This is the beginning of "The Story of Chuletas" the second book by Philip Jones, currently available in paperback and on kindle at Amazon.
This true story descibes life in Spain today, in a unique way and provides an insight into true Spanish history, never before explained. This book gets under the skin of Spanish culture that reveals far more about Spain than beaches and sangria.
This follows A Peruvian Diary, the author's record of life in the Peruvian Andes in a remote village at 3,700m above sea level. A fascinating place, far away from the 21st century as we know it. Available on kindle at Amazon and in Paperback upon request at pjsj61@gmail.com
The Story of Chuletas
Introduction
I was married in the mid
1990’s to a beautiful Spanish woman in a spectacular ceremony in a large church
in the centre of Madrid. She was utterly charming when she wanted to be, but
sadly, she didn’t want to be most of the time.
When I discovered that a couple
of the neighbours had disappeared, I hid the carving knives and her store of
Fava beans. I drank all the Chianti, sold the pigs and bought a wooden horse,
which I used for exercise in the yard. I hadn’t taken the seven year itch
seriously at the time, but I do now. We were legally separated after some seven
years of marriage.
Nonetheless I managed to
make it to Switzerland on false papers and a smattering of French. From there I
was able to take passage back to Blighty on a merchant trawler. When I returned
home I found myself, to say the least, at somewhat of a loose end; it was then
that I decided to study as a mature student. Due to my ability to speak Spanish
I had the good fortune to be offered a place at University, which I jumped at.
I undertook a relatively demanding combined honours degree in English Law with
Spanish Law. Approximately 30% of the modules were in Spanish and it took four
years to complete, a year of which was spent in Spain.
When I had finished my
degree, as luck would have it, one day in Tesco, (there are other supermarkets)
I bumped into Dion, a friend of mine from the University. We had a coffee and a
bit of a chat. She said that I tell so many stories that I must begin writing.
So I knocked out a few chapters which eventually became this book.
* * *
When in Spain I learnt that the Spanish eat young lambs that are not yet weaned from their mothers because the meat is so tender and succulent. This type of lamb is quite expensive and is considered a delicacy, reserved normally only for special occasions, such as the Queen’s birthday. One savoured cut from these baby lambs is referred to as Chuletas Lechales or milk chops. They are delicious, cooked in the Castilian style, rubbed with garlic, salted then grilled and served with fried potato and salad. They are also good in a casserole with tomato, haricot or fava beans, a little garlic, a few onions, and a very large glug of Chianti thrown in for good measure.
This is a tale of a year in
Spain, where I mainly used my brain, but only on occasion.
The
Author
The Story of
Chuletas
El Viaje
In September 2006, I packed
my old Citroen estate full of everything that I thought I would need for a year
in Spain. I was about to take a night ferry at Portsmouth, to drive
approximately 800 miles to the city of Valladolid in the province of Castile y
León in Northern Central Spain. The car
was low to the ground and the rear axle was slightly bent, I had had to fit
spacers on the wheels to stop the inside of one of the rear tyres from rubbing
on the inside of the wheel arches. I hadn't had time to replace the axle, so I
was a little nervous at having to drive a damaged car, quite so far.
It is a pleasure to drive
in Continental Europe, even though they drive on the wrong side of the road.
The journey was a relatively easy apart from the time I stopped in a bar
somewhere in North Western France for a late drink. As I sat sipping my beer
the barman suddenly told me that I had to hide because the police were about to
drive past, and the bar was supposed to be closed, which was news to me. I was
so amused I sent a text to one of the girls at the University, while I was
lying on the floor, behind the bar, hiding from the French police.
* * *
I had flown to Madrid some
three and a half months earlier to organise accommodation at the University. I
hired a car in Madrid and drove the 125 miles to the outskirts of Valladolid,
where I slept in the car in the woods set back away from the beaten track. I
had had no idea where I was to stay whilst at university, so the following
morning I drove in to the city and collected a map from a tourist office in one
of the narrow streets. I then drove to the University, and made arrangements
for a place to live while I undertook my studies, with the greatest of ease.
I was a mature student
about to share university digs with Alfonso, a university lecturer who became
my good friend. We were provided with a two bedroom flat in a relatively new
apartment block in a Barrio (Borough) of Valladolid called ‘Cementario’; which
at first I thought was the local of a cement plant. It was in fact an area that
was home to a crematorium and a cemetery, which had been placed on the on the
periphery of the city. It is adjacent to the Valladolid equivalent of the M25
(though on a much smaller scale); the main difference being that I never once
saw the road congested.
The flat itself was fairly
sparse, but comfortable nonetheless. We had, apart from a few pieces of
furniture, a few pots and pans, a chopping board, and some excellent cheese
called ‘queso manchego’[i];
and that was about it, apart from my laptop and a few law books. We later
acquired a very old colour TV with a long thin white pole, a little under two
meters in length, which we used as a remote control.
Being so close to the
crematorium didn’t exactly make it a cheery, light hearted, sort of place, but
it was very clean, airy and functional. It was not entirely dissimilar to what
I would imagine the buildings of an open prison would be. The long tiled white
washed corridors of the building echoed with footsteps and the doors could be
heard crashing when closing late into the night.
Alfonso was a few years
older than me, and in fact, he still is. He was quite eccentric and I imagine
he still is. He worked as a lecturer in Agricultural Machinery and Equipment; a
more charming, intelligent and gentle man I have yet to meet. He was from a
member of one of the local land owning families that had some considerable
history. After fourteen years of separation Alfonso was still married to
Patricia, a lawyer from a similar background. Patricia didn’t live with
Alfonso, she had her own house, but she had still managed to kick him out of
his place, because she had decided that Alfonso wanted it renovated. This was,
despite the fact that he was quite content with it the way it was. I’ve always
thought that women’s’ rights are generally a good thing,[ii]
but it seems that that may have been going just a little too far. Having been
ejected Alfonso had found himself in the need of accommodation and the
university had been good enough to provide him with digs whilst the renovation
work took place.
La Ciudad
Valladolid can be found in
North Central Spain, 190 km north of Madrid in the province of Valladolid in the
autonomous region of Castile y León. The city is built on flat lands on the
banks of the Pisuerga river, situated within not one but three wine making
regions, La Rueda, Cigales and Ribera del Duero, an area that produces wine
that rivals the popularity that La Rioja enjoys in Spain.
The Spanish captured
Valladolid from the Moors in the 10th century, and what is now a
city remained a small village until Alfonso VI of Castile gave it to Pedro
Ansúrez in 1072, who had a palace built there for himself and his wife, Mrs
Ansúrez. Pedro also commissioned the churches of the Collegiate of St. Mary and
La Antigua. In effect the city grew from a framework of large aristocratic
houses, though sadly not a great amount of that original heritage remains
today. It expanded rapidly in the 12th and 13th centuries
thanks to commercial privileges granted by the Kings Alfonso VIII and Alfonso
X, and then further due to the increased prosperity of Spain following the
ejection of the Moors from the peninsular, in the time known as “La
Reconquista”, that ended in 1492. During this period Valladolid became the
first true capital of Spain and remained so up until 1561; curiously it was
returned to its former glory for a short period from 1601 to 1606 by King
Philip III.
Today Valladolid has many
large open streets that surround a network of cobbled alleyways in the centre
which connect the many charming plazas and parks that spread throughout the
city. The central Plaza Mayor is designed by Francisco of Salamanca following
its destruction in a great fire in 1561. The plaza is a good example of Spanish
Baroque Architecture, built for use as a marketplace and as a backdrop to
public celebrations so dear to the Hapsburg Monarchy. It is a large open
rectangle surrounded by balconies and completely arcaded porches that rest on
columns or square granite pillars; the design is of such significance that the
plaza is the template for the Plaza Mayor in Madrid (1617) and that of
Salamanca (1729). In fact its impact is such that it has been used as the basis
of design for most of the subsequent plazas in the Spanish speaking world,
including the Americas and also for some plazas in Italy.
King
Carlos I ruled the regions of Castile y Aragon and of all of Spain from 1506 to
1556; he was also Carlos V, the Holy Roman Emperor of the Habsburg Monarchy at
the same time. Carlos I was regarded as the first true King of Spain because
his reign united Spain as a political entity following “La Reconquista”. It is
not well known that Carlos I ruled a Spanish empire that spread from Europe,
the Americas, Africa, Asia and Oceana; a realm upon which it was said that the
sun never set.[iii]
The total land mass of the domain was enormous; it amounted to some 4,000,000
square kilometres on the eve of the death Carlos V in 1556. It was at that time the largest and most powerful empire
that the world had ever known and its centre was Valladolid.
The
paternal grandparents of King Carlos I were the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian I
and Duchess Mary of Bergundy[iv].
His maternal grandparents were King Ferdinand II of Aragon and Queen Isabella
of Castile. King Carlos I was the son of King Philip I of Castile (Philip the
handsome) and Queen Joanna of Castile (Joanna the mad), who had a sister named
Catherine of Aragon. Catherine of Aragon was related directly to the Habsburg
family and she was very much a catholic.
Catherine
met Arthur, the eldest son of Henry VII on 4th November 1501 at
Dogmersfield in Hampshire, and although they couldn’t understand one another,
as man and woman (and because they spoke different dialects of Latin), they
married 10 days later at St. Paul’s Cathedral in London. Little is known about
their first impressions of each other, but Arthur did write to his in-laws to
say that he would be “a true and loving husband” and he told his parents that
he was immensely happy to “behold the face of his lovely bride”.
Once
married Catherine accompanied Arthur the Prince of Wales to Castle Lodge,
Ludlow, where he presided over the Council of Wales and the Marches. It was
unfortunate that a few months later the couple contracted “sweating sickness”
which almost killed Catherine but proved fatal for Arthur who sadly died 2nd
April 1502.
This
caused a slight problem for Henry VII, who wanted to avoid the returning of her
dowry to her father, King Ferdinand II of Aragon. To avert this potential
inconvenience, it was agreed that Catherine should marry Henry’s second son
Henry Duke of York when he was old enough; Henry was five years her junior.
However Henry VII procrastinated so much that it was for a time doubtful if the
marriage would ever take place. This was because Catherine’s value had
deteriorated following her mother’s death. Castile was a much larger kingdom
than Aragon which had been inherited by her unstable elder sister “Joanna the
mad”, which is a fabulous name.
During
this period Catherine lived as a virtual prisoner at Durham House in London,
where she was not treated as befits a Spanish Princess. She also had little
money and struggled to maintain the wellbeing of her ladies in waiting. In one
of her letters to her father she told him that “I choose what I believe, and
say nothing. For I am not as simple as I may seem”; she wrote in Spanish or
Latin I imagine. Despite her difficulties, in 1507 Catherine served as the
Spanish ambassador for England which meant that she became, in fact, the first
female ambassador in European history. While Henry VII expected her to be
easily manipulated, she went on to prove him to be misguided.
Catherine’s
proposed marriage to Henry VIII came to depend on the Pope granting a
dispensation because canon law forbade men to marry their brother’s widows;
however the marriage was contested on the grounds that the marriage to Arthur
had never been consummated. Nonetheless the matter was considered to be of
minor importance, because the Pope had the power to overrule any objections,
religious or otherwise.
Catherine
became the first wife of Henry VIII of England, only two months after he had
ascended to the throne. The wedding took place at Greenwich church in London,
11th June 1509, seven years after Prince Arthur’s death. She was
only 23 years old; Henry was just a few days short of his 18th
birthday. The political union of the kingdoms of Spain and England was a very
wise move at the time, in particular for England. The marriage between Henry
VIII and Catherine lasted for 24 years, ending in 1533, and it was their
divorce that led to the separation of the Church of England and the Catholic
Church.
In
fact when Catherine was married to Henry VIII one of her titles was “La Infanta
de Castile” or in other words the “Princess of Castile”. In honour of her
marriage to King Henry VIII a borough of London was named after her. Of course
the Londoners at the time had a great deal of difficulty with the pronunciation
of “La Infanta de Castile”. It is also rumoured that Catherine became so fat
that she fell off her horse on an excursion one day down by the River Thames.
You can imagine them saying “You what mate? Elephant an’ what?” “Well gor
blimey luv a duck that’s a right turn up an’ no mistake, you avin’ a laugh or
what my son? Roll out the barrel, down at the ol’ bull an’ bush, ave’ a banaaana”.
Consequently after some time the borough became known as the “Elephant and
Castle”; a name which comes indirectly from the Holy Roman Emperor and the
Habsburg dynasty; in that way London itself has some, not entirely
insignificant, connection with the region of Castile y León in Spain.
A
more likely theory is however, that the crest of the “Worshipful Company of
Cutlers” granted in 1622 was the origin of the name of the borough. The motif
of two elephants, three crossed swords, a helmet and a smaller elephant and
castle gave rise to the name pub on the site of an old Cutler’s Inn in
Newington, South London, which in turn gave rise to the name “Elephant and
Castle”. This is quite feasible, but I prefer La Infanta Borough version.
* * *
These days it is not
particularly noticeable that Valladolid was for a time the capital of Spain.
Some of the architectural splendour of the city was sadly diminished in the
seventies, as happened in many parts of the world[v]. A lot of the old buildings have been knocked
down to be replaced by modern apartment blocks; nonetheless a considerable
amount of the old buildings still remain. The Spanish authorities, for example,
have opened to the public the house where Christopher Columbus[vi]
lived during the latter part of his life and where he died in 1506. It is also
possible to visit the last remaining dwelling of Miguel Cervantes; who
published the first edition of Don Quixote in 1605 whilst living in Valladolid
with his family from 1603 to 1606. Don Quixote is considered by many to be the most important literary work that
Spain has ever produced.
Central to the city is the
great Cathedral which was commissioned by Philip II in the 16th
Century and designed by Juan de Herrera, the Architect of El Escorial which is
an icon of the empire of Spain; however the Cathedral of Valladolid, has never
been completed.
This tradition of
unfinished business continues elsewhere in Spain to this day. El Templo
Expiatorio de la Sagrada Familia, a cathedral in Barcelona designed by Gaudi, underwent
construction in 1882 and equally remains finished. In fact it is due to be
completed by 2026 at the earliest. Imagine if builders took that long to build
a house, you’d be dead before you could move in; which, may be slightly
inconvenient elsewhere. However, delay is not too much of a problem in
cathedral construction. In fact it is often the custom to move in, post mortem,
as it were.
This custom of
non-completion is not peculiar to Spain alone, it can be seen in other parts of
the continent. Greece is a good example of this practice, where they have it
down to a fine art. Tax is not due on a building in Greece until it is
complete. That is the reason why you will often see some part of a building
unfinished in Greece. In this way the Greek Government support and promote the
age old tradition of builders never finishing a job.
The origin of this
unfinished business is apparently quite straightforward. King Philip II of
Spain, who was born in Valladolid, took off and left the city with his
entourage in 1561. He left because he decided that Madrid should become the
capital of Spain. This was very odd because most cities evolve due to the
convenience of some geographical advantage; normally in consequence of a
benefit such as a natural port or a river. However this is not the case for
Madrid. Madrid sits on a plateau approximately 650 meters above sea level; it
has a cold climate in the winter and can be insufferably hot in the summer[vii].
Madrid is not situated adjacent to a natural port, it is not conveniently
placed on a trade route, nor is it built on a viable river that can be used for
trade (because the river upon which it is located is dried up for most of the
year). What attracted Philippe II to
Madrid is merely that it is situated in the geographical centre of Spain. There
appears to be no good reason why Valladolid should not have retained the rank
of capital other than from the whim of a King.
The front of the Cathedral
in Valladolid is very impressive and the brick work was very well executed; the
only trouble is that at the rear of the cathedral the brickwork wasn’t finished
off at all. There is masonry that is second to none up until a certain point at
the back of the building; and there the work ends in a series of steps that
lead the wall gradually down to the ground. There is no immediately apparent
reason why they never finished the brickwork because the Spanish had plenty of
money at the time and the cathedral is a focal point of the City. What happened
was that King Philip II just upped sticks and took the Bricklayers[viii] with him to Madrid to convert the Alcázar, a 9th
century Muslim fortress, into a Royal Palace. The Alcázar was built where the
Royal Palace of Madrid now stands. The Royal Palace was rebuilt following the
destruction of the original by fire during the reign of King Philip V on
Christmas Eve 1734.
It seems that in
consequence certain builders believe it to be unprofessional to finish a job
and therefore have license to vacate the works at any such time as they seem
fit. There is good reason for that, they have had the Holy Roman Royal seal of
approval to do so since the 16th Century; and that work ethic to
this day continues to be fully integrated into the building culture throughout
Europe.
So when builders have
disappeared leaving their work incomplete, and their employers are wondering
where they have gone, it is plain, that the blame for the pain, falls mainly
upon Spain; which probably has something to do with why a lot of builders went
there anyway. They may well have disappeared to a Costa in the South of the
Peninsula, perhaps they are attracted to Trafalgar, you never know.
* * *
The Cathedral of Valladolid
is near to the Plaza Mayor in the central part of the city, very close to one
of the most senior University Faculties in all of Spain. The Faculty was
chartered by Clement VI in 1346; but nowadays it claims continuity with the
University of Palancia, founded in 1212. The University also contains one of
the oldest Law faculties in Europe, which dates back to the 16th
Century, when there were also bricklaying courses available.
The Law faculty in
Valladolid is situated in a building behind an ancient sandstone baroque
façade. Built in 1715, it is one of the last surviving works of Narciso Tomei,
who is renowned for “El Transarente” set in the cathedral at Toledo. The
faculty is decorated in the Platoresque style, which imitates the fashion of
ornate silverwork at the time, plata meaning silver. The style is common to
many ornate façades made in Spain during that era.
I was fortunate enough to
study law in that very faculty for quite some time, in actual fact just over 5
months in all.
* * *
I liked Valladolid. I liked
the bars, the food, the tapas, the coffee, the impossibly small Spanish lagers[ix],
the wine, the brandy, the shops, the markets, the architecture and not least,
the people. It was springtime and I had just finished my final exams of five
essays, following five months of legal study at the Universidad de Valladolid,
which had not been an easy undertaking, to say the least.
The second part of my year
in Spain was to consist of a work placement in a legal office, or Bufete, for 5
months, somewhere, anywhere, I didn’t know where, in Spain. Unfortunately the
University in England kept me waiting to hear confirmation of that placement
for what became seven weeks. This was quite some time, in particular because I
needed to complete a University course within a finite period. Consequently in
February of that year I had found myself at a loss; I didn’t really have a lot
to do, that is, apart from looking for a work placement.
[v]
Except of course North America,
for example, because they didn’t have any old buildings to knock down.
[vi]
AKA Cristobal Colon, a dodgy name for a bloke if ever I heard one, I
always thought Cristobal was a girl's
name and we all know what a colon is.
