Una Mas Fiesta - 30/1/10

After writing yesterdays post we were happy watching Spanish game shows and playing silly puzzles but David insisted we go out for a coffee and a walk through Azequeca. We agreed and figured we may as well enjoy the village on our last night.

We only got 1 block from David’s house when he bumped into his brother’s friend’s father. He was the father of a Toredor – a trained bull fighter. After being invited into his home Ruth and I began watching SpongeBob Squarepants – in Spanish and all of a sudden we were told to put our jackets back on a moved us into a car. Without any explanation as to where we are going my mind started racing – perhaps he would dress me and Ruth up as bulls and get his son to kill us. But I was being rather dramatic. We travelled a little way outside the village and arrived at this very traditional bar just outside. Beers were ordered along with some amazing Tapas. There was choizo (which by now I had fallen quite in love with), chicken, bread topped with some cheesy, veggie concoction, potatoes, ear of pig, a type of black pudding and so much more. The food was fantastic and we were then given a traditional Spanish alcoholic beverage to ease the food down (with ice of course). We were then given a refreshing, minty shot of something that totally brought us to life and made me and Ruth begin to feel quite drunk.

As we left; David’s brother’s friend’s father insisted we pay for nothing and they invited us back to theirs. We reluctantly accepted after much insistence but this proved to be a good thing.

In a Toredor’s home it is traditional to have a basment to act as a trophy room in which said Tordor can sit in before his contest to gain inspiration. We were taken down and the basement was incredible.It had been completely done out as a bar, a really professional, place where I’d like to drink regularly kind of bar. It was dolled up to the nines with pictures of his son in action, horns from bulls he had previously killed, several fridges chock o’block full of traditional Spanish beer, wonderful trinkets and mugs from all over Spain and the piece-de resistance a rack about 10 bottles high and 20 wide of vintage wines.

We were offered drinks left, right and centre from this extremely proud father, including wine that was a smooth as syrup and taste of silk, straight out of one of his many barrels.

While they spoke no English and our Spanish not being much better we were assured – through David – that they were extremely proud to have us in their home and the father insisted on giving us a vintage bottle from his personal cellar and to avoid mine and Ruth’s embarrassment, David didn’t share us the details of how much it would cost a normal human being. It was the perfect souvineir and a perfect ending to a truly interesting holiday.

Or at least that’s what we thought.

The following day started like most of the others – set the alarm for 9, woke up at 11. We packed everything up and into the car not forgetting our vintage wine, then Ruth and I made our way into the village centre.

We wanted tobuy some flowers for David’s mother for providing us with such great hospitality.

Upon our return we got in the car made our way in the opposite direction to the airport. By now we had learnt not to question our travel destination. We were taken to David’s grandparents where we met up with what felt like his entire family, meanwhile knowing for a fact that it wasn’t half. We were given a three course meal and shown through family photo alnums – clearly family is sacred here in Spain. We eventually said our final goodbyes and made our to the airport where I’m writing this saying my final goodbye to this part of the journal.