Tales of toro

Lesson learnt on this trip no 46746... You've not tasted the real Spain until you've stood in a busy, overcrowded tapas bar, jostling for space, sharing bull's tail and Rioja with a couple of Spaniards from Madrid - Tony quite literally sharing, inadvertently sipping from two glasses of wine until the nice Madrid lady pointed out his faux pas, jabbing at first the glass and then herself. And so a bond was made as her partner took each of our forks and dug into a meaty plate of tapas. El rabo de toro is a tasy cut of meat and we learn what it is from the couple from Madrid as they take it in turns to flick their arms behind their backsides. Language is never a barrier to making friends. 'Happy holidays' the guy shouts as they skip off to seek out another bar and more food. Not ones to be beaten, we do the same.

Salamanca to Salema
We toy with the idea of another stopover en route down to the western Algarve. Last night, we were planning on staying on in Salamanca, in awe of its nightlife and its architecture. This morning, we consider a stopover in Seville so off we go - and head for Lisbon. Approximately 60k into our route and I realise we have, Pavlovian-like, seen signs saying PORTUGAL and followed them. With a quick reference to my reliable AA atlas - secretly, I am a little old school and, quite frankly, SatNav can get lost - we cut down, cross country, to pick up the correct motorway south to Seville some 200k away. There is always a reason why things happen like this. The sights through the Sierra de Gata are spectacular and this, coupled with our time in Salamanca, leaves us a little in love with Spain again. We decide not to linger in Seville this time, but consider it for our journey back to the UK.

We have been to Seville. Once. And it was only to the airport when our plane, en route to Faro, abandoned landing. Twice. Attempting to land the plane in the eye of a storm and failing, the pilot announced we were running low on fuel and needed to head for Seville. Immediately. We needed to get off that plane. Also immediately. It had been a bumpy ride and neither of us like fairgrounds. We had to do a lot of talking but Tony can be rather persuasive - well, he is a car salesman. And, as we stood in the runway awaiting an airport bus to whisk us to the terminal, the worn-down pilot waved us farewell like we were old friends. This time, we will take a more steady, happier approach to Seville but Salema is calling and we have a heavily laden 'beast' that needs to offload - and I'm not talking mierda.