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Ranked #7. Gerry Dawes's Spain: An Insider's Guide to Spanish Food, Wine, Culture and Travel gerrydawesspain.com

"My good friend Gerry Dawes, the unbridled Spanish food and wine enthusiast cum expert whose writing, photography, and countless crisscrossings of the peninsula have done the most to introduce Americans—and especially American food professionals—to my country's culinary life. . .” - - Chef-restaurateur-humanitarian José Andrés, Nobel Peace Prize Nominee and Oscar Presenter 2019; Chef-partner of Mercado Little Spain at Hudson Yards, New York 2019

Showing posts with label Santa Fe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Santa Fe. Show all posts

2/21/2022

The Very, Very True Tale of a Remarkable Pair of Rattlesnake-bitten Tony Lama Cowboy Boots, Also Starring Three Other Pairs of Tony Lama Boots, The French Laundry's Thomas Keller and John Williams of Frog's Leap Winery and My Bucket List Boots From Great Roy Flynn of Boots & Boogie in Santa Fe, New Mexico


* * * * *

Well, Sirs, the tale of my Tony Lama boots—Teju lizard, peanut brittle color now; tan Mojave lizard, I think, when I bought them—goes like this.

Tony Lama boots, purchased at The Rusty Spur, Marion, IL, circa 1976. Note the darker area on the left-hand boot (right foot) stained by Chef Thomas Keller's reduction sauce at Rakel's in New York City.
 
(This tale was originally written as an entry in a Tony Lama cowboy boot story contest, which I didn't win, an outcome that  amazes me still.  Note: All photographs are by me, Gerry Dawes, and are copyrighted.) 

Back in the 1970s, when I returned from living in Spain and chasing the bullfights for eight years, I went to see my Uncle Bob Minton, down in Marion, Ilinois, where there was the Rusty Spur Western Store. He took me over there because I had decided it was time for me to man up and get me a pair of cowboy boots. Wow, I didn’t know what I was letting myself in for.

Nearly forty years later, eight pairs of cowboy boots—including four pairs of Tony Lamas—and a slew of adventures in those cowboy boots (especially in the Tony Lamas), I realized that I had become a cowboy boot addict. The only thing that could have been worse would have been if I had been able to afford to really indulge my habit.

Now, I know that you want a story about old boots, so this one will be on the nearly forty-year old pair mentioned in the paragraph above, and not the black Tony Lama Teju lizard boots with the pretty white stitching (bought in Weird Austin) that I only wear with a tuxedo to formal events in New York.

Gerry Dawes's Black Tony Lama Teju Lizard boots that he wears to black-tie events in New York.

Nor will I enter the exceptional pair of Tony Lama shark boots with the cream-colored tops that I can wear anywhere even if it is raining (water and sharks go together); I got them at the Rusty Spur or when I came down to visit Fall Creek Vineyards (in Texas Hill Country) when I was in the wine business back in the 1980s and Susan Auler, the owner of Fall Creek, first took me to Allen’s Boots on South Congress in Austin and my friend Weird-Austinite Dennis Cole (click on the link to read that truly weird tale) has also taken me to Allen's on a couple of occasions.


Gerry Dawes's Tony Lama Shark boots.

Nor will I enter the pair of Tony Lama peanut brittle colored ostrich boots on which I went and spilled some drops of Spanish extra virgen olive oil on (I cook a lot).
 

Tony Lama Ostrich boots with Spanish extra virgen olive oil stains.


I was thinking about writing to you about to see if you could tell me how get the olive oil stains off those tall bird boots. 


Tony Lama Ostrich boots with Spanish extra virgen olive oil stains.

I believe I got them at the Rusty Spur as well, but I may have purchased them at  Weird Austin Allen's.  


Allen's Boots on South Congress Ave. in Austin, Texas. 
Note the big Justin boot over the awning. Justin owns Tony Lama Boots.

I have this pair of Tony Lama Black Teju Lizard boots scouted out at Allen's as probable purchase to become my front-line black boots to wear to black-tie functions and  also another pair of Tony Lama Peanut Brittle Teju Lizard boots to replace the rattle snake-and-Thomas Keller-reduction-sauce-bitten original vintage boots that are the subject of this very true story.   


Tony Lama Black Teju Lizard boots at Allen's in Austin. These are my Sunday-go-to-meetin' boots that I wear to black tie events in New York City.

The only time that I bought a pair of boots in Texas that I didn't purchase at Allen's in Austin was the time I went to Dallas and got a pair of light peanut brittle-colored boots that are way too pretty to wear.  Not only do I rarely wear them, except under controlled circumstances (no rain the forecast, no tapas bar hopping, no possible reduction sauce or olive oil moments) because they are too pretty to ruin, they also have a very narrow throat, which means that I can only wear them if  my SE (Spousal Equivalent) will be around to help me pull them off and at the risk of inducing a hernia in one of us at that.  Four years after I bought them, as I was doing an in-depth full boot review so I could be informed before I entered the Tony Lama Boot contest, I looked inside for the brand and saw a stamp “For Export Markets Only,” something I have not seen inside my Tony Lama boots.

That leaves the boots in the photos that I am entering in your contest and, well, as you might imagine, there is one Hell of a story behind these boots. First off, I wore them out on the town in New York for many years. I was in the wine business and sold some of the world’s greatest wines to a slew of top restaurants. I was wearing this pair one night when I went to Rakel, where Chef Thomas Keller, now of The French Laundry, Per Se, Bouchon and God knows what other big-time restaurants in Napa Valley, Las Vegas, New York and maybe Singapore (who knows?), was cooking.
 
 

Tony Lama boots, purchased at The Rusty Spur, Marion, IL, circa 1976. Note the darker area on the left-hand boot (right foot) stained by Chef Thomas Keller's reduction sauce at Rakel's in New York City.

The particularly eventful night I went to Keller's Rakel wearing these Tony Lama boots (the ones in the enclosed pictures) I was out with John Williams, the owner of Frog’s Leap Winery in Napa Valley.



We were having one of Keller’s fabulous dinners and trying to talk, but there was a piano player at Rakel playing a pretty stepped up version of jazz music, so much so that we were getting a little frantic trying to have a conversation with this schizoid music going on in the background.

I looked down at my Tony Lama boots and thought, “D-mn, these'r sum gd lukin bts.” (I told you the music was making us crazy, and this was before texting.)

Then, with my hand in time with that rapido piano music, I lifted a fork full of Keller’s food—it was a dish with a very dark, very rich reduction sauce—towards my mouth and missed. A big drop of Keller’s sauce fell and plopped right onto my beautiful Tony Lama boot, the right one to be precise. You can imagine how I felt. I tried to wipe it off with my napkin, but it had indelibly tattooed a dark spot on my Tony Lama boot and God, I loved those boots.

Not long after that spill that stained these beautiful Tony Lama boots, I looked over at John Williams and said, “J—s Christ, I wish somebody would tell that piano player to stop!”


John Williams, Owner, Founder, Winemaker and Philosopher at 
Frog's Leap Winery, Rutherford, Napa Valley, California.
Photo courtesy of seacoastonline.com

Williams said, “Me, too!”

Right about then, the piano player took a break, much to our relief.

“Wow, what a relief,” I said.

John Williams said, “Speaking of relief, I going to the pissoir. (He makes wines with several French grapes, so he knew what a pissoir was in French.)

I contemplated the disaster that had befallen my prized Tony Lama boots.

After a few minutes, Williams returned, a bit red in the face I thought.

“You will never believe what happened, “ he said. “I was standing in the pissoir taking a wiz and there was a guy at the urinal next to me.

He asked me how I liked the restaurant. I said , ‘Fine, but I wish somebody would shoot that piano player.”

The guy said, “I am the piano player.”


Chef Thomas Keller's reduction sauce stain from Rakel's in New York City.

For years, I pestered Thomas Keller, who was a charter member of a club I founded for chefs—The Chefs From Hell Acrobatic Unicyclists and Winetasters Club (we didn’t allow acrobatic unicyclists at our gatherings), to buy me a new pair of Tony Lama boots to replace the pair that his reduction sauce had ruined. All these years, he has steadfastly refused. (I just saw him in northern Spain in November and he re-affirmed his refusal to buy me a new pair of Tony Lama boots.)


Three-star Michelin Chefs Juan Mari Arzak & Thomas Keller at San Sebastián Gastronomika 2010.  Photograph by Gerry Dawes©2010.

That reduction sauce stain was not the only thing that happened to these Tony Lama boots. There was also the rattlesnake incident, which truth be known was as much the fault of the boots (or Keller’s reduction sauce) as it was of the rattlesnake. I come from Southern Illinois, which is below the Mason-Dixon line and is full of hills, many of them made out of huge boulders pushed ahead of the glaciers back in the Ice Age, so where I came from is hilly while most of the rest of Illinois is very flat.

Now, rattlesnakes just love these hills for some reason, so much so that Southern Illinois University, home of the Saluki Dawgs (Mr. Walt "Clyde" Frazier of the New York Knicks played college basketball at Southern Illinois when they won the NIT, back when the NIT was worth winning), started a movement to protect the snakes down in the Pine Hills area. When I was a kid, I went fishing down there with my Grampy "Chig" Minton, and Uncle Bob. 

On the way into the fishin’ hole, we stepped over a log that had a copperhead coiled under it (Uncle Bob killed it after me and Grampy had stepped over the log), then Grampy stepped on two water moccasins at the same time. We saw rattlers on the road and a whole bunch of other snakes swimming, sunning themselves and hanging from the trees that day down in the Scatters, which is what they call the swamps down there in the bottoms, or bottom lands, of the Mississippi River.

I was wearing my Tony Lama cowboy boots—the very ones in the pictures—when I went back home to Southern Illinios and decided to drive down there to the Scatters one day to show my ex-wife (she wasn’t my ex-wife then!) how beautiful those hills and swamps were. I really didn’t intend to get out of the car, because the area has been known to shelter snakes (see above).   In fact the geniuses (geniusi?) at the aforementioned Southern Illinois University managed to get the road closings during rattler mating season so them mean ole boys downtown wouldn't run over them in their pickup trucks.  But, since they didn’t have the road closed through the Scatters for rattlesnake mating season, during which the hillls are alive with the sounds of rattlesnake tail music!, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to get out of the car and have a look at the swamps to see if there was something interesting to point out to my ex-wife, like snakes hanging from tree branches. Mistake!

I got out of the car to have a look around to see if it was okay for my then-wife to get out and I had gone no more than a couple of yards alongside the gravel road when I heard a noise that sounded like a baby boy with hyper-tension shaking a toy rattle. Oh, boy!  I figured right away what that rattle was attached to, but not before a rattlesnake about ten-feet long lunged out from the side of the road and struck at my foot. Now, I pretty well figured that my calves and shins were protected—why do you reckon I wore by cowboy boots to snake country?

That snake struck a glancing blow at my boot and just snagged a bit of the top of it on the right side, leaving a gash about an inch long. He didn’t get a second chance, because I was out of there like a bat out of Hell. I drove down to levee road, which was high enough above the swamp and didn’t have all that many places for snakes to hang out.

My then-wife said, “Are you okay?”

“I think so, but I need to see what that snake did to my Tony Lama boot.”

I got out and I asked her to help me pull off my right Tony Lama boot, being careful not to get any venom—not to be confused with Keller’s reduction sauce—on her hands. She had a little trouble getting the boot off. Since the boots had always been a little tight and the throat was a bit narrow, it was potentially hernia-inducing to get them off without a boot jack (if you don't know what a boot jack is, stop reading).

Once she removed the boot, I examined it and saw the rip along the top. My boot was now a wounded lizard. But fortunately the fangs did not penetrate the boot and nail me in the foot, ‘cause by the time she would have been able to pull that boot off and suck the venom out of my big toe, I would have been dead, with just my (one) Tony Lama boot on.


Tony Lama boots, purchased at The Rusty Spur, Marion, IL, circa 1976. 
Note the rattlesnake strike tear on the left-hand boot (right foot).

I got to thinking about it on the way home. I figured that that rattlesnake had one of two things on his mind. Either he had been after Keller’s reduction sauce or, more likely, he had mistaken that gorgeous lizard boot for another reptile, had taken my left boot to be a female reptile—probably the scent. I reasoned that the snake had fallen in love with my left boot--Tony Lama boots can cause more than snakes to be smitten--and had struck the right one to get rid of her boyfriend.  Either way, because I feared that I might absorb some venom by osmosis, I decided to retire those boots that had tightened up further—shrunk with fright, no doubt--after their encounter with the rattler.


Retired, rattlesnake-wounded, Keller reduction sauce-stained, Tony Lama boots.

Those boots have been in the back of the closet for at least twenty years as I went on to more boots, including those Tony Lamas mentioned above. The rattlesnake-attracting qualities of my first pair did not deter me from my long-term afición for Tony Lamas.

When I saw that there was a Tony Lama contest on, I decided to pull out my original boots and see what kind of shape they were in. I think you can see by the pictures that these 35-year old something boots are in pretty damn good shape for what they have been through—the Scatters, a rattlesnake, New York City, a frantic piano player and Thomas Keller’s reduction sauce. And I think the rattlesnake venom must have been somewhat like a natural crazy glue, because the snake gash seems to have healed somewhat—or maybe the lizard re-generated some skin.

So, this is my story about Tony Lama boots, but if you should deign to consider my boot story a winner, I have to tell you that I need two new pairs of your boots, a replacement for the snake-bit, reduction sauce, wounded boot and a new black pair to replace the ones that I wear to black-tie events in New York City and in Madrid.

The black pair are neither snake nor sauce bit, but after twenty years they don’t look quite as new to wear just in case I get invited to a dinner for the Queen of Spain again, and the toe is too rounded to be bonafide chain link fence climbers.  But, that’s a story for another time.


New York City Tuxedo Tony Lama Black Teju Lizard boots.

At my age, having collected nine pairs of cowboy boots over a period of fifty years (these boots are a great buy, since properly cared for they last for ages), I only rarely cocked my eye towards any new acquisitions, BUT there were two exceptions:  One, at the Railyards Complex in Santa Fe, New Mexico, Kay and I went to the Farmer's Market, which is next to the Railyard Mercado, an enclosed indoor flea market, where we met John Carrick, who sells used cowboy boots, plays in a band called the Juke Joint Prophets and is married to a very nice, pretty real estate agent named Linda Schulman.  At their boot stand, a reasonably priced pair, made even more reasonably priced after we became acquainted with them and went to the Juke Joint Prophets gig at the market.  I saw this new used pair, the only used pair I have ever acquired, and decided that these boots were a wise acquisition (translation: this momentarily slaked my cowboy boot addiction).


The used pair of Tony Lama boots that I bought from John Carrick and Linda Schulman at the Railyards Mercado in Santa Fe, NM

Before You Accuse Me, The Juke Join Prophets, Railyard Mercado, Santa Fe, NM

For several years, I have had two acquisitions on my bucket list:  A cape from Seseña in Madrid, with real silver Roman coins for a clasp and a pair of boots from the great Roy Flynn´s Boots & Boogie in Santa Fe, New Mexico.  I had seen Boots & Boogie and talked to Roy Flynn on previous trips to Santa Fe, but the $10,000 blue bonnet-design was never in my wheel house, nor the $1299 minimum for a pair of Roy´s exquisite hand-made boots.  A year or so ago, I returned to Santa Fe and did a series of programs for my Gerry Dawes & Friends radio program on WPWL Public Radio (Pawling, NY) based on interviews with Santa Fe Chefs James Campbell Caruso of La Boca, Mark Kiffin of The Compound and the godfather of New Mexico chefs Mark Miller, plus the great Native American flute maker and flute player Sky Redhook.  
 
 
 Roy Flynn and the late Boogie, his Malamute-Wolf mix dog, with a pair of his boots decorated with the image of the Virgen de Guadalupe.
 
High on my list of interviewees was Roy Flynn, so I also visited him at Boots & Boogie and did this terrific interview.  Roy had shown me the pair of rough-out boots shown in the interview video clip below.  When we finished the interview, Roy, who has since sold Boots & Boogie, but still shows up there a few days a week, asked me to try on the $1500 roughouts.   Magnificent boots!

"How do they feel?" he asked, a felt along the boot to check the fit.

"Great, they are beautiful!"

"Well, they are yours."

"What?"

"Yes, I want you to have them."

"Oh, come on, Roy, you can't do that!"

"Oh, yes, I can," he said, "At my age and stage in life, I can do what I damn well please."


Through a miracle, the incredible generosity of this unforgettable gentleman, with mouth-dropping surprise, a key bucket list item was checked off my list.  (I can only hope that Roy goes to Madrid and takes over the Seseña cape shop in Madrid.)


 Lugus Mercury roughout boots from Boots & Boogie, Santa Fe, NM.



  
My second night out wearing my bucket list Lugus Mercury (El Paso, Texas) roughout boots from Roy Flynn's Boots & Boogie in Santa Fe, New Mexico. The first time I wore them, straight from the box, they fit like a glove, no rubbing, no foot discomfort or weariness from wearing a brand new pair of boots. Second night, tonight, like a glove, the same. Incredible boots. Google  Boots & Boogie.

Gerry Dawes & Friends WPWL Pawling Public Radio, Dec. 11, 2018 Roy Flynn, Boots & Boogie Interview Video from Gerry Dawes on Vimeo.

Gerry Dawes & Friends Dec.11, 2018 Roy Flynn, Boots & Boogie, Santa Fe, New Mexico Interview Part Two from Gerry Dawes on Vimeo.
 
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Comments are welcome and encouraged.
 
Text and photographs copyright by Gerry Dawes©2021.  Using photographs without crediting Gerry Dawes©2021 on Facebook.  Publication without my written permission is not authorized.

* * * * *
  Shall deeds of Caesar or Napoleon ring
More true than Don Quixote's vapouring?
Hath winged Pegasus more nobly trod
Than Rocinante stumbling up to God?
 
Poem by Archer M. Huntington inscribed under the Don Quixote on his horse Rocinante bas-relief sculpture by his wife, Anna Vaughn Hyatt Huntington,
in the courtyard of the Hispanic Society of America’s incredible museum at 613 W. 155th Street, New York City.
 __________________________________________________________________________________
 Gastronomy Blogs

In 2019, again ranked in the Top 50 Gastronomy Blogs and Websites for Gastronomists & Gastronomes in 2019 by Feedspot. (Last Updated Oct 23, 2019) 

"The Best Gastronomy blogs selected from thousands of Food blogs, Culture blogs and Food Science blogs in our index using search and social metrics. We’ve carefully selected these websites because they are actively working to educate, inspire, and empower their readers with frequent updates and high-quality information."  

36. Gerry Dawes's Spain: An Insider's Guide to Spanish Food, Wine, Culture and Travel


 
About Gerry Dawes

My good friend Gerry Dawes, the unbridled Spanish food and wine enthusiast cum expert whose writing, photography, and countless crisscrossings of the peninsula have done the most to introduce Americans—and especially American food professionals—to my country's culinary life." -- Chef-restaurateur-humanitarian José Andrés, Nobel Peace Prize Nominee and Oscar Presenter 2019


Gerry Dawes is the Producer and Program Host of Gerry Dawes & Friends, a weekly radio progam on Pawling Public Radio in Pawling, New York (streaming live and archived at www.pawlingpublicradio.org and at www.beatofthevalley.com.)

Dawes was awarded Spain's prestigious Premio Nacional de Gastronomía (National Gastronomy Award) in 2003. He writes and speaks frequently on Spanish wine and gastronomy and leads gastronomy, wine and cultural tours to Spain. He was a finalist for the 2001 James Beard Foundation's Journalism Award for Best Magazine Writing on Wine, won The Cava Institute's First Prize for Journalism for his article on cava in 2004, was awarded the CineGourLand “Cinéfilos y Gourmets” (Cinephiles & Gourmets) prize in 2009 in Getxo (Vizcaya) and received the 2009 Association of Food Journalists Second Prize for Best Food Feature in a Magazine for his Food Arts article, a retrospective piece about Catalan star chef, Ferran Adrià. 


". . .That we were the first to introduce American readers to Ferran Adrià in 1997 and have ever since continued to bring you a blow-by-blow narrative of Spain's riveting ferment is chiefly due to our Spanish correspondent, Gerry "Mr. Spain" Dawes, the messianic wine and food journalist raised in Southern Illinois and possessor of a self-accumulated doctorate in the Spanish table. Gerry once again brings us up to the very minute. . ." - - Michael & Ariane Batterberry, Editor-in-Chief/Publisher and Founding Editor/Publisher, Food Arts, October 2009. 
 
 
 
Pilot for a reality television series on wine, gastronomy, culture and travel in Spain.
 
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If you enjoy these blog posts, please consider a contribution to help me continue the work of gathering all this information and photographs for Gerry Dawes's Insider's Guide to Spanish Food, Wine, Culture and Travel. Contributions of $5 and up will be greatly appreciated. Contributions of $100 or more will be acknowledged on the blog.

* * * * To make your contribution, please click on this secure link to Paypal.* * * *


11/24/2017

Quoted on Torta del Casar Cheese by Chef-Author James Campbell Caruso in his Book España: Exploring The Flavors of Spain


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Chef James Campbell Caruso at his restaurant La Boca in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Photo by Gerry Dawes©2017

Torta del Casar—My friend and Spanish food and wine guru Gerry Dawes lovingly describes one of the best cheeses in the world:

“A raw sheep’s milk cheese from villages near the provincial capital of Cáceres in the Extremadura region of west central Spain. Rustic, delicious, creamy, buttery, hints of dill and thyme, with an assertive, but pleasant finish. Very rich, fairly intense and flavorful cheese that is delightfully creamy and spreadable in the springtime versions. Very similar in style to the French vacherin Mont d’Or, except that it is not made with cows’ milk. Torta del Casar and its cousin cheese, Torta de la Serena, use only wild milk thistle rennet (not animal rennet) to coagulate the milk, which is an ancient Moorish and Jewish dietary custom.”



Torta del Casar.  Photo by Gerry Dawes©2017
_________________________________________________________________________________  

 Gastronomy Blogs
 About Gerry Dawes

 Gerry Dawes was awarded Spain's prestigious Premio Nacional de Gastronomía (National Gastronomy Award) in 2003. He writes and speaks frequently on Spanish wine and gastronomy and leads gastronomy, wine and cultural tours to Spain. He was a finalist for the 2001 James Beard Foundation's Journalism Award for Best Magazine Writing on Wine, won The Cava Institute's First Prize for Journalism for his article on cava in 2004, was awarded the CineGourLand “Cinéfilos y Gourmets” (Cinephiles & Gourmets) prize in 2009 in Getxo (Vizcaya) and received the 2009 Association of Food Journalists Second Prize for Best Food Feature in a Magazine for his Food Arts article, a retrospective piece about Catalan star chef, Ferran Adrià. 

In December, 2009, Dawes was awarded the Food Arts Silver Spoon Award in a profile written by José Andrés. 

". . .That we were the first to introduce American readers to Ferran Adrià in 1997 and have ever since continued to bring you a blow-by-blow narrative of Spain's riveting ferment is chiefly due to our Spanish correspondent, Gerry "Mr. Spain" Dawes, the messianic wine and food journalist raised in Southern Illinois and possessor of a self-accumulated doctorate in the Spanish table. Gerry once again brings us up to the very minute. . ." - - Michael & Ariane Batterberry, Editor-in-Chief/Publisher and Founding Editor/Publisher, Food Arts, October 2009. 
 
Pilot for a reality television series on wine, gastronomy, culture and travel in Spain.
 

11/17/2016

A Tale of La Alhambra: Moonlight, Moorish Baths & A Zippo Cigarette Lighter by Gerry Dawes ©2012. A Re-telling Inspired by Guitar Piece Played by Maestro Pablo Saínz Villegas


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Many years ago, I wrote a short story about an adventure I had in La Alhambra, Granada's Moorish fortress, one of the most unique, wonderful and emblematic cultural monuments on the planet. The experience occurred in the early 1970s during the eight years I lived in Andalucía, when I had the good luck to visit Granada at least a half dozen times (and have been there a few times since, including on Oct. 17, 2013).

I put the story aside, along with a story--Spanish Spirits to Warm Your Soul at the Gran Café 'El Suizo' in Granada--that I did two decades ago about drinking Jerez brandy in Granada on a cold February night in the superb old Gran Café Granada, popularly known as ‘El Suizo' (now, lamentably closed). The formally attired waiters at El Suizo warmed large brandy snifters with hot water, ritually dried them with a white napkin, then poured a Gran Duque de Alba or Cardenal Mendoza or Lepanto, whose sweet volatized perfume was enough to warm your soul. 


With your warm, rich brandy, you felt immediately at peace in that elegant, classic place and you knew you would sit at those marble-topped tables lost in conversation until the yawns of waiters--some of whom had been serving brandy properly for more than two generations--let you know that it was time to go.

In late January (2009) in Larchmont, New York, at a private recital organized by my friend Hayes Cavanaugh--a lawyer and accomplished jazz musician who loves Spain--all this came back to me as I was listening to Francisco Tárrega's lovely Recuerdos De La Alhambra guitar piece being played by a consummate young Riojan maestro, Pablo Saínz Villegas, who has a flawless touch as silky and elegant as any guitarist I have ever heard. 


Pablo introduced the piece by saying that the composer had been inspired by the fountains of the Alhambra, whose bubbling waters can be heard tinkling everywhere throughout the lovely gardens and magnificent buildings of this most poetic, evocative and romantic of Spain's incredible collection of historic sites. 

The sound of the water is the legacy of the Nasrid rulers who had to abandon this magical place in the face of the triumphant Christian army of Queen Isabela and King Ferdinand in 1492 following, whose long siege of Granada was conducted from the newly built town of Santa Fe, a few miles away. 

It is this sound of water--essentially an unbroken stream of natural music--that is a direct link to the last Moorish taifa of Spain that stretches back more than five centuries. If they returned today with their eyes closed, the sound of the fountains would assure them that they were indeed back home in the Alhambra.
 

Pablo Saínz Villegas's splendid touch with the guitar, seemingly caressing the strings, never strumming them, but stroking them seamlessly, was as magical as the Alhambra. Shortly into his piece I was literally in a trance. Indeed Pablo Saínz himself seemed transported. His music recalled those tinkling fountains and I was transported back to Granada, literally seeing the places I had been, smelling the flowers in the gardens, recalling the arabesques of the Alhambra's stunningly honeycombed palace halls, seeing the reflecting pools and the fountains flowing, bubbling, tinkling just as the notes were flowing from the string of his gently coaxed guitar.

I had never met Pablo Saínz and I am ashamed to say that I had never even heard of him. (Look in on Pablo's website,
read about his meteoric career and the top awards he has won; listen to his marvelous, magical guitar music; buy his recordings, find out where he is playing and experience his incredible musical touch in person--something, as you have read, that is not easy to forget once you have been exposed to it. [You can listen to his music in the background, as I do sometimes when I am working.]


When Pablo finished and I came out of my trance, I told him that he had taken me back to a night of the full moon in the Alhambra which is the basis for the adventure that follows. 

His music inspired me to dust off this long mislaid story, which I promised to send to him and so I decided it put in on my blog. If you enjoy this story, please let me know. [
In fact, you can listen to Pablo performing Recuerdos de La Alhambra on stage as you read my piece. Pablo's performance will certainly enhance my very modest writing effort.]





A Tale of The Alhambra:
Moonlight, Moorish Baths & A Zippo Cigarette Lighter

by Gerry Dawes ©2012

In the depths of the Alhambra, Robert struck the flint wheel of the Zippo lighter his uncle had given him when he left for his Navy tour-of-duty in Spain. In the lighter's flame, the walls of the old Moorish baths were bathed in a warm glow and the water in the bathing basins reflected the flickering yellow light.

With  the light, Robert, Julia, and Paul Andrews, a Baltimore doctor touring Spain, momentarily lost the spooky sensations they had been feeling as they stood in darkness, which was pierced only by the filtered light of the full moon as it passed through the glass covering the small eight-pointed star-shaped skylights of the 14th-Century baths.

Adding to the escalofriante (spine-tingling) air of being down in this old place in the dark was the fact that what they were doing was totally illegal and they were doing it in a national monument in Generalisimo Franco's Spain.  And they were lighting their way just by a cigarette lighter, which quickly got too hot to hold, and was running low on fluid. Robert gingerly flipped the top on the lighter and the light went out. Juggling it in his hands, he laid it on the edge of one of the baths to cool.

It might have been spooky down there, but, what an adventure they were having, clandestinely exploring sections of the Alhambra that were closed to the public at night! Along the way, before they had reached the baths, they had stood in the shadows, watching as a few people shuffled through the lighted sections that had been approved for the night tour.  

One of those sections was the suite of rooms occupied by Washington Irving, author of The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent in which the immortal short stories, "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" and "Rip Van Winkle" appeared.   Irving actually lived and wrote in the Alhambra while he was working on A Chronicle of the Conquest of Granada (a history of the years 1478–1492).  Irving was so inspired by the magical beauty of the Alhambra that he wrote Tales of the Alhambra, a book that is still in print in various editions and is sold in gift shops and book stores in the Alhambra and all around Granada.

It was a wonderful May night. The sky was clear and there was a full moon. The cool blue-white moonlight washed over the old Nasrid fortress, which takes up a whole ridge above the magical ancient city of Granada. Someone had told Paul Andrews that sometimes you could still hear nightingales singing in the Alhambra on nights of the full moon. "Maybe you will be lucky and hear them," the man had said, "they don't like pollution; it is believed that the exhaust from automobiles is driving them away."


Most of the tourists who visited La Alhambra during the day either didn't realize this was one of the two nights per week that the Alhambra was open or they simply did not want to trek back up the hill after touring all day. So, Robert, Julia, and Dr. Paul were sharing the grounds and palaces of this fantastic old Moorish stronghold with at most 20 other people and just a few guards who tended to move around as the main body of tourists moved through.

At one point in the Hall of the Ambassadors, Robert, who was familiar with the layout of the Alhambra, noticed that they were the only people in that section. He looked around for the guards and saw no one. "Follow me," he whispered to the others and moved a short white wooden picket fence-like barrier that was the only thing blocking anyone from entering the closed off areas of this magical palace. "If anyone sees us, act lost and speak only in English," he told Julia and Paul. "Pretend to be grateful that they have found us." 



They crept quietly, treading Indian-like along the passageways, keeping to the shadows when they spotted a tourist or a guard in the lighted sections across a courtyard, whose fountains still bubbled in the night, splashing and gurgling, making the same sounds they did when this remarkable place was inhabited by the Moors back in the 14th and 15th centuries. Always in these Moorish places, there was water, the most prized liquid in world to the desert-rooted Moor. 


The Moors built man-made oases into their palaces and the sound of water was an unbroken link to the past, like music from a bygone era. There were the fountains like the one in the Court of the Lions and there were long, deep pools for ornamentation--now with goldfish--and for bathing. The pools were surrounded with hedges and palm trees. This place must have been a paradise on earth for the Moorish ruling class.


And, now Robert, Julia, and Paul had it to themselves. Robert wished that just he and Julia were sharing this magical night. Had they been alone, perhaps, on one of the benches in the Moorish baths with just the shafts of moonlight shining on them, they could have--and probably would have. . .


The sound of footsteps brought Robert out of his momentary fantasy and they saw the glow of a light coming from around the corner at the end of the passageway to the right. Someone, probably a security guard, was coming. "Let's get out of here," Robert motioned.


Now Robert hoped he could quickly find his way back to an area where they could casually stroll around a corner into a lighted area, blend in with some of the other people and drift on out of the Alhambra, having pulled off a spectacular romantic coup, a tale that with retelling would ripen into vintage nostalgia.


They felt their way along the tunnel-like corridors, sometimes in near darkness, sometimes in filtered moonlight. At one point, it was so dark that Robert reached for his lighter, but realized he no longer had it. He must have left it at the bath, when he put it down to cool.


"Damn it," he thought, "the only thing I can do is come back in the morning, get in line early, pay another admission, and see if I can get back to the baths to retrieve it before some one finds it." 

At last, feeling their way along the wall, they came to some steps that they hoped would lead them back to a place where they could blend in again in the legal zones of palace.

At the top of the stairs, Robert, stopped. "Stop! Freeze!," he whispered in the direction of Julia and Paul. "Don't make a sound."

They listened, but heard no footsteps and saw no light. Perhaps the guard had just been checking the baths, saw no one and went back the way he had come.

Then they all heard something else. They remained still and heard it again. It was the sweet song of the nightingale on a night of the full moon in the Alhambra of Granada and they had a truly magical element to add to the tale of their night in the old Moorish fortress.


At the top of the stairs was a place that Robert knew. He silently removed the little wooden barrier and they passed back into the legal areas. Robert put his hands in his pockets and they strolled through a filigree doorway and into a lighted, arabesque-adorned hall. 

A guard appeared and motioned for them to hurry, it was closing time. He ushered them along towards an exit to the public grounds outside. As they rounded the corner of Palacio de Carlos V, a big, square, blocky building that was as incongruous in this graceful place as a sumo wrestler dancing a Swan Lake ballet, a flashlight-toting guard came up behind them.


"Señores, perdonen," he said, "?Es de ustedes?" He asked, holding a Zippo lighter with Robert's initials on it.


"No," Robert said, "No fumo (I don't smoke)."


"Pues, nada," said the guard, and they walked away.


The guard flipped open the lighter, lit a cigarette, inhaled a puff from the black Spanish Ducado cigarette and grinning watched Robert, Julia and Paul disappear into the night.

- The End -


Gerry Dawes©2011 


About the author

Gerry Dawes was awarded Spain's prestigious Premio Nacional de Gastronomía (National Gastronomy Award) in 2003. He writes and speaks frequently on Spanish wine and gastronomy and leads gastronomy, wine and cultural tours to Spain. He was a finalist for the 2001 James Beard Foundation's Journalism Award for Best Magazine Writing on Wine. 

A trailer for a proposed reality television series  
on wine, gastronomy, culture and travel in Spain.


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