Goodbye Portugal 🇵🇹- hello Spain 🇪🇸 (again!)

We left Porto with the plan of driving straight to Salamanca – but Ellen had heard that a coastal seaport south of Porto was supposed to be beautiful – and one always needs lunch – right? Aveiro was a charming town with canals and a fisherman’s wharf. It was our last “bacalhau” or codfish!

Salamanca – a city of glowing stone

Without knowing anything about the city, Ellen chose Salamanca, in northwestern Spain as a stopping point for the long haul back to the East coast of Spain. What a delightful surprise the city (and our apartment) turned out to be! Our place was perfectly located and equipped for travel essentials: new phone card, haircut for Chris, a washing machine and great food. (Fabulous history and culture were a bonus!) Oh, and we found out there would be a bullfight!

Salamanca is part of the Castile and León region. With a history dating back to the Celtic era, it’s known for its ornate sandstone architecture and for the Universidad de Salamanca. We were in the university section of the city which was founded in the 1100s and is next to the immense cathedral.

Chris in front of the beautiful cathedral – a blend of Gothic and Romanesque

The Sun Also Rises (and sets) on Strempek’s bullfighting interest! 🐂🇪🇸

Last year in Spain Chris wanted to attend a bullfight but due to Covid and timing – that didn’t happen. This year, there are more bullfights scheduled and having already chosen Salamanca as a stop, we were surprised to see there was one at the century old arena. Or was there?

We were a tad late arriving in Salamanca so Chris drove us right to the arena – a beautiful 19th century circular structure. We were supposed to pick up our tickets – but the area was suspiciously quiet. Ellen checked the email again and this time in tiny print the word Ledesma was attached to the word Salamanca. Turns out the bullfight was out in the countryside in a small town about 40 minutes away! We checked into our apartment and headed out – tilting at windmills!

We headed out into the country, passing groves of olive trees and fields of cattle. We arrived in the small town of Ledesma and this time there was certainly activity to indicate a bullfight was about to start.

Streams of excited fans were streaming into the much more modest stadium, carrying coolers and food for a picnic dinner. We didn’t know exactly how to read the tickets but found out that we were seated right behind the picadors and matadors where all the action would take place. We tried to channel our inner Papa Hemingway – but we were both a bit anxious about what we would witness.

We were were sucked into the passion and pageantry of the ancient tradition of man vs bull – but the actuality of the sounds and smells and violence was shocking. We could only make it through one fight and then we pushed our way through the crowd to leave the bullring. We’d had enough.