Asking Questions

Santiago de Compostela, Spain - Tuesday 31st May 2016

There are two ways to experience Santiago de Compostela.

The first, a fairly traditional option I guess, is to buy a guide book, read it, write a list of everything you'd like to do, and then work your way through the list of museums, galleries, cathedrals, and recommended places to eat, hoping to tick off as many as you can in the week or so that you have before heading back to real life. 

This is absolutely the option that I had expected to take - dad wasn't due to arrive until tomorrow, so I'd planned to spend a couple of days wandering around the museums and galleries, getting a taste of Santiago, before dad arrived, when we'd maybe go to the cathedral and catch up.  Since he arrived early, the plan went out of the window, and this is where I've discovered a different, and much better, way to 'do' Santiago.

This morning, after a leisurely breakfast at dad's hotel, we wandered into town to meet up with Paul, and to Plaza del Obradoiro - the square at the front of the Cathedral where pilgrims gather at the end of their journeys.  Here we bumped into a group of girls dad and Paul met at the start of the Camino, and there were some very emotional goodbyes, as they headed off to Fisterra, the very end for those who keep walking through Santiago.  I really enjoyed meeting them, partly because they were around the same age as me (whereas the other pilgrims I've met so far have been older), but also because it was nice to see that age doesn't matter on the Camino - it really isn't important whether you're in your 20s or your 60s, everyone just mucks in and supports each other.

One of the big things for pilgrims to do at the end of their journey is attend the Pilgrim Mass in the cathedral, held every day at midday.  I'm really not religious, but I wanted to visit the cathedral, so dad and I headed in shortly after 11am to find a seat.

Half an hour before the Mass started, the cathedral was full of people.  We were sitting in the back row of the north transept (that's what Google tells me it's called anyway), and there were about 15 rows of people sitting or standing on the steps and the floor behind us.

The Mass was all in either Spanish or Latin - I'm going to say Spanish, but there was definitely some Latin in there... either way, I couldn't tell you what exactly was being said.  At the start, a list of countries was read out, with the number of pilgrims who had arrived in the previous 24 hours from each. I couldn't work out the exact number, but there were a lot of countries, so I'd say it was a lot of pilgrims.

During the mass, it was nice to just sit and listen, to stand when everyone stood, and to sit when they sat.  The homily (the bit when the priest talks, normally after a reading or similar) was, apparently, the same that is delivered every day, and I have no idea what was actually said, but I don't think that matters. I don't think the religion really matters at all, actually.  I don't speak any Spanish, but I picked up some words that I recognised - 'sera' (as in que sera sera - what will be will be), 'por que' (why - thanks to Fawlty Towers for that one), and pelegrino (pilgrim, obviously).  Everything else was just 'stuff'.  The thing I'm starting to learn about the Camino, and pilgrimage, is that you make of it what you want, so that's how I interpreted this homily.  Why are you on this journey (as a pilgrim)?  Why are you doing this?  The only way is to do it for yourself - everything else will just happen.  I don't know, or even care, if that's what was actually said - that's what I took from it, and that's all that matters.

At the end of the service, incense is spread by the Botafumeiro - a massive contraption filled with herbs and fire - which is hanging from a rope above the central altar.  This is raised into the centre of the cathedral and swung from side to side, pulled by eight men.  It is, frankly, terrifying.  At its highest, it is horizontal to the floor, and can swing at up to 70 miles per hour, and although we were asked not to take photos during the service, I completely understand why so many people ignored the request.

Preparing the Botafumeiro

My camera does not take good pictures at 70mph...  You get the idea.

I had to take a photo of all the mobile phones... The Botafumeiro at the bottom of it's swing...

... and as the Botafumeiro went up, so did the phones...

At the end of the service, dad asked me what I thought.  I find this type of question very difficult.  I am not religious, I don't believe in God, and I find it very difficult to reconcile something like a Catholic Mass with anything that I do believe.  From a sociology perspective, I suppose I find this type of ritual to be an interesting opportunity to people-watch, but it is something I struggle with (the cynic in me thinks it's a lot of faffy nonsense).  However, I do think the spiritual side of the service, particularly with it being in a language I don't speak, did give me an opportunity to reflect on life - something I definitely don't take enough time to do 'in real life'.

The plan for this afternoon was to play the tourist - we fully intended to have lunch and then go to a couple of museums.  As we headed off in search of food, we passed a bar and spotted a couple of dad's walking acquaintances, so we decided to stop for a quick drink.  Four hours in a sunny beer garden, and a few bottles of wine/ pints of beer later, all plans had gone out of the window.  

This brings me on to the second way to experience Santiago.

Santiago de Compostela is unique, in that it brings together literally thousands of people from across the world, with one common purpose - to finish the Camino.  I can't think of any other city I've been to where so many strangers are connected by one experience.  Regardless of whether or not two individuals have met along the way, they can come together in Santiago and share stories, knowing that the other person gets exactly what they are talking about.

One of the (many) people I met this afternoon was a guy from South Wales, who is partially sighted and wanted to walk the Camino to prove (to himself?) that he could do something, despite his very limited vision.  He was walking alone, but very much relied on the kindness of others to help him along the way.  Practical things, like reading a map, were a huge challenge, and he told me often had to stand at an intersection just waiting for another walker to come along and take him in the right direction.  He had also had problems with his feet, his boots being the wrong size, and almost had to stop walking, until he decided to solve the problem by cutting off the front of his boots - a genius idea in my book.

We had planned to visit the Pilgrim Museum this afternoon, but I'm so glad we didn't. I have learned so much more about the realities of pilgrimage from talking to complete strangers over a shared bottle of wine than I ever would in a museum.  On Sunday, I felt like a bit of a fraud - coming in at the last, with no idea - but today I realised that was all in my head.  It doesn't matter that I didn't walk the Camino, I was welcomed with open arms, and really made to feel like I belonged.  We talked of all things, from rugby to politics, from food to spirituality, and it was intoxicating (in every sense of the word).  

I had such a brilliant afternoon, and I'm so glad we spent it this way, but it was a bit of a relief when dad suggested we leave for a few hours before meeting up again for dinner.  We spent some time wandering round the old town eating sorbet (the combination of lemon, raspberry and orange sorbets might just be my new favourite) and dipping into the odd 'tourist tat' shop - it's amazing how much stuff is on sale in an area where so many people arrive having survived for three, four, five, or more weeks with just what they carried on their backs.  I do wonder whether this is a sustainable industry... 

Before going back out for dinner, I went to the hotel for an hour or so to freshen up and slather myself in after-sun (it's not a holiday in Spain without the obligatory sunburn...)  There's a vending machine in the lobby, and I quite fancied an iced tea, so I fed it the required amount of money and typed in the code.  The can dropped down, as expected, and then it all went a little bit wrong.  I'm not entirely sure what happened, but it was fairly embarrassing that the hotel owner had to come and rescue my arm from where it had become wedged, then show me how to use the machine without injuring myself...  

The offending article...

You may remember on Sunday I mentioned we'd been out for a lovely meal, but I didn't expand further.  Well, we went back to the same place this evening, and it was just as good.

Malak Bistro is situated in a side street at the edge of the old town.  It seems to be run by one man, who recognised us from Sunday.  Despite being on his own, he was attentive, he shared a giggle, and he really made us feel welcome. The menu is a brilliant combination of Middle Eastern dishes, with a huge range of meat, vegetarian and vegan options, and the gluten free logo next to everything that is either GF or can be adapted.  On Sunday, I had houmous followed by a vegetable curry, and today I replaced the main with roast vegetable skewers and cardamom rice.  The flavours were incredible, the presentation was stunning, and I would definitely recommend it - it's not cheap, but it is so worth it. 

Houmous

Vegetable skewers with rice (served in a heart shape!)

Today has been another brilliant but overwhelming day.  I have questioned so many things, and been challenged on so many others, and as relaxing as it has been, I'm shattered.  So, now to bed.

Buenos noches!

Buen Camino!

Santiago de Compostela, Spain - Sunday 29th May 2016

Spain has never really been on the list of countries I desperately wanted to visit, but when my dad announced 18 months ago that he was planning to walk the Camino de Santiago, I jokingly said I'd meet him at the end.

On 28th February this year, he set off on his long walk, from our home in north Wales, aiming to reach the city of Santiago de Compostela at the start of June; and never one to pass over an opportunity to go travelling, I promptly booked flights.

And here I am.

I arrived late last night, so decided to have a fairly lazy morning, before walking 5 minutes up the road to meet dad in his hotel for breakfast at 9am.  My hostal, Mexico PR, is great in may ways - a really comfy single en-suite room for 35€ a night - but a Rosy-proof breakfast isn't one of the things I would expect.  Dad's hotel, however, offers a whole assortment of gluten free options ('sin gluten'), as well as cereals, fruit, meats, cheeses and breads, for those who can eat normal food.  They also agreed to keep soya milk in their fridge, so that solves one problem for the week.

After breakfast, we walked through the old town, following the Camino backwards, away from the city, to meet dad's friends Paul and Jane, who have kept him company on part of his long walk.  Dad walks twice as fast as I do (he's had more practice), so I half expected I'd have to run to keep up, but maybe he took pity on me, and I only had to walk slightly faster than normal!

Since dad started his pilgrimage, he has been keeping a blog, so I had an idea of the importance that this route plays in so many people's lives, but I definitely wasn't prepared to experience even just a small part of it for real.

As we set off from the old town of Santiago, dad showed me the markers he has been following for the past few months - fairly obvious signposts (if you're walking in the right direction), little clam shell studs in the pavement, and yellow arrows spray-painted along the path.  I got excited every time I spotted one, but I guess dad is so used to them that after three months he doesn't seem to see them any more.  Regardless, it was exciting to know I was on the Camino.

This marker was in the middle of a roundabout! At home, these yellow arrows on the road tell utilities workers to dig here, so I imagine it could get a bit confusing...

Within a few minutes, dad pointed out a group of people with muddy boots, walking poles, and big rucksacks - pelegrinos (pilgrims).  This was just the beginning.  By the time we reached the Pilgrim's Monument, Monte do Gozo (Hill of Joy), about 6km from the hotel, we must have passed at least 100 pilgrims.

Monte do Gozo - it looks very atmospheric with the big black cloud.  It's actually been a lovely day, apart from a couple of spots of rain, so I have no idea where that cloud came from!

Shelter and refreshments at Monte do Gozo - one of many rest stops along the Camino - with some pelegrinos.

A lot of people walk the Camino every year, but I wasn't expecting to see so many all in the same place, all at the same time.  Walking the Camino is definitely a big deal, although it has also become somewhat of a tourist attraction (as evidenced by the very clean-looking groups of people just carrying day packs, having sent their luggage on ahead).  Everyone walks the Camino for their own reasons, and in their own way.

Amongst them, we passed a girl wearing one walking boot and one flip flop, who I guess had some foot problems.  A few minutes later, we spotted a lady who seemed to be in a great deal of pain, walking incredibly slowly, but clearly refusing to stop (we passed her later on our way back into the city, and I was so pleased to see she had made it).  The juxtaposition between these two ladies and the 'tourist pilgrims' was striking.

Another thing that struck me as we were walking was the friendships and relationships that develop along the way.  As we walked, dad spotted faces that he recognised, people he'd chatted to or helped along, and a few more familiar faces of friends he's made on his journey (some of these we stopped to chat to, which was a welcome break from running to keep up!)  All along the route, people call 'hola' and 'buen Camino' to the passing pelegrinos, and this became somewhat of a soundtrack for the day.

We met Paul and Jane just past Monte do Gozo, and walked with them back into Santiago (stopping briefly at the Pilgrim's Gate, which marks the entrance to the city, and again shortly after for a toilet stop, a beer/juice, and some olives).  Following the route into Santiago was a little emotionally overwhelming.  The excitement, relief, sadness and joy among the pelegrinos as we approached the Cathedral of St James, the end of the road for most, was palpable, and I may have teared up a little (thank goodness for sunglasses!) I asked dad earlier in the day how he was feeling, and he struggled to find the words, but I think lost probably sums it up - you spend months planning and preparing to walk the Camino; while you are walking, you just need to worry about walking (plus where you're going to eat, sleep, and go for a wee); and then you get to the end and suddenly that routine is gone.  I imagine it must be completely overwhelming, but really I can't imagine it at all.

Paul and Jane approaching the Pilgrim's Gate, at the entrance to Santiago de Compostela

One of the most important things for a pilgrim is, apparently, food.  Dad had arrived a couple of days before me, and had scouted out a couple of restaurants which offered Rosy-proof food - somewhat unexpected in a region where meat and seafood make up the bulk of most menus.  For lunch, he took us to Casa Manolo, which serves a three course set menu for 9.50€.  Although there was nothing Rosy-proof on the main course menu, I ordered two starters.

Ensalada mixta

I began with the most beautiful mixed salad, and even the tomatoes were delicious (I normally hate raw tomatoes) - the photos do not do it justice.  This was followed by huevas (eggs) baked in a small paella pan with tomato and 'green things' (that's the literal translation from Spanish, apparently... they turned out to be peas and mange touts, and a single tiny, unexpected, piece of carrot).  I forgot to take a photo, I was too excited to start eating, but trust me, it was stunning.  It's amazing what a difference fresh, local, vegetables make to a dish, and I definitely think we get the crap end of the deal with the imported produce we get in the UK!

I wouldn't have managed three courses - the portions were huge - but I absolutely would not begrudge paying 9.50€ for the two courses I did have.  Dad, Paul and I also shared a bottle of red wine, which was the perfect accompaniment to lunch, and set me up very nicely for a siesta.

After a fairly long, albeit relaxed, morning, I headed back to my hotel for a couple of hours, where I napped, read, and managed to cover myself in strawberry calippo (ice lolly), before heading back out for dinner.

I'd like to write more about dinner, but this post is already fairly long, so I'll save that for another day.

Buenos noches!

Cravings

'Part of the secret of success in life is to eat what you like' - Mark Twain

With all due respect, bugger off Mark Twain.

I have had a contraceptive implant for eight years (not the same one, it’s been replaced a few times).  This has the dual benefits of a) stopping me from accidentally getting pregnant, and b) sort of regulating my periods.

I say ‘sort of’, because basically what it does is stops them from being reasonably regular and fairly predictable monthly occurrences.  Instead, imagine my insides are playing Russian Roulette, drawing blanks for months on end, followed by three weeks of complete unpleasantness, at an entirely unpredictable (but generally hugely inconvenient) time.  If I’m going on holiday, I can guarantee that’s when the ‘fun’ starts.

Other than that, the only clue that we’re entering the ‘danger zone’ is my least favourite thing about being an intolerant vegetarian...

Cravings.

Cravings are the body’s way of telling you it needs something.  For me, that something is carbs.  All the carbs.  Bread, pasta, pizza, chips, more bread, more pasta, all the pizza...  The cravings generally start about ten days before the main event, and last the duration.  We’re currently a month in, and it’s been hard. 

Not being able to eat gluten or dairy, it turns out, makes period cravings a million times worse.  Once upon a time, a craving was a minor irritation that was easily fixed with a bar of chocolate, a bag of crisps, or a stick of garlic bread. 

No more.

No matter how much fruit or how many nuts I eat, my body still isn’t content.  I’ve written before about bread, and how annoyingly, ridiculously expensive gluten free bread is.  It’s also like eating sawdust, and just doesn’t scratch that itch in the same way as a whole stick of garlic bread would. 

I feel like one of those wind-up toys you have as a kid; the ones that you wind up and let go, so it runs across the table and then falls onto the floor, landing on its back with its little legs waggling in the air.  Except I’ve not been let go yet, so I’m just full of tension and waiting for the energy to kick in.  It’s stressful.

I’m also on this stupid diet, because of an illness I had towards the end of last year, so I’m supposed to exercise, keep my weight down, and eat healthily.  Needless to say, the scales have been relegated to the back of the bedroom wardrobe until further notice.  That’s just an extra pressure I don’t need right now...

So I broke today.  For breakfast, I had a bag of crisps and two gluten free chocolate chip cookies.  For lunch, another cookie followed by a large portion of McDonald’s fries.  Dinner was a family-size bag of Cool Original Doritos, which are neither gluten free nor dairy free, washed down with a large glass of merlot.  I know I will regret this in an hour or so, but right now, for the first time in about a month, I don’t want to punch something. 

Recommendations for craving-busting, gluten free dairy free snacks on a postcard please!

Bread

"Good bread is the most fundamentally satisfying of all foods; and good bread with fresh butter, the greatest of feasts." - James Beard

I have no idea who James Beard is, but he is so right.  Bread probably is the best food ever created.  It's just so versatile - what other food can be eaten at every meal and as a snack in between? There's white bread, brown bread, wholemeal bread, seeded bread, tiger bread, french bread, pitta bread, eggy bread, garlic bread, bread and butter pudding, sandwiches, tortilla wraps, crumpets, pizza... 

(As a complete aside, I've got the Elements Song stuck in my head - perhaps there's a parody somewhere in this...)

But seriously, is there anything better than thickly sliced white bread, toasted, dripping in melted butter, and slathered in marmite?!  I think not.

So imagine my absolute horror when I discovered my gluten intolerance.  

Gluten free bread is painfully expensive.  While a loaf of Sainsburys Basics white bread (not the nicest, but perfect for a fried egg sandwich or beans on toast), costs 40p for roughly 22 slices (less than 2p per slice), the cheapest loaf of gluten free bread I've found is £2.  For 14 slices.  I am NOT spending 14p per slice for something half the size of a normal slice of bread with the consistency of sawdust.  

That's the other thing.  Gluten free bread is gross.  

Before I go any further, there is something you need to know about me. I am terrified of baking.  I watch The Great British Bake Off in the same way most people would watch a gruesome gore-filled horror film - never alone, always from behind a cushion.  It's just... so... STRESSFUL! 

Bear this in mind as I tell you what I'm about to tell you. This week, in an attempt to face my fears head on, and to avoid having to spend half my salary on sawdust-bread, I decided to make my own. Obviously, I started simple, with a packet mix containing all the ingredients and specific instructions.  How hard could it be? Foolproof?

HA!

Step 1 - Put packet mix contents in a bowl. Easy. [I'll gloss over the fact I sprayed flour everywhere when I opened the packet.]

Step 2 - Add yeast.  Again, easy. I even managed to get all of the yeast in the bowl.

Step 3 - Add 1 tbsp oil.  This is the point at which it started to get a bit challenging.  I have four different types of 'tablespoon', each of which is a slightly different size.  Which size tablespoon does the recipe call for?  And does it matter that I accidentally missed the spoon and poured oil straight into the bowl?  Or that I don't have vegetable oil so I used olive oil instead?  This is too stressful.  Open bottle of wine.

Step 4 - Add 300 mls tepid water.  WHAT IS 'TEPID'?! How do I know if the water is too hot? Or too cold?  Does it matter?  Why does my measuring jug not show 300 mls? Does it matter if I guessed that bit?  What if there's too much? Or not enough?  Ugh.  I need a break.  Drink more wine.

Step 5 - Mix with the mixer for 5 minutes.  FIVE minutes.  That's a really long time.  And really boring.  But I didn't give up, and I counted to 300 elephants.  Wine helped. 

Step 6 - Cover with oiled clingfilm.  Oiling clingfilm is really hard.  Clingfilm has one purpose in life, and that is not to lie on a flat surface while I try to spread it with olive oil. Particularly after a glass of wine. I ended up just pouring oil onto the clingfilm and swearing quite a bit.

Step 7 - Leave in a warm place to double in size.  I live in a top floor tenement flat on a windy street corner in Edinburgh; there is only one warm place... My boyfriend had the decency not to ask why there was a loaf tin on the floor under the bathroom radiator, but I saw the combined look of amusement/horror on his face. He probably remembers my last attempt at baking - a chocolate brownie which was so disasterous I took to my bed for 3 days and refused to go in the kitchen until the gloopy mess was cleaned off the counter/walls/floor. 

I started making the bread at 1pm on Saturday.  At 1.30pm, I checked on it, and it hadn't moved at all.  At 2.15pm, it still hadn't gone anywhere, and most of the oil had dripped off the clingfilm to form greasy puddles in the bottom of the tin.  Cue bread-induced panic.  How long is it supposed to take for bread to double in size?!  Why isn't it doing anything?!  What have I done wrong?!  After half an hour of glaring at the loaf tin, I decided to switch off the pre-heating oven, step away from the bread, and go into town.  At lunch time on Sunday, I remembered the bread.  I'll be honest - I'm not entirely sure whether or not it had risen at all, but surely it shouldn't take a whole 24 hours for bread to double in size?!

Step 8 - Bake in a preheated oven for 25 minutes or until golden brown... 

 

The results:

Gluten Free Bread - Attempt One

Looks ok, right?  It's the right colour, it's all in one piece, and it actually came out of the loaf tin (probably thanks to all that oil). It also smelled A-MAZING.  I wish I could blog the smell of bread.  NOM.

I was so excited to try my own bread, but I waited patiently until it had cooled down.  It flattened as it cooled, to about 2 inches deep, which was a bit disappointing, but still, I cut myself a slice...

Imagine playdoh that's been left out of the tub slightly too long and has gone crusty on the outside.  That is exactly what my bread looked like.  It was basically raw.  Everywhere, except the deceptively golden brown crust. 

So, people who know stuff about baking - where did I go wrong??

(Ps. Obviously, I still ate it, and it tasted yummy. And it definitely wasn't like eating sawdust...)

Welcome!

Welcome to my first post as an intolerant vegetarian. It's lovely to meet you!

Before we go any further, I want to make one thing clear. I am generally not an intolerant person. I like to think I get on well with most people, even those who irritate or bore the pants off me.

My digestive system, on the other hand, has other ideas.

Four years ago, I developed a mildly frustrating intolerance to lactose, thus rendering me unable to eat any of the best foods - cheese, ice cream, yogurt, milk chocolate... did I mention cheese?? Having been vegetarian since I was nine, this development was fairly inconvenient, but I could live with the alternatives - soya-based 'dairy' foods, and the amazing Lactofree range. After some grumbling, I got down to experimenting, and I worked out ways to change my diet with minimal hassle (don't get me started on eating out with a lactose intolerance, it's late at night and I don't want to get angry, but this will definitely be something we come back to in this blog!). And if nothing else, at least I still had bread, right?!

Wrong. Two months ago, I realised the reason I felt so tired, bloated, and generally unwell was because I also have a gluten intolerance.

Bummer.

So, I've spent the last couple of months playing in the kitchen, scouring the internet for recipes, and trying to find as many different (culinary) uses as I could for an aubergine. More on that I'm sure...

I think the time has come for me to share some of my thoughts and experiences with the world, so here is my new blog. Please enjoy reading, and don't forget to share your comments with me!