural delight, a tapestry of Renaissance scenes and mythical creatures.

My route to Madrid, the next morning, took me via Avila, which proved to be a lovely place to break the journey and enjoy a leisurely lunch. The old city is enclosed by a well preserved medieval wall and its a delight to wander its cobbled streets and quiet plazas. Highlights inside the city, include the gothic cathedral, the convent of Santa Teresa and the monastery of Santo Tomas.

The Picos de Europa National Park

The following day I drove out of the city, into the surrounding hills and to the provincial capital Vitoria, where I broke the journey for some lunch. A brisk stroll around the medieval old town after lunch was very rewarding. The place had a very relaxed air and it felt like I was the only tourist in town. Unfortunately there was no time to visit either of the cities reputedly excellent art galleries and I was already a little behind schedule when I got back behind the wheel heading west into the rolling hills of Castilla y Leon, off the autopista and onto the minor roads.

My more direct yet slower route was very enjoyable, the scenery somewhat reminiscent of Mid Wales and the sun was slowly setting as I passed the tranquil shores of the Embalse del Ebro, through the town of Reinosa and onto a rutted road which seemed to be leading nowhere. I stopped to ask some directions and eventually got back on track heading over the 1200m Puerto del Palombera with the light fading away. The road plunged down through the hairpins into the valley mist and the darkness. There were still three more passes to negotiate and plenty of technical twists and turns and it was after nine when I arrived in Arenas de Cabrales at the northern edge of the Picos de Europa national park, having worked up quite an appetite after the long drive. I soon polished off an excellent meal and a bottle of red wine at the hotel and joined some English lads, Andy & Adam who were into their last few days of their holiday in the mountains. We agreed to join a Danish walking party and tackle the 18km Garganta del Cares walk the next day.

A cloudy day dawned and Andy & Adam were nowhere to be seen so I set off with the Danes in a mini bus to the trailhead 4km out of town. The sun soon burnt off the early cloud revealing blue skies and a pleasantly warm day. This stunning gorge walk is one of Spain's most popular - the path was cut through the rock during the earlier half of the last century, claiming eleven lives in its construction. The limestone peaks tower above you and although your hemmed in by the steep sided gorge, the spectacular scenery never lets up. We encountered some colourful mountain goats en route but otherwise it was a very tranquil three hour walk with only a trickle of tourists passing in the opposite direction. The village of Cain marked the end of the gorge, sitting in a deep bowl surrounded on three sides by gigantic columns of stone which dwarf you by around 2000m, reminding me very much of Torres del Paine in South America. After a leisurely lunch we began the three hour walk back, Andy & Adam appeared on the path, both looking somewhat dishevelled (after I had left them, the drinking had continued into the early hours). The walk was even more beautiful on the return with the sun lighting the stone walls of the gorge.

The following morning, I drove up through the hairpin bends to the village of Sotres, perched 1000m up on the shoulder of the eastern massif and headed into the hills on a trail that I was hoping would take me to the viewpoint of Pico Urriello. However, after some 20 minutes up through the woods, the path doubled back taking me in the opposite direction - from here I could now see my mistake, another path ran on ahead over a pass and towards the rising wall of rock. Still it was an enjoyable morning stroll with the only sounds coming from the chatter of the birds and the jangle of the cow bells. Unfortunately I had only allocated two days to the mountains and needed to be in Leon that evening to realise my ambitious schedule. Back at the wheel the road wound its way south over the scenic Puerto del Ponton, the forest ablaze with burnt oranges and reds, onto the flatter roads of the meseta and into the city of Leon.

San Sebastian - Donostia

Its easy to fall in love with this classy city, set on a picturesque crescent-shaped bay at the cultural heart of the Basque country. The grand sweep of Playa del Concha is a city beach to rival those found in Sydney, perfect for a lazy summers day, whilst its close neighbour Playa del Zurriola provides the surf. Between the two bays is the atmospheric Parte Vieja - the old quarter, packed full of bars and restaurants which serve up some excellent Basque cuisine. Dine at a Michelin starred restaurant or try some pinxtos - the Basque version of tapas. Many bars excel with seafood versions of this gourmet snack food, salmon, prawns and anchovies are mixed with marinade, served on small pieces of bread and served with a glass of Txakoli - the local white wine. At the headland of the bay lies Monte Urgull, a fortified hill from which there are commanding views out over the town and over the Bay of Biscay. Having sampled the delights of the old town, strolled around the Arte Nouveau buildings of the Centro Romantico, tried some pinxtos and climbed Monte Urgull, I descended looking forward to an early evening beer. However my piece of mind was shattered by the mounting sense of tension on the streets on la Fiesta Nacional de España - Spain's national day.

Basque nationalists had chosen today to demonstrate and the riot police were prepared for action. A few hundred youths, many wearing baraclavas, set fire to recycling stations and threw stones at the police who responded with tear gas and plastic bullets. It was an ugly conclusion to what had been an otherwise perfect day. I headed away from the trouble and over the bridge into the district of Gros to my hotel. The locals seemed largely unperturbed and were clearly prepared for trouble today. The next morning I bought a copy of El Mundo and pieced together the days events with a Spanish dictionary for assistance. The demonstration appears to have been organised by left wing Basque nationalists and members of the communist party and lasted around 3 hours. The aim was clearly to stoke up resentment against what more extreme elements view as a fascist state. However with riot police unlikely to adopt a softly softly approach, this was always going to be a stand off between opposing extremes. It does appear that the demonstrators can claim a small victory though, as in the build up to the days events, the right wing Falange organisation cancelled their own demonstration which is usually held on this day in the town. Viewed by many as a hangover from the dark days of Franco, the Falange, acted as the secret police and strong arm of the law under the Generalisimo. The organisation was never formally disbanded and its existence provides an awful reminder that fascism is still alive in modern day Spain.

Events in Spain have taken a turn for the worse since last years ceasefire with ETA. The terrorist organisation ended the fragile truce with a bomb at Madrid airport last year which killed two people and have vowed to continue the struggle for an independent Basque state. Terrorist activity has been on the increase in response to the Government's decision to ban ETA's political wing Batasuna and the recent arrests of its leaders. Last week a bomb was detonated in Bilboa injuring one and it only seems a matter of time until the conflict claims its next victim. Although support for the organisation has dwindled and public opinion was strongly against them following the Madrid bombing, there is still plenty of support for an independant Basque territory. Although ETA itself is thought to consist of only around 30 full time operatives, a panopoly of grass roots organisations and political parties exist who wish to take a more moderate path. Lets hope there is not a return to the horrors of the late 70s and early 80s where ETA claimed a few hundred victims each year. These days the Basque country has more autonomy and most people here simply wish for a peaceful status quo.

Saturday saw a return to normality and everyone seemed to be out for a stroll along the promenade enjoying the lovely autumn weather. I walked the length of Playa de la Concha and up the slopes of Monte Igueldo to the west of the city. The road makes a leisurely ascent via a number of hairpins up past the pine trees, tropical plants and expensive mansions. The views at the top better those at Monte Urgull and give a grand panorama across the bay as far as the old town. A tacky funfair at the summit detracts somewhat from the ambience though and having exercised the legs and enjoyed the view, I descended back into town for a pleasant lunch. I enjoyed a relaxing siesta back at the hotel and headed out into town for some pinxtos, cervezas and rugby on world cup semi finals weekend. At the bar, I got talking to some Aussies and it turned into a fun evening. The game itself was a bit of a disappointment. Both sides seemed only to want to kick the ball away. France never got into their stride and the England front eight ground out another win.

I spent a few lazy hours at the beach on my last day, despite it being mid October, its been pleasantly warm here. As night dawned I went back to the old town for a few more beers and the second semi final. This turned out to be a much more interesting contest. Argentina started impressively but were undone by their own errors and by a more patient and technically superior South Africa team. Bryan Habana's superb solo effort marked out the difference between the two sides and in the end they won with a bit to spare. The barman even gave me my third beer for free, a nice touch of Basque hospitality. It rounded off a relaxing weekend, which has left me feeling refreshed and ready for the rest of Spain - the perfect antidote to a stressful month in the office.