A group of romeros (pilgrims) in the Puerta Jerez. They all wear medallions of their hermandad around their necks.

Amidst all the excitement of Ferias around Andalucia every spring, another major celebration takes place near here: El Rocio. For over 200 years, every Whitsun, pilgrims have walked to this small town in Huelva to worship the adored Virgen del Rocio, popularly known as La Blanca Paloma (the White Dove). El Rocio looks like something out of a Wild West movie, with its clapboard houses and wooden rails outside bars for tethering your horse. It fills up for a few days every May or June, with romeros arriving from all over Spain, and beyond; a large number make the journey from towns across Andalucia.

The El Salvador hermandad crossing the San Telmo bridge from the centre of Seville to Los Remedios – the first stage of its journey to El Rocio.

The hermandades (brotherhoods, associations attached to churches) from around here – Seville and town in the Aljarafe, the “high area” to the west of the city, where I live – leave over three days, staggered so that the roads don’t come to a complete standstill (the same is also true for their return). As it it is, much traffic is diverted and normal routes closed to make way for the carretas (gypsy wagons) pulled by pairs of bueyes (oxen), carriages pulled by mules or horses, and the romeros (pilgrims) who ride their horses.

There are also tall, bow-topped caravans pulled by 4x4s, but they’re considerably less photogenic; from a comfort point of view, however, they are far superior, with air-con and water tanks; the unusually low temperatures this year have meant heating is more necessary than cooling.

Passing the Plaza de Cuba roundabout with its bright red roses.

I walked with one of Seville’s five hermandades, Sevilla El Salvador, which set off from outside the church in Plaza Salvador, on its route out of the city. The procession includes the simpecado, an image of the Virgin carried on its own carreta; family carretas, each decorated with a different colour or colours, each carreta pulled by a pair of oxen, sometimes with a spare beast tied to the wagon’s rear, and their driver (bueyero); men and women on horseback, the ladies in colourful flamenca dresses, riding side-saddle; and many romeros on foot.

Always an incongruous sight, the colourful carretas passing modern blocks – these are in Los Remedios, as the procession heads west out of the city.

I chatted to one of the buyeros, who told me there were considerably fewer carretas this year, and that many people had chosen to walk the route, rather than riding their horse. The current economic crisis affects all aspects of Spanish life, even long-standing traditions such as El Rocio. But many people come out to watch the procession of simpecado, oxen, carretas and horses go past, standing in the street to watch as they pass by, or putting a hand out to touch the simpecado.

These women are excited about starting their pilgrimage to El Rocio, the high point of the year for many. The morning was chilly, hence the wraps.

The drummer-piper is an essential element of any pilgrimage; you can see the simpecado behind him.

The simpecado, or image of the Virgin, pulled by two oxen, leads the the way.

Everyone wants to touch the Virgin’s carreta.

The Virgin simpecado is resplendent with its gleaming silver and bright flowers. Low-key it is not.

One of my favourite sights: a frilly pink flamenca dress-clad romera on her horse.

Now heading out of the city into the countryside, friends greet each other on one of the carretas’ frequent stops.

The riders look dashing in their collarless jackets, hats and leather chaps.

This road is little-used, but main roads are closed to allow the romeros to pass through towns and cities.

A young ox-driver – they control the huge beasts by leaning back against them to slow them down.

Two friends enjoying puros as they ride their horses.

Crossing the river on an iron bridge, as the carretas near the first town on their route.

Fernando wanted to impress on me that the pilgrimage is about Faith, Devotion and the Virgin. (And, of course, we have a few drinks.)

People are often keen to talk to curious outsiders at these joyous, deeply-felt events, so while we were crossing the bridge over the Guadalquivir river, I got talking to a man riding his horse called Fernando. On hearing that I was a foreigner, he was keen to inform me (repeating himself a number of times which led me to conclude his breakfast might have featured an added alcoholic element) that the pilgrimage is about “Fe, Devocion y la Virgen” (Faith, Devotion and the Virgin). And a few copas. “But without the Virgin, we have nothing,” he declaimed, rather superfluously, I thought. But then Andalucians do love stating the obvious, preferably with dramatic flourishes.

Heading for the hills: in sight of the Aljarafe, the high area to the west of Sevilla.

This romera (pilgrim) wears a sprig of romero (rosemary) in her hair.

I’m always intrigued by the Spanish language, and the word romero originated as someone who goes on a pilgrimage to Rome – hence romeria – but romero also means rosemary in Spanish, and many people carry or wear rosemary sprigs as they walk.

This man has rosemary tied to his walking stick.

And this carreta has some attached too, with a pink ribbon – pretty touch.

Bursting into song, and clapping, helps the pilgrims on their way on El Rocio.

On arrival at the edge of the first town, by a metro station of the almost-unpronounceable San Juan del Aznalfarache (trips off the tongue after a while), they stopped for a sing-song, which then continued as they walked along the (closed to traffic) main road, past the petrol station and then up the hill towards the centre. The romeros were now closely grouped together, led in their singing by a couple of guys with guitars.

Walking and singing through the streets of San Juan del Aznalfarache (try saying that after a few finos).

My last sight of the Seville romeros was this man on his horse.

After a few of these rociero songs, it was time for me to leave the happy gang and reluctantly head home. I passed horse-drawn carts on my way down, as they headed up the hill, loaded up with groups of friends and family, their picnic hampers strapped to the back of their carts. Until I returned to the main road, which was now deserted, apart from one lone rider.

At the end of three days’ ride, their route taking them through Doñana National Park, they will reach their destination, where most hermandades have their own house to stay in, with stables for the animals. On Sunday, the much-adored Virgin comes out of her sanctuary, and visits each hermandad’s house. That is the most important day of the pilgrimage, the climax, the occasion for the most frenzied celebration. Then it’s time to pack up and head home again.

El Rocio this year is on Sunday 19 May; 2104: 8 June ; 2015: 24 May.

Your blogger, geared up (got some funny looks on the train from Seville) and ready for action at the entrance to the Feria de Jerez.

Andalucia has a (richly-deserved) reputation for a being a region of Spain that loves a fiesta. From April onwards, at any one time, several towns and cities around southern Spain are filled with people throwing up their arms and dancing in the streets – many shut down for a few days to concentrate on some serious partying.

So what is a feria? It’s when a mini-village of small, temporary house-tents are erected just outside the centre of town, and people come there to eat jamon and queso, drink sherry, dance Sevillanas, ride in their carriages, show off their magnificent Spanish horses, and generally put all their worries on the back burner for a few days to have a cracking good time.

All dressed up in the carriage with your girlfriends, in the sun, singing – the perfect Feria.

I’ve been to the Seville Feria almost every year (with the odd exception for recently-born babies) since I arrived, which is quite a few hot afternoons and evenings spent traipsing around the recinto (fairground), trying to coordinate with friends to get into their casetas – in Seville, they’re private, you see; invitation-only. It’s also vast, with over 1,000 casetas. And this is why many people I know here, both Spanish and not, shun this feria as being too unmanageably large, exclusive and nobby. I had heard that other ferias were more open, and was curious to find out, so when a fellow Seville blogger, and tapas expert, suggested a trip to the Feria de Jerez with a visiting English food blogger, it was the perfect opportunity.

Lots of space to hang with your girl gang at this Feria. Not sure what their Mickey Mouse theme was all about.

We went on Wednesday, which is Ladies’ Day at the Feria del Caballo (Horse Fair), as it’s officially called. As we arrived at the recinto quite early (it’s an hour by train from Seville, so easy-peasy), and there weren’t many other feriantes around yet, we could get a good idea of the scale. This feria is held in a park, with wide avenues, lined with palm trees and punctuated with pretty roundabouts decorated with sherry barrels.

With food blogger Nicola, enjoying our first jug of rebujito. Photo courtesy of Sevilla Tapas.

The streets have plenty of space to ride up and down in your carriage - the Seville recinto‘s streets are much narrower, and it’s more cramped in general. The pavement here is vast, with room for 20 people to walk abreast – in Seville, you could barely fit five. The whole feria is a fraction of the size, with only 200-odd casetas. We stopped off at a corner caseta with a big terrace for some rebujito (fino sherry and lemonade) – our table was outside, with a great view of the jerezanos in their finery, and we had table service, none of which is the case in Seville. Recinto score: Jerez 1, Seville 0.

The turquoise satin wasn’t one of my personal favourites.

As we drank our jug of refreshing rebujito, we watched, entranced, as groups of middle-aged ladies started to arrive, dressed in the brightest colours like exotic butterflies – dancing in the street, singing as they walked, clicking their castanets. At a feria, women wear flamenca dresses, traditionally long and fitted, with spots and frilly skirts, with a matching shawl and flower in their hair. They’re the sort of dress which (I think) looks great on everyone, whatever their shape – as you can see in these photos. Many more women had chosen not to don the flamenca dress here, and the alternative feria outfit of choice was showing off your pins in micro-hotpants, with flower-in-hair optional. Sartorial score: Jerez 0, Sevilla 1

Hotpants were the popular alternative to flamenca dresses in Jerez.

In terms of other sartorial differences with my “own” feria, I saw more short (knee-length) dresses here in Jerez than at the Feria de Sevilla, and more loose up-dos, as compared to the slick, pulled-back ponytails with flowers on top of the head – the girls in Seville look more Arabic, with very dark, straight, glossy barnets, while the English element in Jerez (sherry families, where English merchants and producers intermarried with Spanish aristocracy) seems to have left more fair hair – or maybe that’s just my own bonkers theory.

Dancing Sevillanas in the street – for all ages.

The palo (stick) this man is holding makes a similar sound to castanets.

A señora driving her carriage on Ladies’ Day; her traditional long skirt is perfect for the position.

This lady was also in the driving seat – of her own carriage.

We saw women dancing in groups, accompanied by a drum and a flute – this is Andalucian celebration as it’s been for many years. Also women were driving carriages – not just as drivers (in uniform), but of their own horses. Another aspect of Ladies’ Day.

The Tio Pepe caseta, home to sherry, flamenco and Andalucian hospitality at its finest.

Jerez is very famous for its sherry (the word is an anglicized version, as the English who came to export, and then make it, couldn’t say hair-ezz), and one of the most famous is Tio Pepe – the man in red jacket and black hat. So we had arranged to rendez-vous with various friends at the Gonzalez Byass caseta, reputed to be one of the best (indeed, it won a prize). A circular gazebo hung with billowing red and cream curtains, it is quite a sight, and unlike the stuffy, sweaty casetas at the Seville feria, a breeze blowing through made the steamily-hot day pleasantly warm.

The Tio Pepe girls with an ice shute, for chilling your fino. Their outfits are based on…

The signature bottles of Tio Pepe with hat, jacket and guitar - like the roadside figure ads you see all around Spain.

Seville Tapas Queen, Shawn Hennessey, Antonio Flores of Bodegas Gonzalez Byass, and myself.

In the Gonzalez Byass caseta, with my new favourite tipple, Tio Pepe en Ramas

Plied with chilled Tio Pepe, and even better the marvellous unfiltered, multi-layered Tio Pepe en Ramas (only 6,000 bottles produced annually), we had a riotously good time. Various friends turned up, including Jose Pizarro, London-based Extremaduran chef and restaurateur, whom I interviewed a few years ago was there, as was Daily Telegraph Spain expert journalist Annie Bennett.

One of our hosts was the gregarious Antonio Flores, master blender at Gonzalez Byass – he’s the man who decides which barrels from the solera to use in the blending process of each sherry. An important job, you might say. He was tickled by our shared surname – Flores – and we snuck off for a cigarette break together (tut tut, I know – only when pissed, honest) like naughty children.

The flamenco bailadora in Tio Pepe’s caseta claps out the rhythm – note her colours.

As well as horses and sherry, Jerez is also famous for a third typically Andalucian element: flamenco. As soon as the performance started – a singer and various dancers, wearing the signature black and red – the caseta filled up as the music and tac-a-tac drifted out into the street outside. Flamenco score: Jerez 1, Sevilla 0.

My return journey was slightly earlier than scheduled, due to some technical communications hitches, but I could not have enjoyed my visit to Jerez Feria more. Go if you can – if not this year, than next. I will be back, for sure. Final score: Jerez 2, Seville 1.

The Feria del Caballo in Jerez is on until tomorrow, Sunday 12 May, which also happens to be the deadline for voting in the BIBs blogging awards for which I was shortlisted. So if you’ve enjoyed reading this blog post, and would like to vote for me, please click on the button on the top left of this page to go to the voting form (Travel section), or alternatively just click on this link. Thank you!

Here’s some I made earlier – baking bread in Parents’ Week.

I’ve written before about how my blog doesn’t fit neatly into any one category: it’s a weird amalgam of mummy blog, expat blog and travel blog, because that’s what I am: an English journalist with two children living in Seville, who tries to explore this part of Andalucia as much as I can, and write about it. So I am delighted to have been shortlisted in the travel section of the Brilliance in Blogging awards, organised by Brit Mums, for the second year. If you feel the urge to vote for me, just click on the badge to the left, or even easier here. Voting closes on 19 May, so there’s a couple of weeks to go. Or why not just get it over with now? You will be rewarded with my undying gratitude – OK, so it’s anonymous, but my loving gratitude will wend its way towards you somehow.

My daughter, aged four, with thanks to Mr Warhol - and her fab teacher.

As an English expat mum living in Spain, one of the areas of life I am often asked about is children: what’s it like bringing up kids in Spain? What are the schools in Spain like? Are you happy with your children’s education? So I thought (hoped) it might be interesting to give you a glimpse into the lives of two bilingual Anglo-andalusi niños.

My children attend an Andalucian state primary school - I’ve already written several posts about the school’s Andalucia Day activities and shows, as these are always fascinating to an outsider like me, not to mention of outstanding quality. The school also recently made a video starring every class – if you watch, you’ll see what it’s like inside.

This particular school, which is in the local village, is divided into Infantil (ages 3-5) and Primaria (aged 6-12), both in the same complex of buildings, but with separate playgrounds. It’s a big one, with around 1,000 pupils. At the age of four, my younger child started in Infantil last September – it’s similar to her nursery, with big classrooms, group tables, lots of toys and play time, and a wide variety of activities (during his time in Infantil, my son studied the Romans, including a visit to a major archaeological site nearby and a school exhibition – see below, as well as Monet), all with warm, dedicated teachers.

My elder child moved up into Primaria last September, which involves many hours of sitting behind desks in tightly packed rows, with a couple of gym classes a week for exercise. Six-year-olds aren’t good at staying still for minutes, let alone hours on end, so the jury’s still out on this stage of the Spanish education system. It’s a huge change from one level to the next – from a degree of freedom and fun, to sedentary rote-learning, which many children (unsurprisingly) find hard to adjust to. This year, budgets have been cut further, meaning fewer school trips (and fewer books), which obviously makes the whole school experience less varied, and less rounded too. One of the most successful outings was to the police cuartel, where all the children loved meeting the dogs and horses.

An unfinished version of the Lola presentation – family, preferred food, colours, characters…

So what sort of activities do the pupils do, and how are the parents involved? Well in our school, they have just introduced “Protagonista de la Semana” – Star of the Week – in Infantil. Each week, a different child takes this role, and my daughter, in her first year of Infantil, was one of the early stars. I had to make up a board with images of her, and about her – photographs with family, drawings, and her favourite things (Peppa Pig figured large). And I had to go into her class to give a little talk about her (pink, chocolate, Peppa Piga, a dog called Pipo).

Lola’s teacher keeps her classmates in order with consummate skill.

It was a very enjoyable experience, talking to her 18 classmates, finding out about them – and especially seeing the teacher in action – she’s got the whole kind-but-firm thing taped. There was no mucking about tolerated, but no raising of the voice, either. I take my hat off to all teachers, as commanding respect from children on a continuous basis is very, very hard. But keeping a class of 16 three-year-olds still and quiet is a hugely difficult task, admirably accomplished.

In April, it was Semana de los Padres – Parents’ Week. You can volunteer to do any activity with your child’s class, whether reading, craft, musical or energetic. The slot last around an hour, and many do activities related to their job – in my daughter’s class, a chef brought in a huge bucket of masa (dough) to make bread, and a dentist talked to the kids about the importance of oral hygiene. Until this year I’ve always chickened out, but I decided I had to do my bit.

Children in Lola’s class (3-year-olds) doing pasta pictures – a novelty in Spain.

With Lola’s class, I did some English vocabulary – colours – and then pasta pictures. While these are standard practice at English nurseries, they’re not familiar here, so they were intrigued, asking if they could eat the pasta!

With Zac’s class, who loved running around playing games for an hour, as they’re sitting behind desks for most of the school day. The wonderful Loli is sitting on the ground in front of me.

For Zac’s class (the six-year-olds), I teamed up with another mother, who happens to be an unemployed PE teacher. Result. Talk about striking gold – we got the Monday morning slot, first out of the gates, and Loli had some great ideas for traditional playground games, so I just added a few linguistic elements like counting in English. None of it involved paper or pens – or, indeed, sitting down at all. Get the kids running about, was our idea; this was just after a long period of wet weather, when everyone had cabin fever after weeks of being stuck inside.

Playing blind man’s buff with Zac’s class (6-year-olds).

We sorted the class of 26 into teams, with each child numbered in English (wan, toooo, threee), for panuelito - you hold up a hanky, or scarf, and call a number – the corresponding child from each team has to run a and grab it, and the first to get back safely to their team wins. After that, we played some games like policias y ladrones (cops’n'robbers); then did carreras de relevos (relay races) in teams with variations like hopping; and finally split into two groups for gallinita ciega (blind man’s buff) and 123 pollinita ingles (grandmother’s footsteps). The kids loved competing, as they always do, and were mostly good-natured – I had feared having to adjudicate quarrels, a normal part of daily life as a mum.

Zac (yellow toga-skirt) enjoying the Roman baths with his classmates – a project from when they were four years old.

Other activities have included painting themselves in the style of artists – hence the Andy Warhol-esque Lola you can see at the top of this post. Zac’s class did a big project when he was four, on the Romans, which included a visit to nearby Italica, the site which was the first Roman town in Spain. They had swords and watched “gladiators” fight in Italica’s impressive arena, and then produced fantastic collages like the one you can see above.

Apart from occasional visits to my nephews’ outstanding (literally - Ofsted top marks, Beacon Status etc) primary school in Suffolk, some years ago, I have no experience of British educational establishments. So sadly I can’t offer any sort of comparison with equivalent schools, in terms of staff, general experience or activities. Also, I am well aware that this is not any kind of serious examination of the Spanish education system, nor is it intended to be. It is designed merely to give an idea of what children do in schools here.

Are your kids at a Spanish primary school? Is your experience similar to mine, in terms of parent participation? If they’re in an English school, how does this compare?

Teenagers hanging out, as you do, at the portada of the Feria.

Makes a change from sloping around the shopping centre. These young people have arranged a rendez-vous at the Feria entrance gate, the portada, a popular meeting point. They say that many people meet their media naranja – other half – at the Feria de Sevilla (I know a few who did) – so who knows if some of these chavales and chavallas will end up together? The girls all look stunning, while the boys are less impressive. Overawed by the bright beauties; hovering like moths around a flame.

I love how this woman’s bright orange dress happens to co-ordinate perfectly with the farolillos (paper lanterns) behind.

Women in frilly dresses riding side-saddle behind men in their traje cortos (short jacket, high-waisted trousers and Cordobes hat) are one of my favourite Feria sights. This lady was beaming and delighted to have her photo taken – complete with admirer gazing up at her adoringly from down below. Who knows what the story with these three was.

Double-dating at the Feria.

Riding around the Feria with your media naranja, and perhaps another couple, stopping off at your friends’ casetas for a glass of fino, is a key part of the experience for jinetes and their gitanas. If you don’t have your own horse, you can hire one for the day. Horses must, naturally, look their best too – groomed to within an inch of their lives, with gleaming coats, and exquisitely-coiffured, with expertly plaited mane and tail.

Riding around the Feria in a carriage – every little girl’s dream.

Most little girls are obsessed with princesses, palaces and castles, so wearing a frilly dress and sitting in a magnificent carriage being pulled by a horse has to be high up there on most niñas’ wishlists. Cinderella, anyone? (My four-year-old daughter would combust with delight at the chance to do this.)

Some quality time with the family, listening to another of Tio Pepe’s yarns.

But riding in a carriage around the Feria, where such transports are allowed until 8pm, is also a good chance for a family get-together, accompanied by some classic Sevillano tall-story telling. Everything is exaggerated when someone here recounts an incident – details will be overblown for dramatic or comic effect. Add some sunshine and sherry, and you’ve got the makings of a very entertaining afternoon.

Dancing to a guitar – no dance floor here, just joyous singing and clapping.

This caseta is always full of good cheer – like most casetas it is private, but when I stop here to take photos, they never fail to invite me in, offer me a glass of sherry and treat me like a friend. Warm, delightful women who aren’t here to posture and show off how rich they are and how many friends they have. They just want to dance, sing and celebrate life. Salt of the earth.

Dancing Sevillanas outside a caseta.

Dancing in the street – most Sevillanas are danced inside casetas, the small, striped tents, but this year temperatures were so high that the tents were steamingly hot and stuffy; many people took their baile outside where the air was less stifling.

Nothing like a group of girls in flamenca dresses. The little girl on the right of the picture doesn’t look too impressed, does she?

Young girls get dressed up in their flamenca dresses from an early age, going to friends’ and family’s casetas in groups. Friendships are cemented over Feria experiences – first kisses, first boyfriends – it’s all part of growing up in Seville.

This year’s Feria finished last Sunday; next year’s is on 29 April – 4 May 2014. Horse and/or carriage optional; frilly dress strongly advised.

El Acebuche Visitor Centre, where Doñana tours leave from, is also home to the lynx-breeding programme.

My sister-in-law and her boys on our visit to Doñana National Park nine years ago.

My nephew on the boardwalk in the pine woods of Doñana – you can see a choza (traditional thatched dwelling) behind him.

Many years ago, in my first year here in Seville, my brother and his wife and family – two small boys - came to visit. They spent some time at the beach, and one day we all took a boat trip from Sanlucar de Barrameda, the sherry town at the mouth of the Guadalquivir river, across the water to Doñana National Park.

The visit included walking along a wooden boardwalk alongside the river, to a collection of chozas (thatched houses) in a riverside forest clearing, where a few families still followed a simple, traditional way of life. We spotted some deer and various birds, but no lynxes. It was a brief but tantalising glimpse of Europe’s largest wetland reserve, 1300km2 of protected land which stretches across three provinces – Sevilla, Cadiz and Huelva. A UNESCO World Heritage Site, Doñana National Park is one of the last untouched wildernesses of modern Spain.

Our transport of delight – wet sand, steep dunes, woodlands with muddy tracks – this mini-monster takes every terrain in its stride.

In the years since, nearly a decade during which I have got married and had my own children, I have harboured an increasingly fervent desire to go back and explore more of the park. With my family, we´ve visited some of the information centres around the edge of the protected area – La Rocina (just outside El Rocio), Palacio de Acebron (a modern hunting palace nearby), and El Acebuche (near Matalascañas).

I knew that small green 4×4 trucks take groups of people inside the park to see the different types of landscape – beach, dunes, woods, wetlands – and to spot the wildlife, which as well as lynx, includes wild boar and many protected birds. Finally, about a month ago, after weeks and weeks of rain, I decided that with the marismas full, it was the perfect time to book myself and my family on a trip to Doñana – nine years after that first visit with my nephews, who are now strapping teenagers.

An Iberian lynx, with her newborn cubs – an endangered species, they were bred in captivity at El Acebuche (the picture is of a live video stream).

When we arrived at El Acebuche, the main visitor centre for Doñana, and the departure point for the tours, my own children (aged four and six, about the same age as their cousins on that visit) were beside themselves with excitement to see the sturdy, designed-for-adventure vehicles waiting. While collecting our tickets from the tour office, we were fortunate to see a live video feed showing a rare Iberian lynx with new-born babies, just a few days old.

The breeding programme at El Acebuche has seen continuing success, with young born every year, and a current total of 30 lynx in captivity, with 80 in the wild, who are provided with their own bridges and tunnels to cross the road safely which bisects their territory. The problem with releasing those bred in captivity into the wild, as our guide later explained, was food: making sure the cotos (reserves) of woodland were well-stocked with rabbits. The bunny population was severely depleted by mixymatosis and is still being restored – we saw several enclosures for rabbit communities near the track on our visit.

This map shows our route (the dotted red line) through the different types of terrain; routes are routinely modified when animals choose to nest close to them. (Doñana National Park Tours)

Settling in to our truck – sitting in the front row – we were impressed that our guide, Gonzalo, spoke perfect English and could make his commentary in one language and then repeat it in the other, slipping seamlessly between the two, and with an excellent accent; no details left-out through laziness (which happens quite commonly here). The route of the tour, which lasts about four hours, he explained, takes in 70km of Atlantic sandy beach, mobile dunes, woodlands and marismas. We would see a palace, chozas (traditional dwellings made from locally gathered materials), with three stops along the way when we could get out and have a look around, including the dunes and marismas.

One of the fisherman’s houses on the beach in Doñana Park, near Matalascañas.

The first part of the tour skirts around the back of Matalascañas, an unattractive resort town with some of the ugliest apartment buildings I’ve ever seen on a beachfront. You go through a gate and onto the beach, which feels odd and slightly wrong, to be driving directly on the sea-washed sand. Passing some of the few dwellings inside the park (allowed to remain since they predate the park’s creation, in 1969), fishermen’s huts, self-sufficient with their solar panels, you drive along the shore, half in the waves. The truck bounces up and down merrily over the sands, with a view of waves and birds. The sky and sea were both grey, and drizzle was falling, smearing our windscreen and windows with big, fat drops.

Only cyclists and walkers are allowed along the 30km stretch from Matalascañas to the Guadalquivir mouth at Sanlucar. There are no hotels, shops, chiringuitos (beach restaurants), nothing. In a country with as overdeveloped a coastline as Spain, that is a paradise to be cherished. Sadly, litter strewn across the empty sands dragged us back into an earthly domain – the tide had brought detritus from passing boats. Far more appealing, we saw a 16th century martello tower, part of defensive fortifications from a long-ago war with neighbouring Portugal, which is just up the coast.

One of the trucks atop a sand dune. You’d never think this was Spain.

A view over the corral, thickly covered with pine trees, to the far sand dune.

The bottom of the corral is covered with junco grass, used to make the rooves of the chozas.

After the thrill of driving in the sea, we turned inland to the dunes, which felt a little Lawrence of Arabia (in fact, some scenes of the David Lean classic were filmed here). These mobile dunes, blown inland by the south-westerly wind, move around 3-6 metres every year. Between the dunes are small valleys, called corrales, which have junco grass (used to make the rooves of the chotas) and pine trees. As the sand advances, it covers over the pines completely, creating a constantly changing and evolving landscape.

Running down the cola (steep, seaward side) of the dune – who can resist? These pine trees will eventually be covered by the advancing sand…

… until they’ve completely disappeared; on this sand dune the top of a pine tree is still poking out – called a pino testigo; the plant next to it is a juniper bush.

We stopped at the top of one such dune, and walked (or ran/rolled in the case of the kids, who by this time were delighted to stretch their legs and let off some energy) down to the corral. The other vegetation are juniper bushes, atop little sandy mounds. These have highly flexible roots and can cope with the mobile environment around them – they literally move up and down as needed. It feels (is) nature untouched by man – sure, truckloads of people like us come to visit, but noone actually lives here, leaves rubbish or produces sewage, damages or removes any part of this precious ecosystem, plant or animal. The notable exception to these strict rules is El Rocio, the massive pilgrimage which takes place in May every year, and sees thousands of people crossing Doñana, in 4x4s, trailers pulled by tractors, horse-drawn carts, and ox-drawn gypsy wagons, leaving mountains of waste such as plastic bottles in their wake.

The pine woods, looking through to dunes; you can make out the fence of the rabbit enclosure.

Then we headed into the pine woods – diverting from the normal route along the edge of the marismas (marshlands), to avoid two pairs of nesting peregrine falcons which were recently discovered. We saw the areas where some pine trees had been removed, to allow light to come through so the grass could grow for the rabbits to eat, safely hidden behind their rabbit-proof fence (natch) till they’re numerous enough to be released and provide breakfast, lunch and dinner for the lynxes.

A pair of wild boar with their piglets, in the woodlands.

You can see the beautiful markings on the piglets.

We spotted (well, the guide did) imperial and booted eagles, black kites, glossy ibis (whose numbers have recovered in recent years having disappeared from this part of Europe) and red deer. Unfortunately, I wasn’t quick enough to catch any of the birds on camera (and my zoom’s not strong enough, in any case). But I did get the wild boar pair near the road, and their piglets. Shades of Asterix.

The famous marismas of Doñana, seasonal wetlands which are home to many rare birds, as well as a colony of 40,000 flamingoes.

You can spot hundreds of different bird species in these marshy areas.

The next stage of the visit was the one for which Doñana National Park is most famed: the marismas, or wetlands. These are seasonal areas of shallow water, full in spring and winter, with some shifting islands and mudbanks, and dry in summer. A colony of 40,000 flamingos live here, coming to feed during the day, and returning to their nesting areas at Fuente de Piedra lake near Antequera, about 150 km away, at night. In total, there are 275 bird species to be spotted in Doñana, many of which migrate from Africa. It is an ornithologist’s paradise, with star spots including purple gallinule, Kentish plover, pochard, and marbled teal.

Zac does some bird-spotting, as opposed to bird-scaring.

When we stopped to get out of the truck, the marismas were covered in hundreds, if not thousands, of pink flamingoes; a spectacular, breathtaking sight. However with one shout from my son, the spell was broken: most of them flew off – one of the challenges of appreciating nature with small children. Our fellow passengers were remarkably tolerant of this unintentional sabotage (which came despite, or indeed perhaps because of, numerous requests from me to please be quiet when we got off the truck to see birds).

Will all these wide open spaces full of endangered species to protect, you’d expect plenty of park rangers; in fact, few guards live inside the park, although today most are in the surrounding towns and come in by 4×4. Those who do live here, are marooned during the wet season, like the white house in the distance in the photo above. Their quarters are self-sufficient energy-wise, with solar panels for electricity, a mobile phone and radio, and a boat rather than a car. Previously, this type of vocation was passed down from father to son; now it’s for those who thrive on isolation and silence.

A choza, traditional thatched house where Doñana families lived: Hobbit house.

The families who lived in Doñana survived by collecting piñones (pine nuts) from the pine trees; fishing, hunting and farming; making charcoal, salt and honey; and other traditional skills using local materials such as weaving baskets from grass. Most have left now, though their chozas (thatched houses) remain and can be visited - the final stop on the route, called Poblado de la Plancha. The chozas are built in family groups called ranchos, inside a walled enclosure, facing each other: one as sitting room/kitchen area and the others as bedrooms (one is still occupied for a few months of the year). There is also a half-built choza, showing the frame, so you can see how they’re constructed.

The Palacio de las Marismillas, used by presidents, has an odd, British colonial-Spanish style; it was built partly by sherry baron William Garvey, who once owned Doñana.

After the chozas, we passed the Palacio de las Marismillas, where Spanish presidents take their holidays, as well as the likes of Tony Blair and the King of Belgium in the past; Rajoy was staying there that night. My husband’s joke about the unemployed (of whom he is one) showing up to wave placards and disturb the head of state’s visit didn’t impress the guide.

Red deer are common in Doñana, but it’s still a thrill to see one of these majestic creatures.

Doñana has over 2000 wild cows like this fierce-looking mother, with her calf.

Other wild animals we saw included red deer and wild cows; Doñana is also famous for its wild horses, who live in the marshes and can be seen on the wetlands next to El Rocio town. Unfortunately, this protected area has been in the news lately for various unwelcome projects which threaten its ecosystem with environmental armageddon: fracking for natural gas inside the park, and dredging the Guadalquivir to allow larger ships to reach Seville. Both projects could have potentially catastrophic consequences on this priceless natural space, risking everything so carefully protected and nurtured in the bioreserve over the past 30 years. As ever, it’s economy v environment, and as ever, he who shouts loudest (and has most political clout) wins.

Seabirds feasting at low tide.

“Birds flying high, you know how I feel, Sun in the sky, you know how I fee-eel, Fish in the sea, you know I feel…”

Returning along the beach, the tide had gone out, and seabirds were feeding on the sediment left behind, which made for a beautiful sight in the soft evening sunshine – turned out fine in the end. Not sure how much the strapping nephews would have enjoyed it, with its lack of WIFI and sporting possibilities, but for anyone who likes raw nature, rare ecosystems, and rural Spain as it once was, it is unmissable. And after so many years of anticipation on my part, I can honestly say it lived up to my expectations in every way.

We went as guests of Doñana National Park Tours. The visits leave from El Acebuche near Matalascañas (A483, km 37.5) at 8.30am and 3pm in winter (5pm in summer, from 1 May; note there are no tours during the El Rocio pilgrimage – 12 May to 25 May 2013). Tel 959 430432. Price: 29.50 euros per person (no child reductions).

If you want to see what a choza looked like when people lived there, La Rocina Visitors Centre has a fascinating recreation, with traditional furniture, tools used, and food grown, stored and eaten. To find out about local skills and crafts in Doñana Park, La Fabrica de Hielo in Sanlucar de Barrameda and Palacio de Acebron both have good displays. And for a less adventurous day out, but with lots of close-up bird action, Cañada de los Pajaros bird reserve near Sevilla has many of the same species as Doñana.

The Cruz de Guia leads the procession, as Las Cigarreras cross the Puente San Telmo.

Three ladies looking very guapa with their mantillas – only worn on Jueves Santo.

This year, Semana Santa here in Seville was, yet again, adversely affected by the weather.

The processions which fill the city with statues, hooded penitents, incense, and devotion during Holy Week, were curtailed by rain, as so often happens – some vicious downpours which caused pasos (floats) to hurriedly leave their set route and seek shelter in the nearest church. The co-ordination needed for up to nine processions making their way through the city’s narrow streets at the same time, and then making unscheduled stops to avoid their figures being damaged by moisture (one Jesus was even seen sporting a raincoat), must be incredibly complicated.

The high point of the week, for many, is La Madruga’, when (arguably) the most important hermandades El Silencio, Jesus del Gran Poder, La Esperanza of Triana and La Macarena, come out on early Friday morning. This year, their return to their temples was affected by a heavy downpour, resulting in headlines such as “Madrugada Rota“. Some had to stay in the Cathedral until the skies calmed down, even until the following day.

Nazarenos in their purple hoods, with two of Seville’s most famous Moorish landmarks behind them: the Torre del Oro (left) and the Giralda.

Earlier that day, however, on Thursday afternoon, the clouds broke and the sun shone through. Having been keeping a close eye on the weather forecast, comparing three different reports, I noticed that all seemed to concur on the afternoon of Jueves Santo offering a brolly-free experience.

Las Cigarreras (formerly based at the chapel of the Tobacco Factory of Carmen fame, now the University of Seville, hence the name) were due to start crossing the San Telmo bridge, which crosses the river between Triana and Puerta Jerez, at 4pm. Since I find the narrow, packed streets of the centre somewhat claustrophobic, an open plaza giving onto the river was the ideal spot. There was even a raised area – the roundabout on Plaza de Cuba – from which to take photos, and sit down for a rest periodically (the processions take between 30 minutes and over an hour to go past). The view from here encompasses the Giralda, Torre del Oro, Palacio San Telmo and even one of the towers of Plaza de España.

Nazarenos, or penitentes, with their crosses.

Penitentes cross the bridge; some walk the route descalzo, without shoes.

The colours of this hermandad (brotherhood) are rich, shiny purple hoods over white gowns, which looked unexpectedly glamorous and glossy in the rare sunshine. Some of them carried black wooden crosses, as an act of penitence.

The Jesus paso of this procession shows him tied to a pillar while being whipped.

A desconsolate Jesus, en el Misterio de su Sagrada Flagelacion.

The Christ paso is one of the more sombre and graphic, and somehow more affecting that seeing the figure on a cross: Nuestro Padre Jesus Atado a la Columna (Our Father Jesus Tied to the Column). He’s surrounded by other figures – Roman guards and two other men, one of whom is wielding a whip. They all look extremely life-like, which is unnerving to say the least. This is a contemporary work – the Jesus was made in 1974, and the other figures just ten years ago.

The Virgin of the Cigarreras.

Every procession has two bands, some of which may only play drums. This one had the full woodwind and brass complement.

The name of the hermandad’s band is embroidered on members’ suits.

After some more nazarenos, the paso of the Virgin (also called palio), made her way across the plaza. She is Maria Santisima de la Victoria, and dates from the 17th century. After her came the band, and a surge of people followed the tail of the procession over the bridge towards Puerta Jerez.

The Virgin crosses Puente San Telmo, surrounded by her devotees.

This being Jueves Santo, I noticed that several women, of all ages, were wearing black outfits – elegant dresses with lace mantillas, veils which sit over peinetas (tall combs) on the back of their heads. The mantilla is also traditionally worn at bullfights, and – in white – at weddings, and while most Sevillanas wear theirs on Holy Thursday, some sport them on Friday too.

A lady wearing her mantilla.

Sevillanas of all ages dress up in their finest for Jueves Santo.

The señora in her sober, elegant dress, with the Virgin in her rich embroidered mantle.

After crossing the bridge, the column of nazarenos turned left onto the broad avenue Paseo de Cristobal Colon (normally buzzing with traffic, but closed off for this afternoon), passing the Torre del Oro on the left. Las Cigarreras is the only procession which takes this riverside route, next to the Guadalquivir, offering a wide, light space to enjoy the spectacle - people can even sit on the wall by the tower while they watch.

Seville’s history provides extraordinary backdrops wherever you look – here the Torre del Oro; Las Cigarreras is the only procession which passes the Moorish tower.

Part of the intrigue (for me, at least) of these outfits is only being able to see the person’s eyes.

After this it was right turn into a narrow street, into the more typical Semana Santa setting, with people hanging out of their windows and balconies above to see the action. The strong red and yellow of the building made a great backdrop for this section of the procession.

The hoods gleam in the bright afternoon sun.

Following the paso, she turned left into the street of the Atarazanas, and then right and up into the Arenal, at which point I took my leave.

One of the most approachable aspects of Semana Santa is that despite all the ceremony, silver staffs, and a certain degree of seriousness, like the rest of Spanish life, it’s a family affair. You see mini-nazarenos, monaguillos (altar boys), and even mini-mantillas. All ages take part – if too small to be in the procession itself, then by wearing their outfit – and it’s a way of introducing, and including, the next generation who may not go to Mass in this centuries-old tradition. For many, the rites of Semana Santa and being part of a cofradia (the association attached to a church, some of whose hermanos – members – wear the nazareno dress) are quite apart from attending actual services.

Even the youngest take on the sartorial traditions of Semana Santa.

For my own children, they don’t even take Religion lessons at school; I’m waiting until they’re older and can make up their own minds about which faith if any, they want to follow. They’ve got plenty of time to decide for themselves.

A greylag goose guards its nest.

Flamingoes are exotic, storytale birds – the pink legs, the long, bendy necks – they just don’t look real.

Spring is here in Seville – which means warm days, mild evenings, the smell of orange blossom, and a succession of large-scale events revolving around passion, death and debauchery.

Many people will be watching the Semana Santa processions over the next week, as statues of Jesus Christ and Mary are carried on floats, preceded by hooded, robed figures, weaving their way through the packed, narrow streets of the city.

But if the dolorosas (Virgins) don’t float your boat, never fear; there are plenty of other activities near the city, especially if you have children who would rather be running about in an open space, than standing in a crowded alley for hours without being able to see much action.

The huge amount of rainfall we’ve had here in Andalucia over the past weeks and months has meant that any lakes, rivers, streams and other watercourses are full to bursting. While this isn’t much fun if you live next to a river, like people in towns such as Ecija and those near Jerez who’ve been flooded, it is very welcome for some residents of Andalucia, whether permanent or seasonal: namely, the feathered ones.

Some of the bird species you can see at Cañada de los Pajaros.

We first visited Cañada de los Pajaros, a small bird sanctuary south of Seville, back in September 2010 (the name means ravine, or gully, of the birds). When we came it was very dry, with the levels on the lake low, and one large pond had no water at all. Now, however, is a perfect time to go, as there is ample water, and lots of birds to see. The storks are nesting in the pine trees, and watching them fly to and from their tree-top nests, soaring above your head with their broad, jagged-edged wings, collecting twigs to complete the building process, is enough to keep a curious grounded human interested for hours. The Cañada’s location is near the northern edge of Doñana Park, a UNESCO-recognised bioreserve, and one of Europe’s most important wetlands for migrating species, famous for its ample birdwatching opportunities. Many of the birds which live in Doñana can also be found in the Cañada.

This collared pratincole is exquisitely pretty.

The spoonbill is another fantastical-looking bird – here they have them both in captivity and flying free. Isn’t the red ibis amazing?

The reserve (described as a “servant reserve” on their leaflet; they mean subsidised, I think) consists of a large lake, which you walk around, with a bird hide right on the water, and benches for some peaceful contemplation. At the far end are various enclosures with a huge variety of birds, from tiny, exquisite pratincoles, to bright-red ibises, and some wonderfully-named species: smew and whimbrel. An island in the lake is home to a flock of flamingoes. The sanctuary runs its own breeding programme for crested coots in captivity, the world’s first such, and also has other endangered birds such as the black stork and the marbled teal. You can see up to 200 species in total.

Meeting the swans on the lake (sorry, couldn’t resist).

Lola wasn’t too sure about the swans, which were quite forward when seeking food.

My son checks out some of the lake’s wildfowl.

But our favourite part was feeding the birds. All children love being able to feed animals – mine always remember their experience with the goats and even a giraffe at Colchester Zoo in the UK. We bought two bags of bird food – like a finer version of pienso, dry dog food – and the kids watched as swans, geese, ducks and coots waddled over, with varying degrees of confidence, and gobbled up the little coloured nuggets, fighting and flouncing when one got too much, or another wanted to show his mettle. The young geese (as-yet untagged) were soon in trouble if they overstepped the mark, being chased by furious adults.

Crested crane – this one loved posing for photos.

I’ve never seen a white peacock before! It looked so regal – wouldn’t be out of place in the grounds of a Maharajah’s palace.

The cranes enjoyed the food we gave them.

We got up close and personal with cranes, not your everyday experience, who were amazingly tame. We saw snowy peacocks, strutting cockerels and imperious herons. And the noise was extraordinary: the hoo-hoo of the cranes, the tapping of the storks, the hissing and honking of the geese, the quacking of the ducks, the farting of the coots (at least that’s what it sounded like).

A stork flies back to its nest on top of a pine tree.

The community of storks in the canopy.

This spoonbill looks rather dignified.

A breeding pair of storks in their treetop nest.

March is nesting season for the storks, who come here to breed from late February until the end of August; their chicks will be born next month. Storks like to nest somewhere high up, safe from predators – you often seen them on top of chimneys; here, they love the pine trees. We also saw spoonbills nesting up in the branches.

We spent a very enjoyable few hours at the Cañada, luckily with sun, then cloud, and the heavens opened when we got in the car to go home (and ate our sandwiches). This is a place where kids can run around without causing too much havoc, it’s a beautiful natural environment, and they’re intrigued by all the various birds – their favourite was one we could barely see, as it was in an enclosure away from the path. It was a mynah bird, which imitated them as they said “Hola!”, right down to the tone of voice. They found it hilarious, and spend many happy minutes chatting to it and then bursting into hysterics of laughter. Helpful, friendly staff, spotlessly clean grounds and easy parking make this an ideal family outing.

Cañada de los Pajaros is near Puebla del Rio, 25km south of Seville on the Aznalcazar road (SE659). Entrance is 10 euros for adults and 6 euros for children over 5 years old. There is a restaurant next to the reserve, as well as casas rurales to rent.

Here are some bird names in Spanish and English:

focha – coot

ciguena – stork

grulla – crane

garza – heron

garcilla – heron/egret

gaviota – gull

malvasia – white-headed duck

espatula – spoonbill

canastera – pratincole

Our balcony at the Hotel Elba looked over the pool and palm trees, to the sea beyond.

This racing game was a firm favourite with my kids (the green blur on the track is a car!).

Like most families with young children, we tend to book self-catering apartments when we go away. Much more flexible, with our own kitchen and fridge, so we can eat what we want, when we want, where we want; plus the extra space of a separate living room with sofa (essential for collapsing on with a glass of wine when the kids are in bed/depositing them on to chill when knackered after a day out), and an extra bedroom if possible, make for a more relaxed holiday.

However I know that staying in a hotel with full board can be also a delight when, like me, you’re not the world’s most enthusiastic cook, and tending a hot stove detracts from the “getting away from it all” element of a family holiday. Sometimes, worrying about kids making a mess while eating pasta, being overly energetic and enthusiastic, and noisy and potentially bothersome in public, is outweighed by not having to produce said meals. So when we were invited to stay in a hotel for two nights with all meals included, it didn’t take long to decide. I would rather sacrifice space and flexibility if it means I don’t have to cook for two days. End of story.

And so began our Dia de Andalucia puente (bank holiday) last weekend in Costa Ballena. This is a new beach resort on the Costa de la Luz, in Cadiz province, between the seaside towns of Rota (where the US Army base is) and Chipiona, both popular summer resorts for Sevillanos. The forecast (always check before going to the beach – sunhats? wellies? raincoats? thickest fleeces? wetsuits?) said sun/cloud and rain, so we knew some indoor time was inevitable. I was therefore delighted, not to mention relieved, to read that our hotel, the Elba Hotel Costa Ballena, had a Mini-club (like a softplay centre, or bolas as we call them) and a thalassotherapy spa where kids were allowed (at certain times). As long as you know there’s plenty of rainy day entertainment, you can relax.

Our junior suite was a good size, with a long terrace which had one area for table and chairs (outside the bedroom), and another larger section for sunloungers (outside the sitting room). Crucially, for small children, the wall was sensibly high, making it much more challenging (off-putting, ideally) for small people to climb. In fine weather, I can imagine you would open the sliding doors in both rooms, and let the warm air come in. The view was over the pool, which was pretty and free-form with a palm tree on an island, and the golf course – with a glimpse of the sea.

The bedroom had cheery citrus tones of lemon and lime. You can imagine how delightful it would be with the balcony door open and the summer breeze gently blowing.

The children’s beds were set up in the sitting room, which also had two armchairs, and sliding doors leading onto the balcony (which remained closed due to the unclement weather). The suite was well supplied with lamps – on the floor, tables, wall, and even great little bendy reading lights by our bedside. And the bath was a hydrotherapy one – underwater jet massage. Heaven.

At lunch on our first day, the buffet was a little depleted due to a large, unscheduled group of US servicemen and their families. We were also quite late (it’s from 2-3pm), a lesson we took on board for our future meals. As well as salad, dishes on offer included fried fish fillets, pork with mushrooms, pasta, and a spread of Spanish puddings. We left that first meal feeling somewhat underwhelmed - especially by the lack of local and seasonal produce: specifically seafood (Cadiz coast is famous for its prawns and other shellfish, as we found out recently at Carnaval) and fresh fruit (strawberries from neighbouring Huelva province), hoping that dinner would reinspire our confidence (it did).

The closest hotel to the beach: Playa Ballena

Surfers at Playa Ballena – not the easiest subject to photograph.

Although the weather was looking iffy, I insisted on checking out the nearest beach to the hotel, which was called Playa Ballena and was a short walk away. It was backed by grassy dunes with some pretty wild flowers, and the kids were delighted to be befriended by two dogs which happily ran around fetching sticks for them, while I realised that those black dots bobbing about on the waves were actually surfers. From that moment on, I concentrated on trying to get a decent photo of some surf action. Damn hard to catch on camera- blink and they’ve fallen over.

Boats in Rota harbour – which one’s got your name on it?

Then we headed off to the nearby fishing village of Rota, a typical combination of sprawling streets of new-build apartments, and a pretty historic centre. With the sky now a pure Andalucian azure, we walked along the jetty of the walled harbour in the sunshine, looking at the fish darting about in the clear blue water, checking out the boats moored in rows (“Which one would you choose?” is always a favourite game), and then had a runabout on the beach. The US warships are right opposite, and their massive grey bulks loom large on the horizon. After poking around on the sand, we went into the old town, where as luck would have it, there was a medieval market.

The Castillo La Luna in Rota provided the perfect medieval ambiente for the market.

This “chopsticks” game, part of the medieval fair in Rota, was a feat of co-ordination for both young and old!

The usual overpriced super-empanadas, cheese, meat, olive oil and handicrafts were complemented by some excellent games which were free to use - wooden, hand-to-eye coordination ones involving using sticks and loops of rope to catch things, and move things. All wonderfully traditional stuff - the original, manual version of now-ubiquitous video games. The board games, feats of dexterity, were placed in the street, in front of a medieval castle, now used as Rota’s ayuntamiento (town hall), which set the scene perfectly.

Arroz negro, rice with black squid ink, at dinner.

Colourful red pepper salads – part of the buffet spread.

Back at the ranch, having learned our lesson at lunchtime, we arrived as dinner was starting, and I was most relieved to find an impressive spread: arroz negro (rice with black squid ink); a decent salad bar (not an area where Spanish cuisine excels, in my experience); pasta with a choice of sauces; and a choice of fillets cooked to order: gallineta (a type of bream) and tuna, as well as chuletas (pork chops). My daughter loved the buñuelos de bacalao (battered cod balls), the closest to fishfingers, while my son chose a meat dish.

Puddings were the usual Spanish fare of creaminess topped with biscuits, or little sponge cakes. The sliced fresh fruit (melon, pineapple) and yoghurts were my choice, while Lola opted for ice-cream topped with sauce and sprinkles (all chocolate, of course).

After dinner the kids tried out the hydrotherapy (jacuzzi) bath in our room. Lots of bubbles, lots of shrieks of excitement, then boomba – flat-out asleep!

The cheese section of the breakfast buffet, with membrillo (quince paste) too – on the right.

The next day, breakfast was a magnificent spread: cold meat (chorizo, jamon iberico) and cheese; hot breakfast – tomatoes, sausages, bacon; eggs cooked to order, with ham, cheese, or peppers; cereal; pastries; fresh and dried fruits; and yoghurts. Plus, of course, the typical Andalucian breakfast: toast with olive oil and tomatoes and ham, or mantecado (pork lard).

The “bolas” – kids love throwing themselves about in a ball pit.

After a filling and tasty breakfast, we had some time to kill before the spa opened, so we visited the Mini-club, which was a small version of softplay, with a slide, ballpit, swing, and games such as (soft) darts, boules and coits. The games room also proved popular, with snooker, pinball, table tennis, table hockey, and the car-racing game, with steering wheels and pedals.

The salt-water thalasso pool is part of the “thermal circuit”, along with the hammam and sauna.

Then it was for the three of us time to test out the thalassotherapy pool – me and the kids. A delightful lady called Julia met us in the spa reception and explained to us about the sea-water pool with its various sprays and jets, the counter-current channel and the jacuzzi. My son, who is six, was happy to swim around on his own, trying out the various spots – sitting, lying, standing with water of varying force pummelling him; my daughter stayed with me. Sometimes we sat like kings, all three in a row, revelling in the deep relaxation and indulgence as our bodies were massaged into oblivion.

You could sit under the showers – narrow jets, like pin-points, wide horizontal ones, circular ones like mushrooms, or on seats and beds, where legs, feet and arms were also subject to the force of the sea water. We also tried the heated wooden beds, and the terma romana (Roman bath), which was pleasantly warm, but not the hamman (steam bath) or sauna, as I thought they’d be too hot, especially for my daughter who turns an enbecomign shade of beetroot-pink in extreme heat, like her mother.

Osborne is the best-known sherry bodega in El Puerto; its roadside bull signs have become a national symbol of Spain.

One of the many other local sherry producers.

Lunch featured salmorejo (a creamy tomato soup), one of my favourite Andalucian dishes, and then we set off for El Puerto de Santa Maria. This fishing port, on the Bay of Cadiz, is part of the “Sherry Triangle”, the three towns which produce the famous fortified wine currently enjoying a resurgence in popularity. Although we didn’t partake of fino or palo cortado, we passed the mighty bodegas where they’re produced (many are open for tours Monday to Saturday). After walking along the riverfront where the wind was bitingly cold, and soon retreated to the landward streets.

Castillo San Marcos in El Puerto, which dates back to Moorish times.

Heraldic symbols and lettering on the castle tower.

The main entrance of the castle, with a Moorish arch – a storybook door, fascinating for kids.

I loved the Castillo San Marcos, a magnificent structure with origins in Moorish times, around the 10th century, with heraldic friezes on its towers and an exquisite carved wooden door with Moorish horseshoe arch designs. My childish fascination with castles - their high walls, towers, gates, crenellations… so romantic, so fairytale-ish, so resonant of exciting adventures, brave knights and beautiful princesses - may be partly because my wedding took place in one: a Norman keep in Essex. Anyway, I had to rely on my imagination as we missed out on seeing the inside; you can visit from Tuesday (when it’s free) to Saturday.

El Puerto has many grand mansions with huge stone entrances and mighty wooden doors; we’ll be back to explore it further. Its a historical town for many reasons, including that one of Columbus’ three ships was named after the town. At one point, we snuck into a cafe to warm up, and found it sold Death by Chocolate and blackberry and apple tart. Time to fess up: it was Ben&Jerrys. Heavenly cakes – on Avenida Caela Aramburu.

Back at the hotel for our second, and final, dinner and night, the stand-out dishes were choco con patatas (a cuttlefish and potato stew) and a superb spinach bechamel (so nutritious!); fillets of salmon and mackerel were cooked to order, while the children loves the palitos de merluza (battered hake fingers) and, er, pizza – a surefire winner with kids.

Stained glass window in the hotel reception.

The next day, it was time to leave – noone wanted to, needless to say, and there were repeated requests to go back to the pool, and the Mini-Club, but with the rain tipping down we wanted to get the journey home as soon as possible – luckily the car park is underneath the hotel, so we didn’t get soaked loading up.

The hotel staff were obliging and friendly throughout our stay, from reception to dining room to spa, the room was comfortable, the food was tasty and plentiful, and the spa was a revelation. I can recommend the Elba Costa Ballena as a relaxing place for family holiday, with plenty of interesting places to visit nearby - and we didn’t even use the outdoor pools and bar, padel courts, gym, or golf course!

* Disclaimer: me and my family stayed as guests of the Elba Hotel Costa Ballena. However, as always, the opinions expressed are my own, and are not affected by this. It’s fairly obvious by the fact that I’m objective, anyway, isn’t it?

My children with their flag, fan and pennant in the regional verde y blanco to celebrate Dia de Andalucia, 28 February. My daughter is proudly showing off her mixed heritage.

Children here in Andalucia are inculcated with a strong sense of regional pride right from the word go – they are Andaluces first, Spanish second (which leads to a sense of confusion about their identity, in the case of my Anglo-Andalusi children). They learn all about the culture, history, fiestas, famous figures, cuisine and geography of their region, which varies from desert to snow-covered mountains, from cork-oak forests to olive groves, from tidal marshes to sandy beaches, via Moorish cities and ancient sea ports.

This year, to celebrate Dia de Andalucia (28 February), my children’s school put on an exhibition about the entire region, province by province. Sections of corridors were magically transformed into colourful casetas in the Feria de Abril, patios in Cordoba, Cadiz beaches and Almerian hothouses.

Here, in alphabetical order, are the eight provinces of Andalucia as represented by three to 12-year-old Andaluzes, in products and pictures.

I haven’t captioned each photo – partly through sheer laziness and Alt Tag burnout; but also it means that you can try to guess each one’s contents (or, if you live here, ask your kids to) before reading the text for that province, which comes below its corresponding set of pictures. First up: Almeria.

ALMERIA: Polytunnels, vegetables, spaghetti westerns and one of Spain’s most important archaeological sites.

CADIZ: blue-fin tuna caught in the Atlantic and Mediterranean using the traditional almadraba system of nets and boats; the Teatro de Falla and the Carnaval in Cadiz city (a masks and two kazoo: the one on the left is my son’s, from our recent trip); sherry, seafood and cheese; fishing nets; piconero/as (coalmen and women – new to me, that one) and, of course, La Playa (yes, that’s real sand)!

CORDOBA: Las Cruces de Mayo (the cross of red flowers) and the Patios Festival (the little pots with their blooms on the wall).

GRANADA: The Patio de los Leones in the Alhambra; bit foxed myself as to the second picture – possibly Conquest Day, commemorating when the Reyes Catolicos recaptured the city from the Moors, and the royal banner of Castille is carried through the city; Federico Garcia Lorca, with some books by the poet and playwright; Arabic clothes and objects; Granadan pastries.

HUELVA: A jamon (don’t miss the piggies on the front of the table); fish, prawns and other shellfish; El Rocio: dress, tambor (drum), mini-carreta, leather chaps, and the all-important leather riding boots to protect from mud, dust and wading through river fords.

JAEN: Land of liquid gold – olives, olives, and more olives.

MALAGA: Pastries, olive oil and sweet wine; famous people, including Picasso and, the “Father of Andalucia”, Blas Infante, bottom left (but not Antonio Banderas, strangely); sardines on sticks.

SEVILLA: Inevitably, our provincial capital takes a starring role, both in the exhibition itself, and in this blog post. First we have the Feria caseta, complete with entrance (each one has its own name, number and design); the traditional painted table and chairs, plus jewellery, castanets and dress; a creepy-looking Betis baby, for the youngest football supporters; the cathedral; then we’re into Semana Santa, coming up in a few weeks: incense (smells very strong; my daughter hated it), nazarenos with a small cardboard DIY model of the Setas in front of them: more nazarenos, with their paso (float with statue of Jesus); and finally a list of tapas on a blackboard.

I never fail to be astonished and humbled by the huge amount of work which goes into these school shows, projects and exhibitions. The teachers and children obviously spent many hours preparing, assembling and presenting it (we had been asked to provide items from Seville and Cadiz provinces, hence the kazoo) and the finished effect looked quite spectacular.

Happy Andalucia Day, and congratulation to the staff and students!

An organic aubergine.

A few years ago, I was listening to a programme on Radio 4 about an American writer who lives in Venice, and sets her detective stories there, rather like the Falcon books here in Seville.

Food was an important part of her Venetian detective’s life, as it is for everyone in Italy – you can’t investigate a murder on an empty stomach - and the writer commented that for women in southern Europe, cooking is something that they’re delighted to do; providing daily meals for their family is a task they revel in, whereas in northern Europe, it is seen as a chore, an imposition. A succinct observation which shows a sound knowledge of Mediterranean and Anglo-Saxon culture and social dynamics.

Being English, I tend to fall into the latter category; not being a natural in the kitchen is something inherited from my mother, who positively loathes cooking (her Scottish mother, my grandmother, had mostly relied on paid help, and didn’t pass on much creative culinary flair). My own Anglo-Spanish family is provided with perfectly acceptable, if not rip-roaringly inventive or exciting, healthy meat-and-two-veg-type meals. Plenty of steamed veg and brown rice, fresh Atlantic fish, free-range chicken, and no dodgy meat of dubious provenance. Barbequed fish abounds in summer – sardines are king.

My son is partial to a nice, juicy barbequed sardine.

Occasionally I venture into the misty hinterland of estofados and pucheros, those strange Spanish casseroles of chicken, chickpeas and pig fat, whose stock is used as the basis for pasta soup. Then I high-tail it back to familiar territory. My adult repertory revolves around rice, pasta, and my coconut fish curry might appear if my husband has irritated me less than usual that day. A gastronomic guru I am not.

However as an established writer and blogger here in Seville, I feel I should have a higher level of expertise in Spanish cooking; also, I get asked all sorts of questions by visitors, fellow residents, and would-be expats, including “Can you tell me where should I live?”, “Can you suggest where’s good to eat?” and “Do you know where I can learn how to cook Spanish dishes?” So when fellow blogger, avid foodie,  and Queen of Tapas, Shawn of Sevilla Tapas, suggested trying out a new cooking class here in Seville, with a company recommended by Sam from Tailormade Andalucia, who was coming along too, I positively leaped at the chance – both for recommending to readers, and to bring some joy to my family’s palates (check out Shawn’s post here). Cooking and gastro-tourism are terribly, hugely, achingly, fashionable right now – growing, baking, decorating, Instagramming, tweeting, blogging, tasting and learning. Markets, delis, abacerias, pop-up restaurants, supper clubs. Food is IN. Out of synch as always, it was time for this reluctant cook to get with the programme.

Cheese from Cadiz in Triana market, where we started our culinary extravaganza.

Our class started in Triana market, next to the Inquisition Museum, where Amelia, our hostess and guide (who speaks excellent English) showed us around the extraordinary variety of food on offer. She explained about the different types of olives, manzanilla being the commonest type here in Seville; showed us local cheeses (sheep or goat+sheep; not many cows in Andalucia), and procured jamon iberico for the others to try, telling  us about the terminology for the pigs’ diets, and we learned that that free-range pigs have thinner ankles – all that exercise snuffling about for bellotas (acorns).

Having bought the ingredients for some of our dishes – big, fat tomatoes, aromatic garlic, stripey aubergine, prawns and calamari – we walked back to Amelia’s apartment. Slap bang in the centre of town, it has a large roof terrace with a small (heated) marquee and a large square table - a great place to be briefed before the action starts, and to eat afterwards. Her kitchen was open plan with a long bar, so we each had our own station.

The kitchen – light and spacious; you eat on the balcony, where the marquee is visible through the window.

Amelia gave us an introduction to the historical and cultural background of the dishes were were going to prepare: salmorejo features tomatoes, from the New World; aubergine is Sephardic/Arabic; and tortas de aceite  (olive oil biscuits) were invented by a woman named Ines Rosales, in the town next to mine, in 1910. You can see Seville’s rich past through the varied provenance of these ingredients.

We started by making the dessert: tortas de aceite, thin, round, crispy biscuits made of flour and olive oil with aniseed. I’ve tried them and am not a huge fan, so I was curious to see if they’d be more appealing when I made them myself. Amelia’s colleague, Meli, showed us how to prepare the masa (dough), explaining that it’s better not to handle it too much when kneading (I was reprimanded gently for squashing it). The masa was then set aside.

While we were doing this, Amelia explained about the process of making cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil (it’s not heated as other types are), and showed us three different brands we were going to try: an hojiblanca, a picual+picuda, and a picual. She knows her stuff about Andalucian products, having working for years promoting them around the world.

Preparing the tomatoes for the salmorejo.

Next it was time to dice the tomatoes, the star ingredient of the salmorejo, which traditionally is a Cordoban dish. Peeling them is optional, explained her husband Jorge, who works as a chef at one of Seville’s loveliest hotels, the Casas del Rey de Baeza (he doesn’t speak English, so she translates). Amelia told us that salmorejo was a typical plato de hambre - a “hunger dish”, where all food is used – bread, olive oil, garlic, salt, from Andalucia’s lean times during the Franco years. Vinegar (from Jerez, naturally) is optional – Jorge likes it, so we added some to ours. Another personal aspect of salmorejo is whether to sieve it so it’s really smooth – we decided more textured was fine. Then it was into the blender (in past times, crushed together by hand… that must have taken a while), taste verdict (more salt), and to chill in the fridge. We were given printed version of the recipes, in English, great for writing our own notes on.

Jorge adds vinegar to the salmorejo - controversial – as Meli looks on.

Next it was time to start on the berenjena con miel de caña, fried aubergine. I’m still trying to overcome my aversion to fried food (too greasy), but I kept an open mind. We chopped the aubergine into sticks and put them in milk, to stop it going brown (top tip from Meli). Then the prawn heads were boiled to make stock for the arroz meloso con mariscos. We chopped more tomatoes, onions and pepper to make a sofrito, the base for the rice dish (we discussed how to translate sofrito, and decided there wasn’t an English equivalent). Another interesting fact from Amelia: Spain is the second producer of rice in the EU after Italy. They grow it down the road in Corea del Rio, on the banks of the Guadalquivir, but this was arroz bomba, from Valencia.

Ingredients for the arroz con mariscos.

Frying the onion for the sofrito, the base of the arroz.

Adding the stock to the rice, sieving it first.

After adding the rice, the stock came next, and then the prawns and squid (which Shawn had cleaned and chopped, lucky girl). An added ingredient was a special sauce of Jorge’s, which I won’t reveal as it’s his special touch – can’t give away all his trade secrets. While the arroz was doing, we fried up the aubergine, some in flour and some in flour and egg (I managed to do mine in just egg – oops – spot the lackadaisical cook), and divided the masa into little balls, squashed them flat and then rolled them out into tortas to bake them. They have to be extremely fine, so they’re good and crispy. You sprinkle sugar on the top, which gives them a sweet crust.

Frying the aubergine.

Rolling out the tortas – you flatten them by hand first.

Finally it was time to enjoy the fruit of our labour. We tasted the three different olive oils – I flavoured the picual, which had a strong flavour – and then tucked into our meal. It was, obviously, delicious; the aubergines weren’t greasy, the salmorejo was on the right edge of sharp, and the rice was heavenly. The only problem being for me was that my time had run out (kids to be collected from school), so alcohol was refused, and I had to rush off, taking my tortas away with me in a very smart box.

The aubergine (presentation courtesy of Jorge).

Salmorejo, with berejena (my idea – they’re often paired; went perfectly together, the freshness of the soup cutting through the crispy crunchiness of the fried vegetable).

The arroz meloso con mariscos. How do they get it looking that nicely shaped? A simple metal mould.

I was delighted when the tortas got the nod of approval from my children that evening – they wolfed them down, without even leaving any for their Dad to try (and I was converted). That weekend, I attempted the rice (only short cut: frozen, ready-prepared calamari) and my husband was suitably impressed – Jorge’s special sauce provides the X factor. We also whipped up another batch of tortas to take on a picnic, which disappeared equally fast. Happy, well-fed family=happy Mummy.

Time to try it at home – Lola makes the masa for the tortas…

… and this is how they turned out – a little small…

… but they went down a treat!

Amelia’s company, Travel&Cuisine, is a professional and friendly outfit – Jorge is approachable and chilled-out; Amelia is informative and organised; and Meli provides excellent, knowledgable back-up. As well as Spanish cuisine, they offer classes in Moroccan, Japanese and French dishes, and bread and pastries too; during almadraba (Mediterranean tuna fishing) season, which is April to June, they run courses in how to prepare this most delectable of fish at their house in Zahara de los Atunes on the Costa de la Luz. I would highly recommend Travel&Cuisine for anyone who wants a fun and educational cooking class in southern Spain.