Andalucia

This time last year I was in Spain researching 'Sweet Scent of Success.' It was freezing. There was the first snow in Cordoba they'd had for a long, long time. Just flakes, very pretty, very cold.
It seems a long time ago. A lot has happened since then. Cordoba, Adalucia, is a stunning place. On the Saturday of that week I went to Jerez de la Frontera where the Estevez family is from. Saw the Estevez sherry bodega. I don't think it's the Estevez plantation of my ancestors, but it was a fantastic experience. What stayed with me the most was the sense of humour of the people there and the smell of sherry soaked wood.
Jerez is bonkers. The people are bonkers. Cadiz held its festival that weekend and everywhere people dressed in fancy clothes.
It was a wonderful week. A crazy week with the people, the buildings, the Mezzquita, the train journies,conversations, food, glorious prawns and fino. The best. Plate after plate - glass after glass.
And walking round an art gallery that was almost deserted. One rainy day being chatted up in spanish by a curator in the Architectural Museum. They were certainly bored that day. Green mossy stone.
Winding alleyways. Adandoned scooters. Graffiti. Orange trees. The wide, wide milky coffee river. Strolling, growing to feel at home.

Final images of Jerez

Juxtaposition again of the police raiding a church.

Leaving Jerez

One of my 'building' ideas for the children's television series, "Bob the Builder" when I was writing for it, was to have to rebuild a chimney as a bush/large plant was growing out of the mortar between bricks. I was told that doesn't happen. Have a look at Jerez Cathedral.

I love European cities that are not 'hung up' as British cities seem to be that buildings have to be freshly painted, cracks filled, replastered, perfect to be habitable or even usuable. I love the mix, beautifully dressed people, all ages, coming out of decrepit looking buildings, doorways, staircases. Jerez is certainly not what we'd describe as well looked after, but it is so, so charming and people look happy. And the place is beautiful and worn and uncared for and draws you in. I'd go back, purply pink buses, who cares? Bleak as the sky was today, empty as the streets were, it showed it had life and charm that would erupt in the warmer weather.
Final look on the station.

Jerezians

The people of Jerez were all welcoming and helpful, from the station bar, to the taxi driver, Mr. Garcia at the Bodega and cafe owners. And they all seemed to share a fun, lively, really enjoying life sense of humour.
They seemed leaner and taller than the Cordobans. And there was also a mexican feel element to some and to the city.
Bit bonkers too. In the cafe where, starving after the sherry tasting, we ate. Very expensive, think we were ripped off and it wasn't brilliant, but as I said, starving. The little boy of the owners, probably about three years old, kept wandering in and out, shaking his head madly, until he, still wandering in and out, started staggering.
And people in costumes, maybe a spill over from the festival in Cadiz and this little girl wasn't allowed to go, but still wanted to dress up, or maybe she always dresses up.
There was a wild west feel to the place and maybe the people needed humour to go with it. Or maybe it was the wind off the Atlantic and the smell of alcohol soaked oak and the definite feel of carnival and festival and any excuse to dress up and have fun.
We passed a group of men, musicians dressed, all dressed, as the Pied Piper of Hamlyn with white rats hanging from their outfits and a back street spill out from a bar with balloons and loud revellry. And all in the late afternoon grey of an otherwise deserted city.

Tools of the Trade

The Estevez family

My Great Grandfather, Jose Estevez y Diaz, born Jerez de la Frontera, died at Twyford Abbey, West Twyford, England in 1922, aged seventy six. He was A Wine Shipper. His father was Manuel Estevez Y Calderon, who was a farmer. He married Ann Villademorous, nee Loughlin in 1876. He was 23, she was 20, a widow and daughter of William Henry Loughlin, a master mariner. They were living in the district of Liverpool at the time of the marriage, in Upper Hope Place. This is the woman who hated children and loved her spanish in-laws. She is the mother in Meeting Coty and we see her in Leaving Coty happy in Jerez. As you would be!

Grupo Estevez

The Bodegas Real Tesoro y Valdespino isn't the one my branch of the Estevez family were associated with in the 1800's. I'm beginning to wonder if they actually owned a Bodega, they were certainly wine growers and they came to England setting up the sherry importing business in London and then New York. It was called the Estevez Corporation. Apparently, the name Estevez is more common in Northern Spain and less so in the south. The guide, Signor Garcia (he said his name was really common and I have Garcias in our family tree) spoke spanish and english and said he'd give me any information on the Estevez family that he could. He was great. And funny. He introduced me to the other couple on the privately arranged tour as having come to claim my family fortune. Ha ha. Joker. It relaxed me though so I enjoyed the tour very much.
I'd had to book it by email in advance. On Saturdays, you have to book for a private tour, and say if you want just the sherry part or that plus the stables and art gallery. I booked for the lot! It should have taken an hour and a half approximately but we were there nearly four hours. The other couple, a man, italian, with brilliant spanish and a spanish woman asked loads of questions and were really nice. And then Mr. Garcia kept explaining things to me in english. It was very relaxed and cost the same as a normal tour where there would be many more people. Fifteen euros. And we paid at the end.

So, after Mr. Man's joke, we looked at the clocks and antiques and paintings. I snapped a few photos too, which didn't seem to be a problem. This was in the Main Courtyard, an Andalusian courtyard and then in another room with many family photographs.

So, why not the same Bodega, if it existed, as being my family's? Well, Jose Estevez only bought this Bodega in the 1980's. He died five years ago and four of his seven children work in the business. Incidentally, the name 'Ramon' is important in the family and the children all have this name. Sylvia Ramona is a modern artist living in London. I'll find more information on her. All the rest live in Spain.

Jose was interested in the mix of old and new and this is what makes the Bodega unique. He mixes old and new throughout, in art and antiques (grandfather clocks and Picasso prints and other contemporary artists) in the mix of old traditions and new techniques in the making of the sherry and with the horse training.
That's for starters. More to follow.

Jerez de la Frontera

Left Cordoba and the returning revellers from Cadiz at 8.53 and arrived in Jerez at 10.44. A little under two hours.
The train station, like all train stations here, was clean and easy. Tiles decorate the station cafe, the staff are friendly and people are having a joke.

It's not raining. Hooray. I hoped it wouldn't rain. The town seems quiet, slightly run down. There are bodegas, near the station. It doesn't have the colonial atmosphere I thought it would have. It isn't the affluent town I expected. Cordoba definitely seems more up market, but then, this is the area nearest the station and as we all know, they are not usually in the best part of town. However, Cordoba's was on the main thoroughfare and was an impressive lead in to the city.
But this is Jerez. I suppose most of the residents have gone to Cadiz for the festival. It is Saturday. There are stalls selling fruit and vegetables and bits and bobs on the side streets near the square. Up out of the station and right, past a large bodega.
Strolled back to the station for a taxi to the Bodegas Real Tesoro y Valdespino on the edge of town. It is owned by the Grupo Estevez. Keep calm. Excited and nervous. The taxi driver loves his city.
It is a bleak day. We pass the Gonzalez Byass Bodega and are dropped off at the main entrance of the one I have come to see. The guard in the kiosk says to go inside. We do. There is no-one there. We are inside. It is not what I expected. There is no sound. We are trusted alone here? With these beautiful antiques. The rug is folded up around the base of the central gleaming wood table. Palms and pictures and clocks and ornaments and chairs and doors. One opens. A man appears holding out his hand in greeting. He has been told an Estevez has come to visit...

Jerez

I need to go to Jerez de la Frontera to visit some Bodegas and to see the fields of vines, feel the sun on my skin and screw up my eyes at the glare off the dry soil. Taste the sherry. Hear the language. See if the town really is divided between the right and left. Walk the streets. Look up at the buildings. Go to a Sunday service in a catholic church in Spain. Hold the rosary beads. I can hold my father's.

And time. I want, no need, to take the time.