With a “TH” At the End of Everything

Wednesday, 7 March 2012 – Cadiz, Spain

Cadiz and Jerez

After 30-something days, we finally arrived in mainland Europe. Seems like Cape Town is far away.  (I think there's a reason for feeling that way. I will have to study that further.)We docked pre-dawn at the Atlantic city of Cadiz (pronounced something like "ca-deeth"  by the locals, but they make everything sound like it ends in "th"). As the cruise pier is in the center of downtown—well, on the water actually—we walked the few minutes into the main part of this narrow island/peninsular and followed the correct color lineas along a number of self guided walking tours from the brochure given to us by the friendly (but typically businesslike) local tourist bureau lady.

Cadiz is a city of narrow streets, some of which must be very quiet despite the rowdy bars on them, and of course even this small city has the requisite cathedral. This one has a very nifty crypt with a portrait of Mr. Burns in it for some reason. We walked for a couple of hours, mostly in ever bigger circles.

Although our original plan was to come back to the ship for a rest and venture out after lunch to the nearby fort –there's always a nearby fort to take pictures of the ship down a cannon, a tradition observed only by the more sophisticated travelers—we chanced by the "renfe" station.  (Right, "chanced", like some guys just happen to chance by a dirty bookstore.) What a surprise, there was direct modern EU paid for train service to Jerez (pronounced locally perhaps as "hair-eth" but definitely not as the beleaguered city in Mexico since I was quoted 2400 euros when I asked for a return ticket to there. The actual cost to Jerez was about  5 euro round-trip.) And what a surprise that this nearby railway station had ½ hourly departures for the 45 minute ride, just like the printout I had brought from home said. We never did figure out how to pronounce renfe. It probably ends with a "th" sound, at least in Andalusia.

We wondered into the center of Jerez from the ok looking station there ("OK", like Picasso had showed promise) and walked another 3 miles or so up and down Jerez' narrow streets until we encountered a Bodega, which in Jerez means a place where they make sherry. Oh boy, what sherry. Since it was siesta time and no one was around, we got a tour of the Lustau bodega by the manager of the "Dept. RR. PP." according to her business card. Wow, I never met a RR. PP. person before.

Although Lustau appears (from a 20 foot high sign on the far end of their huge building) to make the popular Harvey's Bristol Cream, their real premium sherries are fantastic. The 10 euro tasting fee was more than well worth it as we tasted five of their best 40 proof products, and the folks on the train back much enjoyed my singing and dancing.

We got back to the ship in time for tea found that this evening's early show has been cancelled for curious reasons.

On past the Rock of Gibraltar during the night and into the Mediterranean.