October 15, 2010 - Posted by Erin in Culture, Food and wine, Spain, Travel, Travels in Europe, Travels in Spain

I’ve quickly begun to run out of top Spanish spots to see – you name the place, and I’ve probably been there. However, if you can name the place and I haven’t been there, then you can bet your bottom dollar that spot will head straight to the top of my list of sites to see! So this is why such a world famous place such as Pamplona and its region Navarra had been nagging at me – because I simply hadn’t been there, until last weekend, that is.

We set off on our four-day road trip last Saturday with Pamplona as our destination, along with a slew of pueblos. The community of Navarra, where Pamplona is located, sits right up against the French border, nestled between Basque Country, La Rioja and Aragón. The region is especially known for its amazing vegetables, but serves up loads of other yummy things as well (wine, meat, you name it). Our first stop was Tudela, a city known historically for its converging cultures – the Arabs turned it into an urban epicenter and ran the show until it was conquered by Alfonso I el Batallador (literally meaning “The Fighter”) in 1119, at which time Christians, Jews and Arabs all coexisted together until four centuries later when…well….that’s another Spanish story and a different blog altogether. Tudela would also be a place that I’d later remember as having some of the friendliest people I’d met in a long time, and quite simply for the abundance of red peppers hanging from people’s windows. Say what? Yep, in Navarra (and Basque Country), it is common to see people hanging the many varieties of local red peppers from their windows. Now don’t get confused though folks – these are not used to make food spicy! Spanish food still has practically nothing to do with Mexican (or Latin American) food no matter how perplexed you might be after seeing these hanging peppers. The spicy veggie is indeed used in some Spanish dishes, but only to give it just the slightest kick – a kick most of us would never classify as spicy.

As with any other pueblo, this one of course met all of my usual “cute Spanish pueblo” requirements – winding, narrow streets, flower-filled window boxes and cute little Spanish grandpas (including this fellow to the left who’s wearing what is called a “chapela” – a hat typically worn by Basque grandpas). So far, so good. Being the good tourists that we are, we stopped at Tudela’s 800-year-old cathedral, the city’s Museum of Modern Art and the Plaza Mayor – all the usual spots, which sure, they were interesting, but we don’t go to these places to see just “interesting.” We happened upon our fourth “interesting” spot, a humble 15th century palace (Palacio del Marqués de San Adrián), which was actually free to enter, thereby making it “very interesting.” As if its free-ness weren’t appealing enough already, we encountered our first abnormally friendly Tudelana – a petite, formally dressed, older lady who greeted us as we entered the entirely vacant palace. Eager for the company, I suppose, she enthusiastically offered to give us a tour – a tour in which she carefully explained to us every last detail of the place from its open air interior patio where visitors once tied up their horses, to the walls of painted women created to depict the virtues of the palace owner’s wife (note to self: must scope out spot in house for Jacobo to artistically depict my virtues….hey, stop laughing at my virtues!).

Aimlessly wondering the city streets, as I typically like to do, we happened upon a man in his workshop, engulfed in some unknown creation. Always eager to know about what happens beyond the tourist’s eyes, I came to an immediate halt, took a couple of steps back to peak in, and of course dragged Jacobo along with me (poor guy constantly has to humor my overly curious mind!). The old man, perched on his short ladder, looked up from behind his lopsided glasses and gestured for us to come in, where sprawled out in front of him were the makings of a miniature church model. He enthusiastically began to explain his creation, which was modeled after a local church, emphasizing that he made every last piece himself and had not speared any of the original building’s details. He did this all while simultaneously and insistently mounting together every hidden away piece of the model – from its mountain scenery background, to the interior church lighting, the miniature artisanal bake sale full of Spanish donuts and local pastries, and finally the church bell sound effects (which he proceeded to let loudly chime for several minutes as we screamed at each other about how LOVELY HIS CREATION WAS). This guy wasn’t fooling around. “Here is the pew bench and a person praying!” he declared proudly with a twinkle in his eye. Just when Jacobo and I thought we couldn’t possibly be any more tickled by this man’s gumption, he actually offered to take us to the very church of which he made the model. Never ones to turn down such an obviously awesome opportunity, we gave each other quick nod, and leapt at the chance to spend more time with this curious fellow.

Moments later we delicately squeezed our way into his ancient car, which was blanketed with layers of age-old dust both inside and out. Given that Navarra is vegetable country, I suppose we were only half surprised when we discovered a fresh, full-grown zucchini peeking out of the car’s backseat side pocket. The story of where that zucchini came from, how it got there, and where it was going is one that could certainly entertain me for days – unfortunately, we didn’t have the cojones to start interrogating him about the mystery-backseat-zucchini (I have made up my own set of charming theories though – I’ll spare you).

Arriving at the church, Barni (short for Bernardino), took us on a small tour of the property. Indeed, his mini church model seemed to have spared no detail – not the uniquely placed crosses on the walls of the sanctuary, nor the color of the barking dog that followed us relentlessly around the church property (and thank goodness he didn’t decide to add that cringing sound effect to the already over-the-top church bell). We stopped briefly to chat it up with the toothless church caretaker who sat lazily on a stone bench with a worn out sofa-less cushion, just watching the world go by. Our new buddy Barni then drove us back to the town where we would continue our aimless passage in the friendly, pepper-filled pueblo of Tudela.

One stop down, many more to go – specifically Pamplona. Rather than bombard you with my fascinating tales all at once, however, I’ll keep you in suspense for the next round.

By the way, if anyone wants a miniature version of their house made (and who doesn’t!?), I know just the man for the job! Everything in Spain already seems miniature to me (hey, I’m from the US!), so for me this won’t be necessary.

*If you would like to see pictures from the trip, I’ll be posting them soon on Facebook.

2 Responses to “The tale of Tudela, a church and a mystery zucchini”

  1. Jay Says:

    You got me wanting to go there. Maybe my next trip out, thanks.

  2. Erin Says:

    Definitely worth the trip, especially if you’re up in Navarra!

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