Kickin' it in Val

One week of work can fly by here in Madrid, which is great for me when I’m looking forward to my three-day weekends. As promised, I made reservations at a hostel for Edward and me and bought my bus ticket to Valladolid, an industrial, non-touristy city located in the heart of Castilla Y León region just a few hours north north-west of Madrid. I arrived at the Val bus station around 11 a.m. on Friday morning, and with my trusty pack comfortably situated on my back, I started walking towards the general direction of my hostel. Rather than looking like a tourist (because I’m sure my pack wouldn’t give me away), I opted not to pull out my Lonely Planet Spain guide book and just go on map memory and asking strangers from time to time how to get to Plaza de los Arces. I could see my breath in the chilly morning air, but the sun’s rays shone like crystal lasers of gentle warmth, making the crispy cold tolerable to this southerner.

Valldolid is already getting ready for Christmas. Large and beautiful strands of garland and lights hang across the pedestrian-friendly streets and ornamented garland connects the columns surrounding the Plaza Mayor. The city’s central zone is dominated by posh stores showcasing some of the finest brand names in fashion, unique bars attracting clientele with their delicious tapas, and traditional café-restaurants sitting in the midst of the glitz and glamour without caring to change. The architecture found in Valladolid’s center is a strange yet aesthetically pleasing mixture of Victorian-style (twirling, swirling reliefs) and art-deco techniques (ironwork framings and bright colors). Throw in some ancient buildings that have been sitting on the same street for hundreds and hundreds of years, and you might be able to get the general feel to this unique and interesting town.

I eventually found Hostal de los Arces, and I walked upstairs to the first floor (because in Spain, you have to walk up one flight of stairs to reach the first floor… street level doesn’t count apparently) and rang the buzzer outside the hostel doors. A short, slightly-balding man with large eyes, a five o’clock shadow and wearing a grey sweatshirt answered the door. This is Jos, the Brazilian man who owns, runs, and cleans this hostel in Valladolid. He validates my reservation, shows me to the two individual rooms I had reserved for Ed and me, and says I can pay later when mi compañero arrives. Well, I was hoping that my compañero had received the email I sent him on Wednesday night, which included the hostel name, location, number, and the plan to meet me there around noon. It was just past-noon. After getting situated for a bit, I decided it might be best to go out and wait on a bench in the plaza. Not two minutes after I had parked myself on a strategic bench that kept an eye on the hostel door, I spotted a chap wearing a Fedora hat and loaded with a pack on his back, a smaller backpack on his belly, and a pillow sandwiched between that and his belly. Edward had made it successfully to Valladolid and to our hostel, if only a little late.

Happily and thankfully united, we walked to the river and chowed down on some ham sandwiches I’d made at home. We spent the rest of the afternoon strolling through the streets of Valladolid, and of course, making a point to spend time in the gorgeous Campo Grande, a wooded oasis littered with golden brown leaves, creeping vines, peacocks and red squirrels that are not afraid to come up next to you (or climb your pant leg) to ask for food. And given the fact that Edward does have a culinary agenda here in Spain, we set out to find a restaurant that serves lentils from a particular region in Spain. It took a little while of scouring the menu displays outside a number of restaurants around town, and once spotting “lentejas con chorizo” on the chalkboard outside El Buen Tapeo de Bimi, we excitedly ducked under the stone door to order two bowls of the previously-elusive legumes. Lentils are a fairly common first-course dish in Spain, and our waitress couldn’t really understand why we didn’t want to order our second course after lingering over las lentejas. Yet, the owner behind the bar was gracious enough not to make us order another plate of food, and after an enjoyable culinary experience, we went out in search of a more cultured one.

As I said before, Valladolid is not known for its tourist’s attractions. Yet, the city take pride in its Museo de Escultura, home to Spain’s largest collection of sculpture made of polychrome wood. Perhaps it is for this reason that this museum has patrons, because I don’t know how it would fare in competition with another city’s (like Madrid’s) range of museums. I’ll be honest: the somewhat grotesque figures from the Middle Ages representing repeating religious themes was not exactly my cup of tea. But I will give those artists some credit in their ability to make these wood sculptures look as smooth and detailed as Michaelango’s best marble.

Abandoning culture for cuisine, Edward and I made friends with Panta and Mari, a brother-sister duo who share ownership of their father’s specialty foods store, PANTA, aptly named after their father. Panta and Mari told us all about their wine selection, their meats, their cheeses, their fruits, their breads, and their experiences with all of the above in the Valladolid region. Customers walked in the store to make purchases, but instead of tending to them, Panta continued to let Edward in on the secret of duck liver. Both Panta and Mari insisted that we return to Valladolid and join them on an excursion to a bodega (a wine cellar/vineyard) and a duck farm. Perhaps we just might.

On Saturday morning, Edward and I set out on another mission of culinary and cultural interest. Recommended by word of mouth and duly noted in Lonely Planet, we hopped on a bus to Peñafiel, a small town about an hour east of Valladolid. Peñafiel attracts visitors for three reasons: la castilla, el vino, y el lechazo. We wandered uphill through the narrow streets towards the megalithic monument towering above… the castle. Perched on a high rocky outcropping, the castle—which was founded in 1018 and added onto in the 1200-1300s—keeps a vigilant eye on all the surrounding valleys of the Ribera del Duero. The Ribera del Duero wine region is famous for producing some fine Spanish wines, which Edward and I were able to appreciate during lunch at Meson El Corralillo. Seated underground in the stone-walled bodega, Edward and I ordered the most typical meal served at the restaurant: a bottle of the house wine, a tomato-lettuce salad, two huge chunks of bread, and the lechazo dish (one-fourth of a baby suckling-lamb). This meal was really the reason we traversed the countryside of Castilla y León. The lechazo was super succulent; it was so tender that at times, we couldn’t tell the difference between meat, skin, and bone, and the slightly gamey taste of the meat was balanced with the salty juices collecting at the bottom of the dish.

Our bellies satisfied and our temperaments merry, we walked through the town again, throwing Ed’s frisbee back and forth across the street. Eventually, we found an antique store that we’d heard also let’s visitors taste wine. We made friends with the owner of the shop and he told us all about the wines of the region, his life in Madrid as the princess’s head chef, and his thoughts on how to enjoy life and how to appreciate wine. Wrapped up in conversation, we missed the 6:40 bus we intended to catch back to Valladolid, and since the next and last bus didn’t come until 8:40, we had some time to kill. Fortunately, Peñafiel is home to Hotel Convento Las Claras, a convent converted luxury-hotel (http://www.hotelconventolasclaras.com/en/index.php), and I happily plopped myself down on a plush sofa in the warm courtyard and took a little nap. We caught our bus back to the big city and walked into Jos’s loving arms just before 10 pm. Unfortunately, I was assaulted by a splitting headache that prevented me from functioning, so we did not go out to try anymore pinchos that the restaurants of Val had to offer.

Edward and I packed up our few belongings on Sunday morning, grabbed some breakfast, stopped by to say one last hello to Panta and Mari, and walked through the Camp Grande (that lovely and precious park I’ve fallen in love with) to the bus station. Edward bought a ticket to León and I boarded my bus back to Madrid. We parted ways with the expectation of reuniting in San Sebastian twelve days later. Until then, only the Lord knows where Edward will go, who he will meet, what he will learn, and what he will eat… and as for me, I’ve got to go back to school!