Boqueria? Barcelona’s Other Great Food Market

by David Farley on
Just off Barcelona’s La Rambla, the pedestrianized street where tourists go to get their wallets and other valuables liberated, sits another one of the city’s main magnets of tourism: La Boqueria, or as it’s officially called Mercat de Sant Josep de la Boqueria. The market has been around since 1217, making it one of the oldest markets in Europe. Wherever I travel on the planet, I make a point to visit a city’s central market. They’re usually the best and cheapest places to eat, places where you sit shoulder to shoulder with locals in a salt-of-the-earth environment eating ingredients that were just plucked from the sea or a nearby field. I couldn’t wait to go to Boqueria with an empty stomach on a recent visit to Barcelona. There was only one problem: it was a circus. A metaphorical one, but still: there were more people milling about and standing in line to eat than hunks of pork byproducts hanging on hooks; more Tiva-sandle-clad, khaki-shorts-wearing tourists than at a Dave Mathews concert. Not that being around other tourists is always a bad thing. But I was hungry. I walked out frustrated, my stomach growling for good food.

But then something amazing happened. I stumbled upon the Mercat de Santa Caterina. Located La Ribera, Santa Caterina is smaller than Boqueria, there are fewer restaurants, and it’s a tad more sedate. But that’s the price you pay for having it mostly to yourself and the locals. The market, built in 1848, recently got a renovation and a new undulating Gaudi-esque rooftop, consisting of 325,000 colorful ceramic tiles by local architect Enric Miralles. There are 40 retail markets in and around Barcelona, but if you want one alternative to Boqueria, this is the place. At least I thought so on the afternoon I was there last month. There are still mountains of curvaceous Montserrat tomatoes, piles of pig parts, and huge displays of fresh seafood, but I spotted no one was wearing khaki shorts.

Best of all, there were places to sit at the food kiosks. I pulled up a bar stool at La Torna, situated next to the stall selling just eggs and across from a stall selling bread. I ordered the grilled squid, which was as fine a grilled squid I’ve ever tasted: brininess combined with just enough charcoal from the grill; the texture was a slightly chewy, but not too rubbery; intertwined in all this were hints of garlic and olive oil.

In between bites I’d sit back and watch the theater. I say that because the only other tourists eating there, some Australians who said they come here every time they’re in Barcelona, used that word to describe the place to me. “There are only three people working here,” said the portly Aussie, pointing to the two gregarious young women who work as servers and the one guy manning the grill. “But it’s just theater, man.”


And just as he finished, one of the women, having refilled my glass with more cava, slammed the bottle down into the ice bucket. Water from the bottom sprayed up and outward, hitting about five of us with cold water. Everyone cheered. We were baptized. It was just another day at Mercat di Santa Caterina.

Politics and people: an immigrant’s impressions of Spain’s Basque region

by Sean McLachlan on

One downside to being an immigrant is that you have to learn a whole new set of politics and social divisions. Since moving to Madrid six years ago, I’ve heard a lot of people talking about Spain’s Basque region. Everyone has an opinion about it but most haven’t actually been there.

I’ve recently returned from six days hiking in the Basque region with a group of Americans and two Basque guides. One guide, Josu, got elected mayor of his local group of villages on the night of our farewell dinner. This photo shows him at the moment a friend called with the news. In case you can’t guess, he’s the guy in the middle with the ecstatic look on his face. I think I detect a bit of surprise and relief too.

As is typical of locals showing around foreigners, our guides wanted to show us the best their region had to offer and leave us with a good impression of Basque culture. That wouldn’t have worked with a Spanish tour group, by which I mean a group of Spaniards from other parts of Spain. Any mention of Basque culture, the Basque country, or the Basque language will often elicit a variety of reactions ranging from dismissive grunts to angry lectures.

The Basque people have a distinct identity yet have never had their own nation. At times they’ve been oppressed, most recently from 1936, the start of the Spanish Civil War when Franco’s fascists bombed the Basque region, through Franco’s dictatorship until his death in 1975. Basques often say they suffered the most under the dictatorship. Many Catalans say they suffered the most. I’ve heard Castilians say everyone suffered equally. I have no idea who’s right and to be honest I don’t care. The bastard has been dead for 36 years. Time to move on. To keep the ghost of Franco hovering over Spanish politics is to grant him a power he shouldn’t have had in the first place.Spain’s regions enjoy a great deal of autonomy, but the central government is trying to hold them back from full independence. The Basque independence movement is the oldest and loudest. This perfectly legitimate expression of nationalism has been soured by ETA, a terrorist group that has killed more than 800 people and has set off numerous bombs in nonmilitary targets such as airports.

ETA today looks like an anachronism. The military dictatorship is long gone. It’s legal to speak Basque or Catalan, and in fact they are official languages in those regions. Nobody is being tortured for waving a nationalist flag. These things happened under Franco but they are not happening now. I’ve been to Palestine. I’ve been to Kurdistan. I know what oppression looks like, and I’m sorry if this offends the many Basques who’ve been nice to me over the years but the Basques are not an oppressed people.

It’s not even clear the majority want independence. I’ve asked several Basques the question, “If there was a referendum tomorrow, would the Basques vote for independence?” All of them said no. Our guide Christina said no, adding she herself wouldn’t vote for it. Our other guide Josu, who’s a member of the separatist Bildu party, replied, “Tomorrow? No. People need to learn why they should want independence.”

The central government in Madrid is helping with that. Its fumbling of the economy, stalemate political fighting, and widespread corruption and incompetence are enough to give anyone thoughts of secession. Having lived in six different countries, however, I’m not sure replacing one group of greedy politicians with another group of greedy politicians who happen to speak the local language is going to solve anything.

The one thing that must change here in my new country is that ETA needs to go. A group that sets off bombs in tourist destinations has no place in a democracy and too many people make apologies for them. I asked one Basque man what he thought of the ETA’s 2006 bombing of Madrid’s Barajas airport, which killed two Ecuadorians. This occurred after ETA had called a ceasefire. His response was to say, “The ceasefire had been going on for nine months with no political progress.”

Well, OK, I can see how that would be frustrating, but why does the answer have to be a bomb? Why not call a general strike, or block the highways with tractors like the French farmers do? Nonviolent direct action. The airport bombing seems to have been intended to derail the peace process rather than encourage it. Like other terrorist groups, ETA thrives on conflict. If it accomplished its goals it would lose its reason for existence.

And that’s why ETA remains a threat to everyone in Spain–tourists, Spaniards, immigrants like me, and the Basques themselves. As one Basque woman told me, “I know people who had to leave the Basque country because of threats from ETA. If they ask for a revolutionary tax and you don’t pay, that’s it, they kidnap you.”

Spain is one of the most popular tourist destinations in the world. Visitors come to experience both its present and past. Its sunny beaches and formidable castles. Its lively cuisine and Renaissance art. But if all Spanish citizens–whether they call themselves Spanish, Basque, or Catalan–can’t stop pointing fingers and get over their collective past, tourists won’t have a Spain to visit.

One member of our group emailed Josu after the election.

“You were kind enough to translate a motto that I wanted in Basque for a Makil walking stick that I am having made: “Makil zuzena egia erakusten du.” (The straight stick points true.). That’s not a bad political motto to use. Read that every Monday before you start your week. That is why you ran for office.”

Sounds like good advice for all politicians in Spain, whether they call themselves Spanish or not.

Don’t miss the rest of my series: Beyond Bilbao: Hiking through the Basque region.

This trip was sponsored by Country Walkers. The views expressed in this series, however, are entirely my own. Especially this post.

Hiking in France’s Basque Region

by Sean McLachlan on


The Basque region straddles the border between northeastern Spain and southwestern France. For the past five days I’ve been hiking in Spain’s Basque region, and today I and my group are crossing the border into France.

One of our Basque guides, Josu, says the culture on the other side of the border isn’t as strong. While only 28% of Spanish Basques can speak Basque (Euskara), that number goes down to about 15% in France.

“They don’t have as strong of an identity,” Josu says. “They didn’t have Franco, they didn’t have Guernica, they didn’t have the Carlist Wars.”

And that’s an important factor for the whole Basque separatist movement. Being a distinct cultural and linguistic group got them a lot of grief from various Spanish governments. Just like with other minority peoples, that helped strengthen their identity, which in turn increased their separation from the nation. And while the Spanish Basques aren’t being persecuted anymore, they still mistrust the central government. In France there’s been more of a live-and-let-live feeling. ETA, a terrorist group that wants an independent Basque state, has committed relatively few attacks there.

%Gallery-124848%Today politics are on everyone’s mind. There are local and regional elections all across Spain and Josu is standing for mayor of Alcalá, a scattering of 23 villages with fewer than 700 voters. He’s in the Bildu party, a separatist party that was only legalized a month ago and has already caused controversy because of its alleged links to ETA. Some people call it ETA’s Sinn Féin. The supreme court, however, saw insufficient evidence of a link and allowed them to run.

Josu doesn’t think he’s going to win because he hasn’t done much campaigning. He’s mostly running so Bildu will be on Alcalá’s ballot. There’s some tension under his calm demeanor, though.

It’s a shame politics have to mar such a beautiful landscape. We drive only a few miles into France and our route has us walking along the seaside until we reach the border again. The views are excellent, with waves crashing into sheer cliffs and large fingers of rock stabbing out of the surf.

“Legend says that giants used to throw rocks at the people and they’d land in the water like this,” Josu says. “There are stories of witches too. They used to fly to the caves to have their covens.”

One true tale of this rugged shore is about the wreckers. These were a type of land pirate who lured ships onto the rocks and then looted the cargo. Josu tells us the women would stand up on the cliffs holding lanterns on dark nights to fool sea captains. When a mariner followed the signal of what he thought was a lighthouse, he’d crash on the rocks and have a horde of wreckers descend on the surviving crew. Read Daphne du Maurier’s Jamaica Inn for a great fictional account of this line of work.

In contrast to the shore, the land is peaceful, with broad green fields and apple orchards. A stately home with graceful, round towers stands proudly in the distance. The cliffs gradually level out and we walk along a wide sandy strand. This is Hendaia Beach, the longest in the Basque region. Like along other parts of the coast, it saw its heyday in the earlier part of the century when elegant villas and casinos housed and entertained the wealthy. It’s still popular for surfers willing to brave the cold waters of the Cantabrian Sea.

All too soon we’ve made it back to the border, where we go for lunch in Hondarribia, a very Basque town. While there we do a very Basque thing–bar hopping for pintxos! The Basque answer to tapas, these elegant little meals-on-bread will fill you up after two or three servings. There’s an endless variety and each bar has its specialties. They’re best when washed down with some txakoli, the Basque sparkling wine.

After lunch we return to San Sebastián, the wealthiest city in the Basque region. This port was the place to be back in the region’s days of high-class tourism, and our hotel, the Hotel de Londres y de Ingleterra, once accommodated the likes of Mata Hari. Check out the photo gallery for their astounding view of the bay.

Still talking about our very Basque lunch, we head out for a very Basque dinner on the outskirts of San Sebastián, overlooking the industrial port. With the sun setting and the ships coming and going, it’s a location to touch any traveler’s heart. We arrive a bit early so we go to a bar along Pasajes de San Juan, a street that seems to be a virtual Basque cultural center. Basque flags and protest banners adorn the windows. Basque is almost the only language heard in the bars as a band goes from place to place playing traditional music, to which everyone sings along as the txakoli flows freely.

Josu looks very at home, joking with crowd and smiling at the band. His mobile rings every few minutes as friends call him to give him updates. He plays it cool, still insisting he’s not going to win. I don’t quite believe his nonchalance. As another politician once said, “You don’t run for second place.”

Dinner is at Casa Mirones. The food is the usual high standard I’ve come to expect from this part of the world, while the view is incomparable. One wall is all glass, and we’re treated a full view of the harbor at twilight, the ships passing by so closely we could call out to the crew. Sometime during the excellent paella, Josu gets the call he’s waiting for. His face lights up and he beams a grin at the world. The table erupts in applause as he announces he’s won.

Bildu made a surprisingly strong showing. In the Basque region they got 25.9% of the vote and their candidates won many regional and local seats. Whatever people think of Bildu, it looks like it’s here to stay.

It’s not every day that your tour guide makes the news.

Coming up next: Politics and people: an immigrant’s impressions of the Basque Country!

Don’t miss the rest of my series: Beyond Bilbao: Hiking through the Basque region.

This trip was sponsored by Country Walkers. The views expressed in this series, however, are entirely my own.

Where to Eat in Barcelona When You Can’t Get into elBulli

by David Farley on
The restaurant elBulli has been getting a lot of attention lately. As it rightfully should. The avant-garde eatery, located about 100 miles north of Barcelona on the Costa Brava, is helmed by culinary madman/wizard/god Ferran Adria. The restaurant has been lauded the universe over for its menu of edible lunacy, its physics-defying dishes that include once-solid ingredients turned to foams and jellies and flavored oxygen. The place is so woww-ing, there’s even been a backlash to the hagiographical-like reports filed by food journalists who can’t seem to contain their post-elBulli enthusiasm. The restaurant gets a reported million reservations requests every year. It fills only 8,000 of those. But all this doesn’t matter anymore because, as you’ve undoubtedly heard, elBulli is closing for good (the space will re-open in 2014 as some kind of culinary think tank).

And so, let’s say you’re in Barcelona (as I was last week) and let’s say you love to eat (as I do) and you’re not cool enough to know the right kind of people who can pull strings and get you into elBulli (as I’m not), and certainly not cool enough to get invited there and arrive by helicopter (as my friend Adam Sachs recently did). What’s a food-loving traveler in Barcelona to do? You could go to one of the two new restaurants that Ferran and his brother Albert have recently opened in Barcelona, Tickets and 41 Degrees? But even those are a hot—pardon the pun—ticket these days.

Many chefs who have logged time in the elBulli kitchen have eventually struck out on their own, some of whom have opened up their own places in Barcelona (you can read about the future great chefs of the world who have logged time in elBulli’s kitchen in Lisa Abend’s great new book, by the way). And so here’s an idea: if you can’t get Ferran Adria to cook for you, do the next best thing. Have the chefs he trained cook for you. You’ll spend a lot less money too. Here is my subjective list of where to eat in Barcelona when you can’t get into elBulli.

Tapaç24
Pronounced Tapas24, this restaurant in stately, bourgeois Eixample is the manned by chef Carlos Abellon who logged time in elBulli’s kitchen. The service is, well, to be generous, lacking. But after the food has arrived, you won’t be sorry. Abellon’s menu is long, some of the dishes are whimsical takes on classics: the truffle-sprinkled bikini (a pressed ham and cheese sandwich) with bread that has the texture of an overcooked pancake (that’s a good thing) is certainly an improvement on the sandwich. The McFoie Burger really tastes like a McDonald’s hamburger—albeit a really good one—plus it comes with a foie gras cream that you can spread on the burger. Also try Abellon’s other restaurant, Commerç24.
Located also in Eixample, not far from Gaudi’s masterpiece-in-piece-in-progress, Sagrada Familia, the eponymous Gelonch is named for former elBulli chef Robert Gelonch. Given the quality this kitchen churns out and the odd pairings that somehow work well together, Gelonch is a steal. A 19€ “menu del dia” for lunch or a much more extensive 53€ dinner nabs the lucky diner dishes like pigs trotters paired with prawns or succulent sweetbreads and/or ultra-tender suckling pig. The Adria influence is apparent in the Dali-esque presentations.
Need a break from Spanish or Catalan cuisine? Enter Dos Palillos. Located in the Casa Camper, the hotel owned by the Spanish shoe company, this popular El Raval restaurant is a hypothetical culinary result of what food would taste like if Spain and Asia somehow magically collided. Hence the name, which means two sticks, a reference to chopsticks and to the tooth picks used in Spanish pintxos. elBulli-trained Albert Raurich churns out tapas-sized dishes such as unctuous pork belly and squid dumplings, ponzu-marinated monkfish liver, and Iberian short ribs marinated in ginger, honey, and hoisin sauce.
Chef Fermi Puig, the chef at this minimalist-designed restaurant just off the wide Passeig de Gracia in Eixample, is actually not an elBulli alum. He’s often referred to as Ferran Adria’s mentor. The two were cooks in the military and it was Puig, as the story goes, who convinced young Ferran to take a job at this obscure restaurant up the Costa Brava called elBulli. The rest, of course, is culinary history. But don’t overlook talented Puig. The dishes at Petit Comité are more straight forward than at other elBulli-related restaurants but it is just as satisfying. A rich monkfish soup is soul-fortifying. Ultra-juicy, fork-tender pork cheek, still on the bone, is a showstopper. For a great deal, go at lunch and order the three-course Menu Barra Express for 18€. Also try Puig’s other restaurants Fonda Gaig and Drolma.

Do you have any elBulli-related recommendations for Barcelona? If so, leave a comment.

Hiking the Basque coastline

by Sean McLachlan on


While the Sierra de Toloño offers some amazing trails and views, the most alluring sights I’ve seen in the Basque region are along its coastline.

The coast of northeast Spain and southwest France along the Bay of Biscay is part of the Basque heartland. Inland villages played a key role in keeping Basque culture alive, but it’s the ports–Bilbao, San Sebastian, and many smaller towns–that helped the Basques make their mark on world history.

Today I’m hiking a stretch of Spanish coastline east of San Sebastian and within sight of the French border. Much of my trail today corresponds with the famous Camino de Santiago. This pilgrimage route stretching from France to Galicia on the northwest corner of the Iberian peninsula became popular in the Middle Ages. It’s still one of the most popular trails in Europe, with a record 200,000+ hikers last year.

I can see why. Our route takes us past little towns where churches once offered medieval pilgrims spiritual solace, vineyards growing on steep slopes leading down to the sea, and wide views of the water. The coastline here is rugged, with jagged rocks jutting up from the foamy surf and numerous little islands, some topped by churches and homes.

%Gallery-124603%One of these islands has an important history. It makes up part of the little port of Getaria, home to Juan Sebastián Elcano, the Basque people’s most famous sailor. He was one of Magellan’s officers on the explorer’s circumnavigation of the globe.

The journey started in 1519 with 241 men. That number quickly dropped due to malnutrition, disease, mutiny, and storms. When Magellan was killed in the Philippines in 1521, two other officers took joint command. They were killed by natives soon thereafter. Another officer took over, but he proved unpopular and when his ship sprung a leak, some men decided to follow Elcano in the only remaining vessel. They finally made it back to Spain in 1522 with only 18 of the original crew.

His hometown, shown above, isn’t very big and probably wasn’t much of anything 500 years ago. I can imagine Elcano climbing to the top of that little mountain on the island that dominates Getaria and looking out over the sweeping view of the Bay of Biscay. It’s not surprising such a place produced one of the world’s greatest sailors.

Continuing along the coast we find a slope covered in thick grass. Looking out on the sea, there’s a good view of Getaria to our left and to our right, almost lost in the distance, we spot the coastline of France. It’s a perfect place for a picnic and we feast on Spanish tortilla (a bit like a thick omelet with potatoes), cheese, bread, and fresh cherries. I’ve been on a lot of hikes in Spain and I’ve eaten well on all of them. This picnic takes the prize for best view, though.

This coastline made much of its wealth from whaling. Whale oil used to be the petrol of the world, lighting up the streetlamps of Paris and London and used in a variety of products. While whales enjoy some protection today, they were hunted by the thousand until early 20th century and came close to going extinct. Basque whalers were some of the most adventurous. When stocks were used up in the Bay of Biscay and other parts of the European coastline, Basque whalers went further afield to Siberia, Iceland, Greenland, and even the coast of Newfoundland and Labrador. In fact, they may have arrived in the New World before Columbus!

Our hike ends when we make it to the beach at Zarautz, an old whaling port turned resort. People are surfing and swimming, the smart ones wearing wetsuits to protect them from the cold water. When whaling died and the iron industry faltered, the Basque coast reinvented itself as a northern resort paradise for rich Europeans. San Sebastian, which I’m visiting in the next installment of this series, was one of the best. When you see the photos you’ll know why.

Don’t miss the rest of my series: Beyond Bilbao: Hiking through the Basque region.

This trip was sponsored by Country Walkers. The views expressed in this series, however, are entirely my own.