Strange days

Soundtrack.

We were bored with Xativa, so S selected Sagunto as a suitable overnight stop on the way home.  We finished clearing up and were on our way just after ten. S had also decided to skip the route via Almería and the mar de plástico in favour of a route further north, via Granada and Jaén. This turned out to be a great decision: far less traffic, notably lorries, and much more varied scenery, with the acres of olive trees as far as the eye could see in Jaén province giving way to expanses of red earth and ploughed fields in Castilla y Leon. We stopped at a (literally) greasy spoon for lunch: egg and chips swimming in olive oil. As a tapa with our drinks we were given chunks of local hard cheese, with olive oil poured over it in case it wasn't fatty enough.

We got to Sagunt/Sagunto/Saguntum at about six, and swiftly checked into our very traditional hotel across the tracks from the railway station. The owner, when asked to recommend somewhere to eat, said, "It's Monday, so lots of places are closed. When you come down I'll show you a plan and suggest somewhere." We though this meant he would recommend a specific place that was open. But actually he got out the town plan and said, "Nearly everywhere's closed. But try this street, it's full of bars. And if you are really stuck, the musical association near the town hall does tapas." As we left he added "Lunes es un día raro" (Monday is a strange day). How right he was.

Before it was called Saguntum, Sagunto was called Arse.  And as we set out it certainly did seem to be the arse-end of civilisation. There's "full of bars" Seville-style: heaving masses of people in the street and waiting lists of fifty names. And there's "full of bars" Sagunto-style -- a deserted, dimly-lit street, maybe 200 metres long, with five restaurants, all dark and shuttered. We even encountered a couple of guys sitting on a park bench with cans of beer and a packet of crisps: having to do this in Spain at 8:30 p.m. because no bars are open is an outrage, even if it is Monday.

The musical association, a large fluorescent-lit hall full of dozens of empty tables, did not look enticing. But it was open, and there were even a couple of people eating and drinking. There's nothing like having low expectations and seeing them exceeded (the opposite of yesterday). We ordered glasses of white wine and got a very generous pour from the barmaid. Having drunk them we consulted a surprisingly extensive menu, and ordered patatas bravas, gambas a la plancha, and the house sandwich: grilled pork steak, caramelised onions, and cheese sauce.  And some more wine.

Well, what can I say: the potatoes took twenty minutes to arrive so were clearly freshly cooked, crispy outside, melting in the middle, and served with a big dollop of allioli. The prawns were so good that even I accepted one. And the half-baguette sandwich finished us off nicely. While we ate, a stream of people came in lugging musical instruments on their backs and disappeared through a door; clearly there was a rehearsal about to happen. We finished our meal with cups of short, excellent black coffee, since we are in Spain. Total bill: 21 euros. We were happy bunnies when we left.