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Sunday 29September
Hong Kong CX lounge is now a familiar place, so it's Champagne at the bar overlooking the runway, a hot shower and duty free shopping before boarding the flight home. A better performance from Cathay this time, with both crew and food up to scratch. We both manage a sleep and right on the minute of the arrival time, the pilot puts her down with a kiss. A small moment when Flashy's passport again fails the electronic reader but we step out of the terminal to a waiting taxi in 10 minutes from exiting the plane. Home to a spotless apartment thanks to our neighbours and the joy of unpacking and discovering all the things purchased for ourselves and family. It has been a pretty remarkable trip with 3,353 kms driven and 270 kms walked and over 1,800 photographs taken.

Saturday 28 September
Cathay Pacific woes worsen with an eight hour delay and poor service. That's the headline and the following is this correspondent’s story. Firstly, let me say that I'm not a rookie to the pointy end of the plane, having travelled for years in P and J class on Asian, Australian, European  and US carriers on long haul flights around the globe. So, my remarks now are from a full fare paying, business class customer, familiar with the class and the airline. An eight hour delay is unfortunate but good customer service can alleviate the stress. What do we get from CX? We’ll, for a start, their deal with the VIP lounge in Barcelona is anything than VIP, nor is it business class in any fashion. After a few indifferent wines and some salty crisps, we board our flight from Barcelona to Hong Kong. We settle into 17 G and 17 D, two side by side in the middle of a 1 x 2 x 1 configuration. None of the 24 seats in the  middle line have working lights, call buttons or entertainment/AV system. Luckily we know the safety procedures by heart. All attempts to fix the problem fail and we spend 12 hours without entertainment, apart from Flashy's jokes. They offer us a $100 US voucher each  to spend on Cathay products. There's  a bit of grumbling going on. Oh well, there’s always the business class dining and excellent beverage list, to enjoy over a leisurely interlude. The menu reads well. Excitement builds. The Champagne aperitif is cold and fresh. The seats are spacious but a bit firm. I'd say hard in 12 hours time. Due to the  eight hour delay - an excuse if you ask me – the food is a bit stale. My burger looked ok. Brioche bun with nice mayo, a few fried chips and an excellent Chris Ringland red. But it was disgusting. Not even Burger King standard. The meat was overcooked, rock hard and tasteless. I sent it back. The service was so rushed, I thought there was a competition between the staff as to who could get all three courses out and back, so the bloody punters could all go to sleep. So much for a relaxed, special dining experience. The tray setting was not Qantas domestic business standard and so far removed from an Emirates business cabin as to be unrecognisable. Full marks though, to the staff. They at least smiled and responded when asked but there was not that professionalism of other carriers’ business staff evident here. Time to put the flat bed down and snooze. Unlike other airlines, you have to do this yourself. There's no turn down service, nor is there a mattress say, like Emirates. So after a few hours the firm seats felt, well bloody firm! After making sure all my fellow passengers were tucked in and sleeping, I ventured to the toilet, to find paper on the wet floor and a sink full of slowly draining water. For the next six hours the cabin crew had the opportunity of clearing glasses and empty water bottles from the passenger tables and servicing the toilets .They did neither. After a fitful sleep, the smell of brewing coffee awakens us and we all prepare for the full cooked breakfast. You know the one you order before you go to sleep and after a gut full of wine and whisky. The full monty. Tick all the little boxes. The bacon was undercooked, the eggs overcooked. What was once a hash brown looked like potato porridge and the pastries were stale. “Excuse me, where is the salt and pepper?” was met with the delivery of two disposable, plastic rip top containers which went all over the place when you ripped the tops off. Hardly business class. And another thing.... We’ll it's  not worth the words. Bloody poor show Cathay. At least, after three different requests, I managed to exchange our vouchers for a sexy little Swedish watch. And as we left the plane they handed us each $USD20  to cover the cost of the Wifi connection which Lady P kindly set up to enable us to track the Tigers slaughter of GWS. So that will cover our duty free gin which I guess is something. About to board the final leg to Cairns. The anticipation  is killing – but at least it is on time and we even have a gate number.

Homeward bound - well almost .........

Friday 27 September 
After a quick but ship shape pack by, well not Flashy, we sneak out for a coffee before a taxi to the airport. The taxi was parked in the street right outside our door. St Anthony? Flashman hopes he hasn't used up all his candles. A nice chap, the taxi driver, who takes us on not too scary a ride to our terminal. We find the very short business class check in line, only to discover an eight hour delay on our arriving and thus departing aircraft. We head for the lounge, which is airside but as Lady P presents her passport, the tall, swarthy, handsome, Spanish passport control captain or major or something, informs her that there are no shops past passport control! Gasp and double gasp. What a nice fellow he is. How did he know? He must be married or gay. So, in front of a huge line up of waiting passengers, we are escorted out of passport control. We get sympathetic looks from fellow travellers who probably think we are drug dealers or money smugglers as we are lead back to the glitter strip for more shopping and refreshments. I'm sure we can fill in eight hours and still remain sober. We exercise great restraint and pick up a few gifts and another Desigual t-shirt for Flashy. His fashion choices are now a major concern for Lady P. What have I created, she thinks. Eventually, we arrive at the combined VIP lounge used by Cathay Pacific and the rest of the universe. Very average indeed. Food poor, beverages average but luckily not too crowded. We will make do but will give scathing reviews. We predict Cathay is on the way out. Hope they don't go broke like Thomas Cook before we get home. As resourceful and calm travellers at the end of our trip we hunt down the hidden Cava (in a corner in little ice buckets – gotcha ya) and swoop on the new bottle of Bombay to make a couple of stiff gin and tonics.  Our flight is still showing a blank. Now, where's St. Anthony when you need him? Of more pressing concern is that Flashy will now miss the AFL Grand Final where his beloved Richmond tigers are set to thrash it out with GWS. Even with aircraft Wi-Fi we are not convinced it will be good enough to live stream the match so will have to resort to Facebook updates and a replay on catchup TV when we eventually make it to Cairns. Perhaps the black and yellow cabs of Barcelona are an omen. Esta la vida.

Flashy is in awe of more culture

Thursday 26 September 
Last day today, so we are off to the local for breakfast then a long walk to Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia.

It's  been 200 odd years in the making and is only 70% finished. You can see the contrast with the modern use of steel reinforced concrete right next to the original 19th century stone start of the project. There is no doubt, having seen this erection, that Gaudi was on LSD or some other mind altering substance. I'd hate to be the engineer trying to decipher  the plans or the poor bastard bricklayer! Flashy is suitably impressed and accordingly troops along behind as bag man while Lady P does the last of the shopping. The only bright spot is when we entered a kitchen/knife shop or had a refreshing beverage. Ah well, it is the last day. Home to a stiff Aperol Spritz and the last of the wine,  before we head out a to a roof top restaurant for another 18  course meal - NOT. Oh no, We could have, as we booked Marea Alta restaurant on the 24 floor of a modern building with 360 degree views over Barcelona and they did have a degustation menu. However, showing admirable restraint, we settled for a razor fish starter and a whole baked  seabass to share. The local rosatto was excellent as was Flashy's dry martini at the start. A taxi home and an early night.

The degustation detail

Wednesday 25 September 
Moving slowly this morning, probably as a result of the 14,000 steps done yesterday. In what could prove to be a dangerous move, the team splits up. Lady P to the cafe for breakfast to sustain her assault on the shops and Flashy to the couch for some feet up time. We agree to meet at 1400h under the University clock tower. This all seems a bit le Carre spy stuff but despite Lady P's unease, Flashy reckons he can find the clock tower. Now, it was right and then right four blocks..... or was it left? Clock towers are big things so if you look up in the sky you can usually see them, so Flashy decides to take a break from walking and seek refuge in a uni pub with the youngsters. After a couple of wines he lurks about under the clock tower waiting for the secret phrase “ winter is cold in Moscow". Lady P arrives and sneaks up on him. “Let's hit the shops.” So, a little retail therapy then home for a siesta before our Michelin meal at Alkimia Restaurant. Dressed accordingly, we stroll to our restaurant, only it's not that simple. Alkimia has no real front door. You have to look for number 41 and 45 and somewhere in the middle is a big, solid timber door to a group of apartments. You must know that this is 43. The blank button is pushed and a voice says “Hola", to which we reply “Penny, dos reservation" and buzz..... and you're in. The stairs lead to what was once an apartment but has now been converted into a 12 seat restaurant with a small bistro area and a private function space. I shall let Lady P the designer describe the incredible interior. There are 12 in the kitchen brigade and a completely open kitchen. Enough! To the meal. We decided on the 18 course degustation menu and after a discussion with Berrrrrnarrrd the sommelier, We let him put together a matching wine selection. So firstly to the wines. As Bernard suggested, the backbone of the wines would be a very nice Cava from Catalunya. This means that after toasting our anniversary at the start, our sparkling glass would never be empty. So we started in magnificent, fine stemmed coupes, with a Recaredo Serral del Vell 2011 Cava. And throughout the meal, at special food points, Bernard would bring out the following. Equipo Navero SS Manzinalla Jersz  Sherry. Yes a Sherry and how wonderfully well it worked with the first three dishes. The Chateau Musar 2009 white from the Bekaa Valley in Lebanon was a bit of a treat. Back to Spain with the second Sherry – A Valdespina Palo Cortado Calle Ponce. Again excellent. The Pian dell'Orino Rosso from Montalcino Italy was also perfectly matched to the food. Another Catalunyan wine followed, a Sarai Rene Viticultors Patrida Pedres 2015 and then came the Chateauneuf de Pape Domaine Charvin 2015 in a small carafe thankfully. The Italian Vigna del Volta Colli Piacentini Malvasia Passito 2006 was pretty good as well and to cap off the desserts, the Palo Cortado Viejo CP, again from Catalunya, was superb. Ah, the food you say. Well firstly, if you have exceptional service, bespoke cutlery and crockery, hot plates for hot food and cold plates for cold food, incredibly artistic plating and a relaxed ambience, which of course we did, then you can make good food exceptional. Well, we had exceptional food made even more so by the combination of all of the above. Here it is. Potato souffle and truffle, which was extruded potato, made into little nests, fried, salted and a shaving of truffle on top, served on a wavy zinc plate; crustacean esqueixada with romenesco sauce and pumpkin seeds, which was a ceveche of prawn on half a lime so you picked it up, squeezed the lime and licked off the prawn; Moscato do di cardinale; white gazpacho of almond with tonka bean oil and grilled sardine, which was delicious and the white gazpacho was thickened so it could be quenelled on the plate; spider crab and squid ceveche; toast with anchovy butter and cured jowl of Iberian pig. This was two separate plates served together and the pork was transparent; white suquet of seafood with fish sherry wine and grilled onion. The onion was a single half leaf from the centre of an onion.; grilled xisqueta lamb with potatoes and pine nuts, cheese and romesco sauce. We watched the whole leg of lamb being cooked over charcoal then brought to the table on a slab of wood for our inspection, before a small portion was carved off for our delight; mushrooms with caramelised cabbage and carrot toffee. Very good mushroom flavour, but there was a lack of carrot flavour in the toffee; potato gnocchis cim i tomba with conger eel skin. Gnocchi the size of small pearls and just cooked so they melted in your mouth; tempura sea cucumber and double romesco. This was excellently executed and a balance between the textures was very good; mar i Montana of sea cucumber and pig; baby squid with oyster stuffing and meat sauce. Good and interesting; grilled pigeon breast with chard and ganxet beans (A super sharp timber handled flick knife accompanied this course- not because the pigeon was tough, just because it added to the wild theme of the dish). My favourite and it opened the batting for the reds; leek pastry with horseradish cream sauce. Brilliant presentation with the leeks delightfully dominant; mont blanc. Very clever this one. A spiral of extruded chestnut cream wound around a centre of meringue; lychee and melon soup, cucumber and muscat granita. Stunning. Could have licked the plate and probably did!   And finally, chocolate pie with pickled plum ice cream. We did not need coffee, but Lady P had a fancy tea. Flashy asked for a cognac and cigar but copped a stern look, so declined. The staff provided us with a signed menu and Flashy, as a visiting chef, got a tour of the kitchen from the executive chef. There were lots of hand signals at this stage. So all you little gastronaughts, as Floyd would say, that was the meal. It is difficult to convey the amazing service during the evening. Our sommelier, Bernard, spoke English, Spanish and French fluently. He was a very good sommelier and Flashy was as pleased as punch and possibly a little overindulged with the wine matching. All the floor staff were young, slender, attractive, bilingual at least and skilled at service. We reckon they probably fight hard to get into these restaurants. As we have mentioned before, whenever there is music played in stores, bars and restaurants, it's usually in English. Even the taxi drivers have the local Spanish station playing and they introduce the song in Spanish, then it plays – and it's often some sloppy 1960’s or 70’s pop – in English. We've heard Carley Simon, The Carpenters, Abba, Elton and last night, during dinner, everything from the Stones to Simon and Garfunkel. Softly in the background, of course even during our degustation dining experience.

Celebrating 30 years

Wednesday 25th September 
Thought we should celebrate with dinner. Full description will follow!

For all of those waiting for food photos, this is your reward.

Barcelona and La Merci Festival 2019

Tuesday 24 September
An early start today saw us on the road to the train station at 0730. Our clean and modern hybrid taxi arrived on time and drove like a taxi does in most places but delivered us to the station in plenty of time for the 3 hour journey to Barcelona, at speeds of 300 kph. Our Home Exchange greeter, Leira (the hosts sister) met us and for a while there we thought she may have been sent to mind us as she settled in to watch TV while we got ourselves organised. She was not here when we returned luckily. The wonderful old apartment is a four bedroom, two bathroom, renovated apartment on the third floor, with a retro-fitted, cute cage lift that holds one skinny person. We are only here for a short time but it is very comfortable, even if we only use half the space. As we are only a few blocks walk from the centre of town, We stroll off towards the Rambla and encounter many bars and restaurants along the way. There are also KFC, Starbucks and McDonalds, so, as we have observed before, you could really be in any capital city. After a tapas and a drink, we continued in the glorious 27 degree sunshine, following the crowds. Lady P spied a Desigual store and like a retriever with its tail up, charges towards what proved to be a closed store. Ah, siesta, we think. As the rambling continued past 4pm, we noticed a degree of festivity and correctly interpreted the posters indicating that, yes today, was the last day of a week long festival of summer's end. So, of course stores were closed. As we had walked a fair distance in the hot sun, we decided to keep going and find a little craft beer and tapas bar recommended by Truus and Patrick. And yes we did locate it and gave the products a reasonable test.

Seven out of ten from Flashy. On the way back towards our apartment, we heard some music from what proves to be a 17 piece big band, with a great brass section and a couple of quite young lead singers, belting out some groovy jazz, to which some in the large crowd were jive dancing. Then the female vocalist starts up with a popular song and all this in English. As Flashy has at least a foot in height over most in the crowd (we did mention that the Spanish tend to be short?), he can see it all even from the rear. As we wander off again the band breaks into Deep Purple's Smoke on the Water, so a pretty versatile lot. As we catch the end of a procession along la Ramble, with very tall figures on stilts, we take advantage of closed roads to navigate towards home. Stopping at a little bar for some delicious Galician tapas and Rioja red, a single man beside us in our prime footpath table, engages us in conversation. He is Mongolian, but has been living and working in Germany for 20 years and is visiting Spain for a three day break. There you go, he speaks Mongolian, Russian, German, English and his Spanish is pretty good as well. Our charming hosts give us the English menu and are very warm and friendly. It’s been a nice welcome to Barcelona and we finish the night with a cooling drink in our apartment .

Farewell Amelie

Monday 23 September
Today we farewelled Amelie. She followed our directions to the Peugeot lease car return depot at the Madrid airport to a tee, so whilst still haunted by those endless ‘BARRE ‘ signs she took us to, and the constant deviations from the major roads in order to apparently save us 2 mins of travel time we have probably forgiven her as her performance in Spain, predominately on the excellent freeway system has been almost flawless. The return of the car was as easy as the collection and 10 mins later we were in the courtesy car being dropped of at the nearby airport metro station. We meandered back to the delightful Sucre cafe and enjoyed some real food, Lady P had a large plate of salad and tuna, like we're  used to eating often but have had only rarely since we left Oz, and Flashy enjoyed a pulled pork roll and coleslaw.

Not really Spanish you may say but we are tiring of bread and potatoes so anything green or crunchy (viz  coleslaw) is very welcome. We spend the next couple of hours in the Prado Museum, a true cultural experience no less, and marvel at the craftsmen that were the masters of old, before heading uptown again for a drink in Flashy's favourite people watching bar and a final browse of the Madrid shops for Lady P. Stop in at Mercador in the city for some smoked salmon and  cream cheese for dinner and consider some Spanish red onion would be the perfect accompaniment. You guessed it! In the whole of the fruit and vegetable section of the supermarket there was not a Spanish red onion to be found. Back home to polish off the leftovers, wine, cheese and chocolate.

'Death in the afternoon'

Sunday 22 September 
Sundays easy Metro train into the city on a very clean, efficient and punctual train service. Lady P has a shopping mission and Flashy tags along behind looking out for gypsies and pickpockets. As it is a Sunday, the streets are crowded with both tourists and locals and the security in central Madrid is obvious. Apart from the normal municipal police, there are the National Police and the riot squad, all very heavily armed; some dudes in blue berets and even the good old SES equivalent in their orange overalls. Shopping proves to be unsuccessful, so Flashy is secured in a nice bar with a little note around his neck saying “Vino tinto. His mum will collect him in half an hour.” Watching the passing crowd, Flashman notes the following. The Spanish are very short. This probably explains why Lady P's shopping has been unsuccessful – she was looking for sandals and all she could find was very high wedges- obviously designed for very short Spaniards. Some also have big bottoms. There is no nationally recognised dress – you could be in almost any capital city in the world with denim and branded runners everywhere. Waiters work very hard and nobody seems to tip them but they still smile and crack jokes. There is a universal male body language that transcends spoken languages, particularly when a pretty woman walks into the bar. Lady P returns and gives Flashy another half an hour. Oh, well another vino tinto. Eventually, as the sun drifts to the horizon, We train it to the famous Madrid bull ring.

This is a spectacular brick stadium in the Moorish architectural style and as we enter, you can smell the excitement. Our seats, booked on line, are in section 7 in the shade and we settle in with two cushions for our bottoms and a large gin and tonic. If you have been to a packed MCG, seen a good game of ice hockey at The Garden, or a world title boxing match, then you would get the expectation of our death in the afternoon Spanish cultural treat. Unfortunately, the crowd is small. The pomp and ceremony is still colourful and noisy and then out comes the first bull. Now, we know that the bull is going to lose. He may get in a few good punches, even a TKO, but in the end he's steak. Out comes the first one and out come the toreadors, which gives the bull a fair go, as he's fresh. Then the picador comes in, sitting on top of a well padded, blindfolded horse (well, if I was a horse, about to be charged by a very angry bull, I'd bloody well want to be blindfolded.) Kerthump, go bully, give him the left hook, we yell). He almost unseats the picador but gets a jab in the back with the picador’s lance for his trouble. Now he's rightly pissed off. Next, up to three toreadors or bull fighters, (banderillos, they're called when they do what I am about to describe) walk out to the bull and taunt him to charge them. The bull obliges. The banderillos charge the bull. Brave little blokes. Just before the bull can rip their guts out with his sharp horns, they throw two  barbed sticks into old bully’s back and dart away. Only now, when the bull is feeling pretty tired, does the matador (this means killer of bulls), prance out in his skin tight, colourful costume.

Mick Jager’s got nothing on these tall, skinny, handsome Spaniards. They play the bull, some with bravery and skill, but by now the bull is pretty stuffed. In the end, they drive a sword into his back into the heart, instantly killing him. Only, in the six bulls “fought" today, none were cleanly killed. There was a moment when our side looked like scoring, when good old bully caught a banderillo in the leg with his horn and tossed him into the air. Luckily, Flashy’s cries of “that's the way matey, gore the bastard. Come on, dig it in!” a) were not understood by the Spanish speaking crowd an b) were drowned out by the shouts of “oh mierda" by the audience. He was rushed off and not seen again, but we believe he was only scratched . We stayed until the end but were underwhelmed by it all. Perhaps it does not travel well down the decades. Bullfight Madrid – tick. I think it's a dying art (yes, metaphor groan).

Toledo and TOURISTS

Saturday 21 September
Everyone has told us not to miss Toledo while we are in Madrid so Lady P has done the research and lines up google maps to schedule our arrival at the Atocha station for the 9.20am train. This was specifically to avoid the crowds - selfishly we prefer these historic places to ourselves and given no one in Spain moves much before 10am anyway and the average travelling time by road is 1 hour, she reckons we will be well ahead of the game if we arrive via our fast train just before 10am. Great planning as usual BUT .....Firstly we need to travel on the suburban C train network to get to the main train station of Atocha and surprise surprise our 4 day tourist pass doesn’t seem to work on that system, no probs, we are dab hands at these auto ticket machines now (luckily they have an English button to help) so within minutes we have tickets and reach Atocha central station. We need to buy tickets for the fast train BUT ....... The 9.20am train has been cancelled and the 10.20pm train is FULL so we settle for the 11.20am train. Coffee is definitely in order but nothing is open till 10am so we head into the famous Parque de el Retiro for some solace.

The trees are just turning into their autumnal splendour, the running tracks are pumping with locals getting their weekend exercise and the kids and soccer Dads are assembling to train for the next Madrid Real soccer team. Have a delicious Illy coffee in a tea house just near the Prada Museum. We meander back to the station, anxious to check if we require ID documentation for our journey as on of the RENFE websites tell us passports are required for all non local train travel – crisis averted, Toledo is a local destination. Our fast train gets us to Toledo in 33mins and we share a 5 min taxi ride to the top of the hill with a couple of San Franciscans, who kindly offer to pay. First impressions don’t auger well as we discover McDonalds and Burger King in the main square cleverly disguised as cool Spanish bars. We didn’t fall for that one and find a little local bar around the corner for a red wine and an average sangria.

The fabric of Toledo visually is amazing, with ancient stone walls, splendid towers from medieval times and plenty of battlements.  We decide to find the Cathedral, which although obvious on the horizon is a maze of tiny streets away and you guessed it, all the streets are shoulder to shoulder with tourists, every nationality and plenty of locals too as it is a Saturday but we spend more time avoiding the crowds than we do enjoying the surroundings. The cathedral has a €10 entry fee and a queue for miles so we move on and eventually decide to investigate our lunch options. By this time it is drizzling, the rough stone roads are slippery and we are over Toledo. We end up at the bottom of the hill beside the impressive Roman gates with a pizza and ribs and more vino tinto. Ambling back to the station we reflect on how lucky we were to experience the simplicity of the Logrono lifestyle and medieval towns with not a tourist in sight.
A speedy train ride home, and as the phone dies we only just work out our way home before the neighbourhood comes out to play again at 8pm. The early bird definitely catches the worm but some tourist destinations are just that – their reason for being, is completely lost in the crowds.

More steps...... and a siesta

Friday 20 September 
We were up early this morning and work out how to operate the Spanish washing machine. What did we do before Google? Then a short walk to the nearest train station to purchase a four day pass and into town for our Madrid walking tour. Pretty standard stuff for these “free" tours. A uni student guide, but quite good and a donation at the end, so not really free. Angel (pronounced Angle) our male guide, studied in Scotland and I'm sure you can imagine what a Spanish accented, Scottish English commentary sounded like, but it's true – you can never get rid of a Scots accent. As a keen student of history, Flashy was enthralled throughout the violent and bloody history of Madrid, but Lady P fell asleep and only just managed to appear politely interested. She did however get the first of the tour's quiz question right – “Galileo” and Flashy followed up with the second -"Mercury (Hg)". She also managed to get some ‘window’ photos, must have over  2,000 by now.

The last stop on the tour was a bar and the buxom but very busy solo barmaid rewarded Flashy’s attempt at Spanish with the smoked salmon tapas and a wink. No mere jamon on toast for us. We head home on the metro at 3pm only to find them jam packed. Ah yes, the locals returning to work after the siesta. Luckily, the compartments are air conditioned. We decide a little siesta ourselves was in order too. We awake and dress for dinner and plan a seafood meal. Two restaurants stand out and read well on Trip Advisor. Too book or not to book that is the question. One says nay ‘tother says aye. The first choice is booked out so now a moot point. Nonetheless we make the call and think dos persona senior Roger gracias, will do the job. We train to La Latina, apparently the throbbing heart of the Tapas bar scene and whilst we had covered them more than sufficiently in Logrono, we came up out of the metro to a fairly desolate and dingy neighbourhood. I guess the other metro exit would have landed us in with all the action? Xentes  Restaurant, a Galician seafood restaurant was around a couple more dingy corners and we duly arrive right on time at 8.45pm – a late dining time for us Aussies as you will all attest. Yes, we do have a reservation, but the restaurant is in darkness. Only the bar has patrons. They are delighted to see us and we are seated at a classy, made up table, one of about 60 seats and the only restaurant patrons. The automatic lights come on as we ascend the stairs. Not to worry, We have an entire conversation in Spanish and manage to order a jug of sangria, a delightful aperitivo of gazpacho and a share plate of fried sardines in garlic oil and little green fried piquitos peppers. Delicious. The mains are confit cod with a fine veloute sauce on spiced tomato and Monkfish medallions with green asparagus and an onion jus with fried potatoes. Both were excellent. The sangria tinto was a perfect balance of sweetness and spice, which lasted through the whole meal. By now, it's almost 10pm and the other patrons start to arrive for dinner. The kitchen is excited and Mamma is sad to see us go. A friendly farewell again in Spanish and €62 later, we emerge to catch the metro back to our apartment.

Farewell Logrono, hola Madrid

Thursday 19 September 
We are up early to clean our Logrono apartment. Having not yet met the owner we can deduce by the belongings she is probably in her late thirties, early forties, likes to cook and also collect. Her interior decor is confusing to say the least with random silk flowers adoring the rooms, black and white framed poster prints of New York on one wall and a copy of a painting of Notre Dame on the other. Then there was the sea view in the bedroom and I almost forgot, little blue glass buttons glued on the wall randomly above the flat screen TV. Aside from the decor the apartment was meticulous and had stunning highly polished parquetry floors throughout. Being of typical European apartment style there were metal roller shutters that sealed you in from the outside world. We did meet Yolanda when she arrived to pick up her keys and she was as imagined and so very pleased that we had enjoyed our stay in Logrono. She promised to try and make it to Australia one day and our parting gift was a bottle of the local red – more wine to be consumed before we head home!
We set of at 10am for Madrid, via a couple of recommended stops. Amilee is right on track for the first leg of the journey as we speed along the freeway and head to Segovia.

The Roman aqueduct was well worth the diversion and Flashy picked up a car park almost underneath it for a mere €2. There were the usual tour bus groups gathered but not enough to be annoying and we sat and enjoyed a salad for late lunch listening to the music from the violinist playing to the audience below. From Sergovia our next stop was the Valley of the Fallen.

This little known attraction is actually the Abadia Benedictina de la Santa Cruz and it is set high on a mountain in the middle of a large pine forest. The first glimpse is of a large white stone cross, soaring 152metres high atop a mountain over 3000 feet above sea level. It takes your breath away. We walk up the short paths and around the corner is a parade ground that would hold 1000 soldiers. It is stark granite stone with no vegetation except the tops of the neighbouring pine trees and a hazy view over the outskirts of Madrid below. Leading off the forecourt is the entry to the Basilica which is completely tunnelled into the hillside. Its length is over 250 metres and we later learn had been constructed by thousands of prisoners of the Spanish civil war during Franco's reign. Franco is buried within the Basilica and debate still goes on as to whether or not he should remain there.
Our cultural experiences are once again exhausted so we set our directions to Madrid on all three devicesdevices -mobile phone, tablet and of course Amelie and set forth. The mobile Google maps advises us of an accident on the A5 which will add an hour to the trip so we follow the alternate M50 into the city and whilst Amelie soon picks up on it there is a period of complete silence – we guessed she just spat the dummy because she had been usurped. We arrive a little late but our eager host and hostess Maria and Javier are waiting for us as Lady P scoops up another perfect car park, the last one in the court. A quick tour of the old style apartment before we are left to our own devices and decide to head across the park for a few supplies. In typical Spanish style even though it is 8pm at the night, the park is throbbing with grannies, babies, adults, teens and in between. There are dogs, cats, bikes and a group of oldies playing their regular card game on one of the tables, complete with tablecloth. We are not even really surprised anymore.

Walking, 18500 steps, wineries and a pinchos party to farewell Logrono

Wednesday 18 September
Some observations so far. The bread and fruit in France was to die for. Also imagine strawberries that looked and tasted like they did when you were a kid. Not the tasteless, half ripe nonsense you get in Coles and the stone fruit was as if you had just picked it from the tree at six o'clock on a foggy spring morning in the orchard. The Bergerac and Bordeaux wines were all excellent and the cities and towns from Paris to Auriac were clean and friendly. Paris and France should be proud of their response to the influx of foreign tourists. Spain so far has been exciting, with the same clean towns, pride in their heritage and despite our very limited Spanish, they have been helpful and friendly. Some, even a little bit cheeky. But, the bread is awful. Worse than the Coles crap we have to put up with. How can this be? The fruit is likewise not up to the French standard. However, we  have not had a bad wine. In fact, the Rioja wines have been excellent. Logrono is a lovely city, about the size of Cairns, with some stunning architecture and clean wide tree lined streets, hundreds of bars and cafes. All of the shops and cafes play music, both in France and Spain and the interesting thing is most are playing  English songs. Usually recent pop like Ed Sheeran, Adele or even Elton and a smattering of crap 80’s do da  da, but it's all in English. Flashy was even groovin' along to The Mixtures and  Mungo Jerry’s 1970 bubblegum pop The Pushbike song. After a walk into town to see some different areas and look at buying some Spanish shoes, which we didn't in the end, we headed off in the car to look at three spectacular wineries. It's interesting hearing a winemaker in Bordeaux say “I make wine not do tastings.” There are magnificent wineries in very old Chateaux but nothing special in the new ones. Likewise, on the whole here in Rioja. However, we visited two of a handful of newly constructed, multi million euro , stunningly designed architectural buildings, for hmmmm not really sure other than to house the admin, shop and tasting and  their restaurant of course, but what an investment in public art from the private sector. D ‘Arenburg's Cube, I guess, is similar.

Then to top off a cultural rather than gastro tour, We head for LaGuardia to look at a Frank Gehry designed boutique hotel, with it's roof resembling scrunched tissue paper – you will have gathered by now after my Guggenheim visit I am  a Frank Gehry groupie. All this was achieved without map or compass nor reference to Amilee.

Well done Lady P. As a reward, she can drive to Madrid in the morning. Flashy is preparing for the assault on the pinchos bars tonight. Lady P is keen to try 9 of them. He is snoozing. Power naps, he calls them. The pinchos bars can be quite blokey, with more men than women, so you need to treat them as a public bar in Brunswick – elbows out, bit of a swagger, eye contact with the barman or chick and a loud voice. All fine in English in Brunswick, but gets a tad stressful in Logrono with very limited Spanish and I mean very limited! We shall see. It gets easier after the fourth vino tinto, though. It was a different crowd tonight, compared with the boisterous locals on Saturday. Mostly tourists tonight with lots of Americans about. The bar staff seemed less stressed and as usual, most spoke quite good English.

We made it to six bars with most of the favourite, pre-researched pinchos ticked off the list. Although, at one bar we ordered one lamb and one calamari dish but were convinced by the young hipster waiters, that they were large serves. True to form, the BBQ'd lamb over vine branch coals, with peppers and potatoes cooked in the dripping lamb fat, were pretty good. Probably equivalent to four serves, so that made our quota! The wine serves were small, so Flashy was looking for a nightcap on our return to the apartment. A couple of Grand Marniner nips did the trick.

An exceptional cultural experience

Tuesday 17 September 
The alarm goes off at 0700 and it's still dark. Nonetheless, we are up and atem' and off to Bilbao. This proves to be totally painless and we have a brief moment when we think Amilee might in fact be Spanish. A wonderful trip along the motorway, with minimal traffic,  provides spectacular views of both natural landscapes of rugged mountains, forests and the broad Rioja valley, with wind turbines and solar farms and magnificent viaducts, bridges and tunnels, giving a warm glow to an old civil engineer (well, at least a one time student!). We arrive in Bilbao and locate the parking building as if the bloody GPS had been there before. Anyway, a stressless start to the day so two coffees was the due reward especially when the combined bill only came to €3,90 and that included a little jamon roll for Flashy. We're here to see the Guggenheim Museum. Words almost fail me at the stunning architecture of this world famous building.

I think Lady P, as an interior designer, should describe the experience. We spent two hours taking in the cultural highlight of our trip so far and I'm  not sure the bullfight in Madrid is quite in the same league. Lady P reporting. At the street front entrance there is a large sculpture of a dog, fairly iconic in the promotion of the Guggenheim, Bilbao, however on this particular day or month for a reason we never did establish, the dog is covered with bright impatiens flowers, complete with a very discreet watering system. Simply stunning. We purchase our tickets and surprisingly Flashy takes up the offer of a portable English audio device to sling around his neck.

From that moment on he is entranced! From the glass tulips overlooking the reflection pond beside the river, to the mist vapour released on the hour and the sheer enormity and vision of the structure itself, we are both enamoured. We finish our perusing on the ground floor in ‘The Matter of Time’, a permanent exhibition by Richard Serra where four metre high, 100ml thick steel plate is positioned in perfect form to create mazes that one walks through experiencing amazing spatial balance. And on the subject of balance, the forms are freestanding. Absolutely astonishing given the size and weight of the bronze like patina steel forms.
Lady P almost has to drag Flashy away and it is only the lure of a cold beer that finally appeals and this is followed by a further need to explore the perimeter of the building on the way back to the car. Flashy is very impressed and Lady P has almost filled the SD card with photos.
Our Lograno Home Exchange host, Yolanda has left lots of suggestions of things to do and a small fishing village just west along the Atlantic  coast from Bilbao is on the list. So confident that Amilee is finally on our side we set forth on the motorway and once more straight into the underground car park on the promenade at Castro Urdiales.

We pop up into the sunshine, enjoy a refreshing beverage before a walk out to the ancient Eglise and Castle that form part of the sea wall. The Atlantic is pounding, a beautiful deep blue colour with caves in the rocks where Lady P is sure pirates would hang out. Heading home, even a minor diversion for fuel – in the excitement of Amilees great navigating, we had almost reached the point of no return with an empty fuel tank – we still made it back to Lograno in time for a relaxing GnT before contemplating the neighbourhood bars for some pinchos for dinner.

An exceptional wine tour

Monday 16 September
Our wine tour with Jose is booked today on the recommendation of Chaine friend Grant and we wait out the front in coolish overcast weather. Jose arrives in his Chrysler 7 seater and we are the only guests for today's tour. After a thorough briefing on Rioja wine appellation and some sniffing about the vines, we arrive at our first tasting stop. A little bit of background is needed here. Vineyard visits and tastings are not like Australia. In both France and Spain, vineyards make wine. The move to wine tourism on the scale we know it is just beginning here and our mate, yep we're best buddies by now, Jose is leading the charge. Our first stop is a young winemaker- that means less than 100 years old, Roda Wines. They provide two reds. Flashy raises an eyebrow and gives Lady P a wink. The tasting is in a proper big glass and the volume is 125ml. This could be a big day. Both wines are excellent and spotting the price list, Flashy orders a bottle, mistaking the 2€ a glass for the bottle price. Well wine is cheap in Spain. Slightly embarrassed and 36€ later we head off again through beautiful little ancient villages and stunning Rioja valley scenery to the next tasting. Muga wines is a big operation. Millions of bottles produced each year and a winemaker recommended by Grant. Well done mate, we had five full glasses of Rosado, Blanco - a new grape for us a ‘Viura’, then three exceptional reds mainly tempranillo grape with some granacha.

They may get the tasting volumes right in time but Flashy was very happy, so he bought a couple of wines and a little tea spoon souvenir. Moving along, we come to Jose's latest tourism operatio. He has bought and renovated an abandoned winery, procured stunning wines from the region, bunged his own label on the bottle and takes guests through what can only be described as being transported back to the 18c wine caves.

We taste wine straight from the barrel, enjoy sheep cheese and jamon with olive oil, try and drink rose from a jug, Spanish shepherd style and then watch Jose light a grill with grape vine cuttings and proceed to grill beautiful little lamb chops. All this we have for lunch, seated inside a gigantic wooden wine barrel. There is ample wine to help digestion. This has been the highlight of the trip so far. An exceptional tourism product delivered by a really smart operator. We predict he will go far and be very successful. What a nice man.

Postscript – it should be noted that on our arrival home, Lady P climbs into bed and in true Spanish style, has a 2 hour siesta. Flashy similarly snoozes on the couch. We could get used to this Spanish custom and join throngs at the local mercador(supermarket) at 8.30pm for a few simple supplies for dinner. The babies and children are still awake so I guess all is OK in the streets of Lograno. 

We hit the pinchos bars in Calle Laurel

Sunday 15 September
Another admin day today with a leisurely breakfast of scrambled eggs in our apartment and updating the blog after some sarcastic comments from family – really! As the storm clouds gather and the thunder bellows, we head off at 12h for the bars and pinchos  We find many, including the famous ones in the old town and Flashy manages to order wine, coffee and pinchos in Spanish. Well, the waiters smiled and delivered the correct order, so something's working.

By now it is raining and not mainly on the plain as the song goes. We are forced to take cover in a bar and as you just can't stand there looking silly, we order more vino tinto and pinchos. It's hard work, but we endure. Home at 4pm as the bars shut for a siesta and a feed. They will reopen at 8pm and trade into the wee hours. We may be sleeping. Not quite sated  yet, we cook up a Spanish chorizo sausage, garlic and tomato pasta and try the 0.90€ vino that we brought at the corner store because, you guessed it, just like France all the Mercados are shut on Sundays! Hmmmm there's a reason for the price!

Sundays are obviously family days and there are no shortage of little bars in our neighbourhood and these are bustling with activity and frequently overlooking the playgrounds located at the base of the apartment blocks. Even at 10.00pm at night there are still babies and children all joining in the fun – Lady P wonders how they manage to get up for school in the morning. At the other end of the spectrum whilst the blokes are all in the bars watching sport, the women, particularly the well dressed elderly are gathered on all the park benches and pavement seats solving the world’s problems.

A touch of NZ and to Spain we head

Saturday 14 September - Spain
We start the day with breakfast in a little cafe nearby called Piha Cafe.

For those who know Lady P well, they would be aware that Piha is a famous West Coast beach near Titirangi and also the location of many happy family memories in the Fulljames bach, known as Lions End. In the course of her Bordeaux research Lady P discovers this Cafe but had to see it to believe it, and yes it is actually named after the famous Lion Rock at Piha - apparently the french owner travelled the world kite surfing and thus the Piha connection. Flashy enjoyed a boiled egg with soldiers and Lady P a delicoius croissant along with their home roasted coffee beans and even coffee art.

And to add to the Kiwi connection, Lady P recognises a kiwi accent and it turns out we are sitting besides a rugby player from the Crusaders in Christchurch who has signed a 3 year contract with the Bordeaux team and  brought his wife and 1year old to experience life in France. Oh to be young again.
Placing our trust tentatively in Amilee we program in Logrono Spain plus put it in Google maps on both phone and tablet and check the paper map and take a reading from the sun. The bitch takes us another way and the tension rises in the car. Eventually she gets us onto the Freeway south and all is good. Great drive with little traffic; a pit stop for fuel and food and Flashy is allowed to have a little drive.

He loves the tolls because when you pay, it's a Le Mans start to the Freeway, with red lining through the gears to get to the marked lanes before anyone else. He does this even when there are no other cars. Lady P just rolls her eyes and holds on tight. Will he get another drive? Not after a little coffee stop when changing from basic French to no Spanish “oui, er si, er thanks mate" ah again those youngans are at least bi-lingual and we get service with a smile and cruise into Lograno. A little consternation at the lack of response from our key lady and contingency plans are discussed. Flashy however gets a little distracted as directly across the road from our key collection residence is Plaza de Toras – the bullfighting ring. So this is OK as we are in Spain, however there are hordes of people walking towards the ring with intent so Flashy suspects, and quietly hopes there may be a bull fight about to happen. Further observation notes that the group’s of people lining up are families with children so we are bemused – do the Spanish take children to bullfights? We didn’t think so and eventually see the poster announcing the visit of the Dinosaurs this weekend! Flashy is shattered. We manage to contact our host's friend, collect the key, abuse Amilee again and find our way to our very flash, two bedroom apartment, only a 15 minute walk to the pumping heart of tapas bars in Logrono. It's Spain, of course and the bars and restaurants are only just opening at 8:30 pm. Flashman's keenly honed observation notes patrons with drinks but no waiters and a little panic sets in as he wonders how to get much needed hydration. As the time slips towards 9:00 pm there is more action and we spot the odd waiter. Very casually dressed here compared to the black and whites with bow tie of the French waiters. With a jaunty “hola  mate dos vino tinto and some grub” we get three large plates of calamari, patatos brava and jamon croque with sangria and a decent red. There you go, young people again to the rescue.

Friday 13th September - Bordeaux

Friday 13 September 
Its Friday 13th and a full moon, so what a great day to head for Bordeaux. Our Peugeot is a station wagon and very suitable for a comfortable trip and not too French. However, Amilee  the GPS has turned out to be a total bitch. What are her good points? She works well in the city. She has a sexy English voice. Other than that, she murders the French pronunciation of the streets, roads and villages and we expect, has been programmed by a mad French tourism executive who believes all English speakers should spend endless days lost in the rural countryside. Flashman's excellent sense of direction – not -  and his paper maps, not to mention his endless patience with Lady P's determination to go her way, were required on more than one occasion when Amilee took us down country tracks with resident only signs, in between rows of grapevines and around small villages, all in sight of the main road we were supposed to be on. After much cursing at her, to which she simply replies “turn around where possible,” we turn her off and rely on Lady P's instinct. We arrive safely in Bordeaux, which should have been an easy run on a straight freeway. Oh, and a little story of the Freeway. They're not free. And “T" means you have an electronic gizmo in the car  that magically opens the barrier on the toll road. Oh dear, a conversation in Fronglish and your credit card details later and we are back in the game. After checking in to a delightful Air BNB we wander into the old town area, past churches, restaurants and the university into a crowd of young people. A San Fran feel even if the buildings are hundreds of years old. It's hot, so we hydrate. Beer has water in it Flashy says. Then it's off on the river boat to the citie du vin – an incredible, modern glass building, housing a museum and interactive displays of all things wine.

It is truly amazing and we have a snack and a couple of Bordeaux wines of course, before heading back into town by tram. Flashy requires another hydration stop but Lady P needs to push the step count up first, so it's off to a beautiful, shady garden where we observe the first year uni students flour bombing and soap sudding each other, before seeking out a bar on the square. More walking and people watching before a glass of wine and some smoked salmon at the edge of another square, where we have joined the Friday after work crowd and the chatty young folk of Bordeaux.

As the sun sets, We wander back towards our apartment, through the very up market shopping precinct to emerge close to our residential neighbourhood. The fact that we are in a university town is reinforced by the countless number of Uber Eats and Deliveroo bike riders. Our light dinner tonight is taken in Bistro that is surrounded by Starbucks, KFC, Burger King and a Pakistani curry hut
French statistics. We have walked 262,843 steps in France and driven 2,273 kms in 22 days.

Lundi- Jeudi all summed up

Monday 9 September
Jacqui and Russell set off  before breakfast for two days of caving and we set of a bit later to explore further afield from the Hamlet of Auriac with the Kirchners  and the Zigtermans. First stop is Castelnaud-la-Chapelle Castle, a medieval fortress built on the top of a hill, complete with turrets, an armoury museum and off course a trebochet (catapult type device)  which we were able to see demonstrated, albeit with a foam ball as the destructive force.

Cooling ales before a walk around the nearby Marqueyssac Gardens where topiary has been used to sculpt the natural flora and fauna on the top of a strategic ridge overlooking the Dordogne River. And home to relax poolside.

Tuesday 10 September
After a massive diversion by our GPS  bloody bitch, Amilee who took us through country lanes and closed tracks, Flashman's entry in the blog was “Went to Saint-Emilion. Had a great lunch.” Well, we did. After loading David and Linda into the back seats, We eventually made the very simple, straight, direct, should have been easy, trip to Saint -Emilion, a quaint, very old, touristy town in the heart of the Bordeaux wine appellation. Splitting the team into genders, David and Flashy head out seeking knowledge and Linda and Lady P go shopping. Both reconnaissance teams are successful and rendezvous at the bar where the boys are just finishing their tasting. A short drive in the countryside and we arrive at our lunch destination at La Dominique winery, recommended by the St Emilion Tourist Office as one of only two wineries in the region who have restaurants ‘as in France, wineries are in the business of making wine!’ Lady Penelope had twisted the arm of the maitre d to get a booking via phone as originally his response was ‘sorry, we are fully booked' but with some gentle persuasion, a 2pm time slot was secured and we all enjoyed an excellent meal which included cured trout on chilli and capsicum ice cream, duck confit, a taster plate of entrees and a very well presented fillet steak. A bottle of Estate Wine of course. The winery restaurant was upstairs with an amazing rooftop verandah, the centre of which was filled with a thin layer of over 600,000 small burgundy glass pebbles.

There were three different shades of burgundy and it represented the ‘stomping of the grapes,’ as done in days gone by. We drop the Kircheners at their train to Bordeaux and return to the Hamlet serenity for GnT’s.

Wednesday 11 September
A quiet day at home, some domestic chores like washing and a visit to Lalinde for a few supplies. Russell and Jaqui return from their caving adventures and we fire up the BBQ for some good old Aussi steak and salad for tea.

Thursday 12 September
Its our last  day in the Dordogne so we begin by visiting the nearby village of Mollieres, almost a walk away from the Hamlet of Auriac, but none of our early morning exercisers had quite made it that far so we were keen to discover.

It was delightful, the quintessential village square, an Eglise , opened especially for us by the local who appeared from the house across the road with a giant black wrought iron type key, as soon as we appeared. Low and behold it was an omen as Flashy discovered yet another St Anthony to which he made a small donation- no candles this time as the amazing roof  structure is completely made of timber. Flashy also found a friend, the church cat, a plump furry ginger kind who has come in and settled himself on the back row waiting for some action. We had beautiful coffee at the cafe/bar on the square and after  brief bonjour to our Irish hostess, Flashy discovered that this delightful village houses an international mix; Kiwis, Dutch, Aussies, South African and the ubiquitous Pom whom we gather was the owner of the cafe. The 70m2, 1 bedroom, oldest house in the village is on the market for €58,000 so frivolous discussion followed as to how we could invest in the village of Mollieres.

“We haven't had enough duck,” says Flashman, so after much discussion and with help from  our host, Cyrille, we head to  Ferme Auberge du Rebeyrotte for a degustation of duck. This charming little family run restaurant has four fixed price menu items, all of which are a degustation of duck, an aperitif of cassis flavoured sauvignon blanc and a couple of bottles without labels that contain a delicious Bergerac red. The restaurant sits right next to an airfield with a couple of light planes and gyrocopters parked on the grass.

We suspect that it is also the aeroclub mess. Ah, onto the menu. Duck pate with the aperitif is followed by a large tureen of garlic soup. Next is confit or magret  of duck and the entire village's harvest of potatoes, cooked in duck fat. In the French style, a salad is served next. This is torn iceberg lettuce and a simple dressing. The dressings acidity helps clear the tongue of the duck fat. Ah, more fat please, so on comes the cheese, three of them and no bread or biscuits, this is France, silly. We make some Mr Creosote jokes as dessert arrives. A pear tart with meringue top. No doubt the base was made from duck fat and egg yolk with the whites beaten for the top. The second bottle of red is drained and a small coffee completes the lunch. The only problem is whether we can stand and walk to the car for the trip home. All this for €26 each. A diversion to the lovely village of Limeuil on the way back and  there is some snoozing happening in the back seat. Lady P encourages Flashy to climb the small hill to the top of the village by promising him there will be a bar for a refreshing beverage there. True, there was and yes he did. It’s fair to say that there was no need for dinner that night and bags were packed ready for an early departure the next day.