On the punctuality of cherry blossoms

Well, our trip to el Valle del Jerte to see the cherry blossoms turned into a wonderful trip to see cherry buds. Is this a case of late blossoms? Early Salmantinas? I can't say, but the pueblos of the valley celebrated the annual cherry blossom festival a few days before our excursion, sans blossoms.



The valley is breathtaking, long and deep with tier after tier of terrazas built into the hillsides, each hosting a line of cherry trees. Only at the bottom of the valley, close to Cabezuela del Jerte, have the cerezos begun to bloom, and even there, few trees are in full bloom. Still, it was a perfect, warm day, gorgeous enough to convince me that spring is here, despite the shy cerezos and the snow-covered Sierra de Bejar looming in the distance.



We stopped in a pueblicito (the name of which escapes me at the moment: Nomadita, please report to the comment box. Puerta?????) when my chauffer recognized the town name. And thus began the highlight of the trip for me! A dozen questions, 6 or 7 three point turns and 3 elderly locals later, we rang the bell on the house where the mother of one of Nomadita's childhood friends still lives. She insisted on making us coffee and giving me the motherly attention (Have another cookie, sweetheart! Girls, have another cookie!) I craved after a frustrating morning at work. (I'm quite fond of my mother, really I am. Still, every once in a while I do enjoy a good dose of Spanish mothering - the kind where she won't let you do a thing in the kitchen, and can imagine no greater happiness than watching you eat cookies!) I left the pueblo-to-be-named-later convinced that you can find anyone in a Spanish village, as long as you carry a couple of clues - one of the family's last names, a child's name, the father's profession.....



Back on the road, we drove through the valley to Cabezuela del Valle, where I was captivated by this simple 17th century church, built around the remains of the synagogue, at the entrance to Cabezuela's old Jewish quarter. The church is even more lovely inside, with unpretentious walls made of local stones, and the obligatory gold laden 17th century retablo.

I'm afraid our timing wasn't right for a food report, Alex, although we did see lots of signs (in shops that had yet to open for the afternoon, unfortunately) for vino de pitarra , the local homemade wine. I'd like to try it next trip.

Best of all, I quizzed myself on trees for hours. Chopo. Encina. Roble... Funny the things they don't teach you in language classes!