Corridor To The Entrance

Read the title of this post again. It’s a long story. Some of you have already heard bits and pieces and I will save all of you from the gory details. Suffice it to say that  life conspired and here we are. That story is not the topic of this post… This post is about our new apartment in Barcelona and how we came upon it.

Every August this country all but collapses. Everything that is not tourism-related closes and only the barest minimum of basic services and stores are open, and then only reduced hours. This is because the whole country decided that it was a good idea for everyone to take their law-mandated month of vacation at the same time. Everyone packs up and goes somewhere else. And so it was that many of our friends in Barcelona were leaving behind empty apartments for 30 days straight. One such migrant family, our friends Deborah and Pau and their children Naim, Dora and Lea, offered we use their apartment near Park Guell in Barcelona during the time they were out in their Summer house. Since we were already contemplating moving to Barcelona for a while, we took up the offer, hoping to take advantage of the time to look for a place to rent of our own.

Floor Tile

Did I mention that every August this country all but collapses and that everything that is not tourism-related closes and only the barest minimum of basic services and stores are open? I challenge you to try to find an open realty agency in Barcelona during August. If you do find one, it wont be able to show you any places because the owners are gone for vacation. Ok, ok, I exaggerate, but not by a lot.

Bedroom

So it was already near the end of August and we had only seen a couple of places. We liked one them a lot, but were not so sure about the 4th floor and no elevator situation. Every morning we would look at online rental listings to see what was new. If anything looked interesting, we would send out emails that mostly went unanswered. Then, one morning I came across an for a place on the “first floor” with a huge terrace. First floors in Europe are American second floors. With 4 bedrooms, the place advertised was larger than we were looking for, but it had pre-war details, tons of light, and all that private outdoor space. (Outdoor space being quite rare in Barcelona.)

Terrace

The place address was listed and we noticed that it was next door to a house owned by Mar’s aunt, Nuri, in El Raval. One of the oldest neighborhoods of the city, full of medieval complexity and charm. When we come to Barcelona for a weekend trip we always stay in Nuri’s spare penthouse apartment. A tiny place barely enough to crash, but adequate for a weekend’s stay.

Backyard Shed

The rest of that day went by without eventualities, but just before going to bed that night we get an email from Nuri: “Are you two looking for a place in Barcelona? How come you did not tell me? If you want to see the place it has to be quick. Others are very interested!” We had taken up the Summer stay offer rather quickly and had not told anyone of our intention to look for a place while there. Meanwhile, Nuri was renting a place and had accidentally listed the wrong address number on the ad, so we thought it was the house next door.

Kitchen

We went to see the apartment the next morning and took it. There’s 4 real bedrooms, a large living/dinning room, separate kitchen, one and a half bathrooms, and then there’s the 120 sq. meters terrace, on two levels, with a tool shed on the lower level. Two of the bedrooms face the inner courtyard and the other two the terrace. Very high ceilings. There’s tons of light and air circulation. The kitchen and the bathrooms could use a renovation and the kitchen needs new appliances. We’ll decide if we go that route if we decide to stay more and a couple of years… For the moment we have a large place to clean and furnish in the heart of El Raval!

New Bed

Facade of l'ermita

Last Saturday it was a warm day. For a change. I mean, it was not very warm, but an acceptable 55 F warm. So Mar and I decided to go for a walk somewhere new.

Dirt road to access l'ermita

We got in the car with the intention to drive to Scala Dei, a 12th Century monastery in Priorat we had never been to. On the way there, we passed the town of Gratallops and as we continued towards La Vilella Baixa we saw l’ermita de la Mare de Deu de la Consolació, the hermitage of the Mother of God of the Consolation, on top of the slate mountain where it has sat since the 12th Century. (You may have guessed already that everything around here seems to originate in the 12th Century.) We had driven this way a few times and seen the small church and the line of cypresses that announces its entrance perched on top of the yellow slate hill every time. And every time we had said we’d love to go up there. So we changed plans.

Old stone toolshed under the old vineyard

We parked the car at the bottom of the hill and took the dirt road that leads to the hermitage. It is about a kilometer’s walk. The whole time you are surrounded by very old vineyards that line the steep hillsides. We did not know it then, but it turns out those are Alvaro Palacio’s 80-year-old Cabernet Sauvignon and Garnatxa vines. The ones that go into his limited L’Ermita bottles, one of the most expensive and sought-after wines of Spain. At $900 per bottle, it is certainly Priorat’s most exclusive wine. There is a lot of debate on whether this wine, or any wine, should be worth that much cash. I am not sure on which side of that argument I fall, but I can be persuaded to believe that old vines growing on such a gorgeous setting must produce a very special wine.

Old vineyard on the hillside facing the town of Gratallops

The walk up must have taken 45 minutes or so. We took our time, went at our own pace. The towns of Gratallops, Torroja, La Vilella Baixa, and La Vilella Alta can be seen from different vantage points on the way and you can guess why an hermitage would have been build on such a high hill: it can be seen from every nearing town.

View from the hill towards Gratallops

When we arrived at to the top the hermitage was closed. I has been for a few decades, but we could go all around it and admire its old structure. After a few minutes we quietly started our way down to the car. We never got to Scala Dei that day, instead we continued to the nearing town of Cabaces, but that’s another story…

The cypresses that line l'ermita's entrance behind Mar

Vineyard terraces with the Montsant in the background

The Monsant and the town of Vilella Alta over my right shoulder

View of the town of La Vilella Alta from l'ermita

View of the town of La Vilella Baixa from l'ermita

Back of l'ermita

Pruning an old Syrah vine.

I have always been sensitive to low temperatures and cold weather makes me very uncomfortable. Alright, I hate cold days. This is why I cannot believe that I have enjoyed spending the last two mornings pruning old grapevines at 2 degrees Centigrade (35 Fahrenheit). Ok, that is not so cold by itself, but there were 50 kilometer-per-hour winds blowing continuously from the North-West with frequent, stronger gusts which left you feeling naked.

Had you been there, you would have seen a handful of us, bundled up and hooded like astronauts, spread over a hectare of vineyard, pruning shears in hand, quietly working away under the howling of the wind.

Isaac pruning

Pruning is very absorbing. We are lucky to be surrounded by the sort of picture-postcard landscape you can see taped to the walls of thousands of offices around the world. You are right in nature, intensely focused, but working slowly. Watches don’t fit well under the 5 layers of clothes you are wearing, but if they did, you would not pause to look at them.

Our vines this morning were 35 year-old Syrah. They are wire-trained: double-armed Royats, which look like a “T”; a short vertical trunk, with opposing 90 degree-angled arms, each about a meter long or less. From each of those arms, each year, a few young “canes” are allowed to sprout and develop. At the end of the year they are pruned back leaving just enough length of it to have enough buds to sprout canes the next Spring. With time, the sprouting points from the arms collect knotty wood, we call those “heads”.

Double-armed Royat vine before pruning.

Pruning practice theory is simple. In a nutshell, you look at the vine, counting the number of heads it has per arm and noticing whether they are at balance with each other. Not too different from a hair stylist evening out unruly locks of hair to each side of your head, I suppose. You try to achieve some equilibrium, but want it to look “natural” as well. I’ve never liked asymmetrical hair styles and deeply dislike mathematical symmetry so I suppose I’m off to a good start. The quid of the question is how to decide on the small number of lucky canes and buds that will stay and which ones will be cut off completely. In Catalan at least, the nomenclature is enough to scare you away: You take eyes out, chop heads off, inflict wounds, let them shed tears, and so on.

Double-armed Royat vine after pruning.

There is nothing to fear, really. Pruning often seems drastic to the uninitiated, but it is a beautiful and very creative task, which makes the plant more vigorous and productive, and less prone to disease. There is of course much more to say about pruning but, perhaps this is enough for a first post.

Cottage in Fontescaldes, where the calçotada took place.

Last Saturday I attended my first calçotada ever. Living with a Tarragonian for the past 8 years, I had heard about this intrinsically Catalan culinary event dozens of times. However, since they only take place in Catalonia in Winter, specially mid to late Winter, and we always travelled to Catalonia in late Spring, I had never actually ever attended one.

Laying the calçots over a wire mesh for grilling.

A calçotada, pronounced kal-soh-ta-dah, is a seasonal outdoor grilling party. It consists of two courses. First the course that gives it its name: calçots, followed by grilled meat, usually lamb chops and sausages. Calçots are vegetables best described as a cross between a green onion and a leek, and they are about the size of the latter. These bulbs are sweeter than the sweetest onion and only mildly spicy. In addition, their flavor has a creaminess that adds depth and complexity to the sweetness.

The cooks lay the calçots over the flames.

Calçots are grilled over and open wood-flame until their outer skin is charred. To eat them, this charred layer is pulled off, revealing the glistening, steaming hot inside. The peeled calçot is dipped in a romesco sauce, which consists of almonds, hazelnuts, dry bread, fire-roasted garlic and tomato, chiles, vinegar, olive oil, and salt ground together to a paste in a mortar.

The cooks test the calçots for doneness.

Usually there are about 15 to 25 calçots per adult guest. While they are being gulped down ferociously by the guests, the second course, the meat, is grilled over the hot wood coals and served right after the calçots are finished. The meal is usually accompanied by pa amb tomaquet, garlic-and-tomato-rubbed toasted bread slices, and copious amounts of red wine.

Guests crowding the calçot tray.

This calçotada was hosted by Josep Maria, one of Mar’s cousins, at his family’s country cottage in Fontescaldes, a small town between Valls and Montblanc. The town is just outside the wine Denomination of Origin Conca de Barbera and the young red wine that Josep Maria served, which is produced locally, was fruity and refreshing.

Almost done with the calçots.

View of the restored Castle of Falset from our terrace.

Up in the mountains of Tarragona, about fifty kilometers from the coast, in a valley of the Montsant range, there is a small, quiet, cobbled town named Falset. With 2600 inhabitants, not all of which reside there all year round, Falset is the biggest town in the county of Priorat, and it is also its capital. Falset may not be very large, but it is certainly old. Its castle, now a restored building with few remaining stones of the original structure, stood proud in the same central hill already in the 12th century.

Cobbled street, Falset.

Falset sits in the middle of two important Spanish wine Denominations of Origin: Priorat and Montsant and the regional economy has been related to agriculture, in general, and winemaking, in particular, since its origins. In modern times this whole county was a depressed region at the brink of being left uninhabited. Today, there are approximately 150 winemaking cellars in the area.

Old house near the Gate of the Blacksmiths, Falset.

To provide this thriving industry with skilled labor, Falset sports a viticulture and enology school which offers the equivalent of an Associate Degree in the technology and art of making wine. As I mentioned on a previous post, in September 2009, Mar and I got accepted to this school.

After two-and-a-half months of driving there and back from l’Arrabasada, we decided to move to Falset. And so, we were there and unpacking our move a couple of days before Christmas. Just in time for the worst snowstorm in the area in the last decade!

After the January 7th, 09 snowstorm from our living room window.

However, we did move in time for “l’Encamisada” or the Party of the Shirt (pictures below). This is a 2-day celebration, January 16-17th, which commemorates how the Falsetians defeated the invading French troops in January 1708 by going out at night in the fog dressed in white shirts. This rendered them invisible to the invaders. Today it is a carnival of sorts where whole families dress in traditional clothing and parade in horse or donkey-driven carts. The whole thing get’s complicated by Saint Anthony and animals are blessed in the church. Candle-lit altars to the patron saint sprout all over town.

Children dressed in traditional local clothes for l'Encamisada, Falset.

Here are some more images:

A diable, or devil, leading l'Encamisada procession.

Street altar to Saint Antony, Falset

Another street altar to Saint Antony, Falset.

Sunrise, Falset

View from Torroja del Priorat.

Priorat, which in Catalan means prior or monastery, has to be one of the most beautiful places in the world. The region comprises a gorgeous valley inside the horseshoe-shaped Montsant range. Rolling hills are flanked by sharp slate hillsides under a deep blue sky as far as the eye can see.

Landscape near Torroja, Priorat.

Carthusian monks established the prior of Scala Dei, or Stairway to God, in the 12th Century, hence the name of the region. The monks, possibly coming from wine regions of France, were the first to bring the grapevine to this land. Terrasses or hillside platforms have been maintained–or abandoned–there by farmers for centuries and, in some parts, seem to extend over all available hillside surface. Almond, hazelnut, and olive trees, as well as the grapevine, have been grown on these serpentine corridors for millennia. Today Priorat is one of only two DOC designations in Spain. DOC is the Spanish acronym for ‘Qualified Denomination of Origin’, which is the highest distinction a wine region can get in Spain. The other DOC is Rioja.

Coster near Porrera, Priorat.

The land of Priorat is thought by many to be an ideal wine-growing place for strong, dark, robust wines of great aging potential. The key, experts claim, lies in the fact that the land there is very poor and mostly comprised of slate. The hillsides are very steep and there is very little rainfall. All of these conditions make it a difficult place for agriculture in general, but the grapevine thrives there and produces wines of much character.

Coster near Porrera, Priorat.

For most of the 20th Century, Priorat was a depressed and almost abandoned region, but in the 1990’s the place and it’s wines gained a lot of international attention due to the work of winemakers who saw its potential and invested in modern wineries there. To be fair, I should mention that this is a controversial subject here. Priorat produces some of the most expensive wines of Spain. Enologists and winery owners claim they are making wines that express the qualities of the region, wines of terroir. Old timers of the area and other critics claim that the new wines of Priorat are a commodity industrially produced as luxury goods for an inflated market and that they do not represent the wines traditionally produced in Priorat. Politics aside, Priorat is truly a place of immense beauty where wine culture permeates everything.

Trio Infernal

Years of compulsive wine drinking and pairing have led us to meet winemakers in different places. A triad of such unlucky wine producers, Peter Fischer, Laurent Combier and Jean Michel Guerin, share a small winery, Trio Infernal, in the tiny medieval village of Torroja del Priorat, which is an hour’s drive from our new home in Tarragona. A year ago, while visiting Peter Fischer’s estate in Provence, France, we told him we were interested in learning more about how wine was produced. He immediately suggested we experience it firsthand at Trio. We timed our move so we could be in Tarragona by the time of verema, or grape harvest. What better antidote to the fluorescent-lit, stressed-out, office life of New York City than to spend a season picking ripe fruit, under the warm sun of Catalonia, surrounded by mountains and trees? What if the office was the vineyard?

Laurent Combier at Trio Infernal's winery.

In New York we allowed ourselves the occasional luxury of a bottle of Trio Infernal 1/3 and even less frequently a bottle of 2/3. Now we could be part of the ’09 vintage ourselves! So for two weeks in September we showed up three times a week at the winery to help with whatever we were asked to do.

Trio Infernal's cellar in Torroja del Priorat.

We picked grapes, weighed them, put them through the de-stemmer and into the fermentation vats. We helped temperature-control the vats, raked them, measured sugar and acidity levels in the must, moved oak barrels around, pumped wine from a to b, and even helped refill aging wine barrels in the cellar. Cristian Frances, the winery’s operation’s manager was friendly and patient. He would explain what to do next. Then put us to do it just as if we had always done it.

Mar "remounting" a stainless-steel vat.

Winemaking can be tough, intense labor, specially during the weeks of harvest. Fruit must be picked within a narrow margin of time or it will overripe becoming useless for quality dry red wine. Picked fruit must be taken to the winery within a couple of hours, otherwise the heat can dehydrate it or its own weight can tear the grains where infections or fermentation can begin prematurely. In the same day the fruit must be de-stemmed and placed in fermentation vats. A small winery may need to pick and process 100,000 pounds of fruit in a week or two. That’s about 10,000 pounds a day of clusters that must be picked by hand for quality wine.

Isaac testing acidity in white grenache must.

Fermentation vats of several thousand liters need to be raked daily to push the floating fruit down to keep it hydrated to avoid acetic fermentation that can turn the wine into vinegar. Tanks must be tested daily for progress of fermentation. Everything must be cleaned thoroughly daily. It’s a lot of work, but we were hooked!

Mar refilling 2008's vintage's barrels.

After two weeks in the winery we realized that we needed a deeper understanding of what we were doing. Talking to locals we learned about the Falset Enology School. A vocational program in Falset, the regional capital of Priorat, for adults who want to learn the trade of winemaking. A month ago, the first day of classes, we walked into the school to find out more about the program and walked out as new students! Perhaps they were flattered that two seasoned New Yorkers wanted to learn to make wine there, but, more likely, they placed bets on how long the two soft-skinned city dwellers would last. Whichever the case, they made it too easy to join. But that is the subject for a future post…

Coster near Porrera, Priorat.

Mar's family house

After a decade of hustle and bustle in New York City, Mar and I moved to Tarragona, Spain. This small Mediterranean city will be our home for the time being. The reasons that compelled us to move were multiple, but they can be summarized in a single cliche: midlife crisis.

Pine tree parcel across the house

New York is a wonderful city in many, many ways, but in general, we outgrew its pace and attitude. We got tired of the amount of work it takes to live there with any level of personal satisfaction that is not ultimately driven by life in the office. We are happy we have lived there. We made a few very good friends. We gained a lot of experience and we saved a little bit. However, we were ready for a change.

Mar wetting her feet in Platja de l'Arrabassada

Some thought we were crazy. After all, we had great jobs (read “great salaries”), an affordable rental apartment (read “an under-maintained rent stabilized apartment”) in a great neighborhood (read “Brooklyn”) with an amazing garden. We had no debt. What else could we ask for? Some thought we should have gone to the shrink and gotten a good dose of chemicals to make us see the light. But we took our growing unhappiness with our lives there as a sign that we needed to leave while we could; while we were in the financial plus side (read “no mortgage or children”) and healthy (read “no terminal disease”).

Street in the old part of Tarragona's center

Mar’s parents keep the old family house for summer and weekend use that we could move into right away. It is a large house on a hectare of terraced land, some 200 meters from the sea. The garden’s terraces are planted with almond, fig, lemon, olive, peach, quince, and other fruit and ornamental trees such as cypresses, elms, palms, and pines. Across from the house and in the surroundings there are pine trees and garrigue. And at the bottom of the hill there is the Platja de l’Arrabassada or the Beach of the Uprooted Field, one of the nicest city beaches I have ever seen.

Painted building side in the old part of Tarragona's center

Tarragona has been an urban center at least since it was founded in the year 218 BC with the name Tarraco by the Romans. However, it was a center of human activity long before that with the Phoenicians, who called it ‘Tarchon, and even before them, the Iberics. All of these different peoples left their layers on the surface of the city where there are extensive Medieval ruins on top of Roman ruins, intermixed with Phoenician artifacts all over the Iberic foundation of megaliths.

Roman amphitheater of Tarragona

Today Tarragona has about 165,000 inhabitants, making it the second biggest city of Catalonia. Of course, this is nothing compared to New York City standards, but when traveling in the country side here, locals often describe to it as “too big a city”! Big city or not, the Tarragona city center has a beautiful Medieval section surrounded by a Roman wall. Trapped between this  wall and the Platja del Miracle, or Beach of The Miracle, lies the ruins of the Roman amphitheater. A few kilometers to the East there is also a beautifully preserved Roman aqueduct called El Pont del Diable, or The Devil’s Bridge. Tarragona lies in the coastal center of the province of the same name. Within an hour’s travel we can easily access all the regions that radiate from it. There are, for instance, the wine Denominatons of Origin of Terra Alta, Montsant, Priorat, Conca de Barbera, and Penedes.

Facade of the Cathedral of Tarragona

Museum of History of Tarragona

I have only lived here for just over a month and I already love Tarragona. It is small enough and big enough. There is a lot of history and tradition on its walls and stones, but there is also a relaxed Mediterranean attitude that makes it a very welcoming place. Everywhere people take time to greet or assist you. You may ask a stranger for directions on the street and they will stop and take a few minutes to explain to you how to get there with no apparent sign of being inconvenienced or in need to do so quickly. The fish monger or the bread maker will converse at length with real interest in your story, sharing bits of local history and trivia while doing so. Walking about the old section of downtown is magical: The flow of time is evident everywhere, and, more interestingly, the layering of it with transitions, sometimes subtle and sometimes not so, between the different eras.

Cyclopean stonework under the posterior Roman brickwork

Tarragona is a welcomed change from New York City.