19 June 2024 – Dr Sophie Louisa Bennett, PhD Conservation Biology (Lincoln 2016), MA Modern and Medieval Languages – German and Swedish (KC 1987, Cantab 2020)
Sophie Louisa Bennett’s copy of a Naxos recording of Swedish classical music featuring Anders Zorn on the front cover. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix
Midsummer is approaching again. So why not get in the mood by listening to some classical music I have always felt especially suited to expressing its sheer specialness by Hugo Alfvén (1872 – 1960): Swedish RhapsodyNo. 1 (Opus 19). You can hear the sun rising in this piece called Midsommarvaka in Swedish (Midsummer Watch). A cor anglais no less introduces the central “hauntingly beautiful melody which evokes the stillness of the Swedish night […] There should be no difficulty for the listener to hear in this music the moment when the sun rises or to imagine when the merrymaking starts on Midsummer Day. Like Vaughan Williams in England, Alfvén derived much of his inspiration from folk music. He was the first Swedish composer to use folk music in symphonic form and Midsommarvaka contains several of these elements. The catchy tune which beins the rhapsody, for instance, is said to go back to a melody that Alfvén had heard whistled by a farmer in the region of eastern Sweden called Roslagen.” There is no attribution for these words from the cassette sleeve of an EMI Records compilation of 1982 (see below) which I had at King’s Cambridge and which was both mocked (on acount of Lumbye‘s The Copenhagen Steam Railway Gallop) and loved enough to have been used by the Organ Scholar for his dissertation piece (but that was Wirén). Praeludium by Järnefelt (a Finn), also on the tape, might also be midsummer-worthy.
If you prefer, there is also a very suitable alternative recording of seasonal Swedish music by Alfvén from the Royal Scottish National Orchestra under Niklas Willén: Dalarapsodi, Opus 47 (Svensk rapsodi nr. 3); En skärgårdenssägen, Op. 20 (Legend of the Skerries/Archipelago); Symphony No. 3 in E major, Op. 23.
Alfvén is regarded as representing the spirit of Sweden and its countryside. He was however no narrow ‘provincial’, but a highly sophisticated musician who spent 10 years travelling throughout Europe. Nor were his talents confined to music: he was a write and an accomplished water colourist who once contemplated a career as a painter (notes from a translation by Kerstin Swartling).
The front cover of the CD I have however does not feature any of Alfvén’s paintings but one (albeit ‘flipped’) by Anders Zorn (1860 – 1920) “Outside” aka “Outdoors“, featuring three naked women indulging in some wild swimming, assuming they will be unobserved, presumably somewhere on the archipelago. Hence perpetuating the (stereotypical?) image of Swedes being free and easy with their bodies. I wonder if this ploy was at all successful in selling the recording…
Sophie Louisa Bennett’s 1982 recording of Swedish Rhapsody and other Scandinavian classics… mocked and loved, perhaps not in equal part at King’s Cambridge, featuring a watercolour by Goodwin. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix
Albert Goodwin, RWS (1845 – 1932) – “Right“, the painting on the front cover of Swedish Rhapsody, looks Scandinavian but I have no idea why Goodwin was chosen over a Scandinavian artist, other than the fact that the cassette compilation was recorded mostly by UK orchestras, notably both the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra and Bournemouth Sinfonietta.
29 April 2024, updated 23 May 2024 – Dr Sophie Louisa Bennett, PhD Conservation Biology (Lincoln 2016), MA Modern & Medieval Languages – German & Swedish (KC 1987, Cantab), Diploma in Translation – German into English (City University/Institute of Linguists 1998)
Jerez de la Frontera by night: September 2019. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix
I forgot who suggested southern Spain or the timing of the holiday, but, after much to-ing and fro-ing over where we would stay, the budget etc, Sally found us accommodation – a cute townhouse – in a traditional gated courtyard in Jerez. Jerez de la Frontera, the home of Sherry, ‘on the frontier’ – which frontier or border I was not sure, but due to the proximity to Portugal and North Africa and the Atlantic Ocean I could well imagine this could refer to all three. On the frontier of other countries and possibilities – something Magellan would have known about.
Spanish coins brought back from Andalusia – I thought Cervantes bore more than a passing resemblance to Magellan… Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix
Jerez/Bahía Cádiz looked like an excellent place to visit, and ever since starting my conservation degree in 2005 (and even before then) I had been fascinated by the Iberian Lynx, one of whose last strongholds was reputed to be Andalucía, and was saddened by its fate. I was not necessarily thinking I would be ‘tailing’ one of these rare animals, but it was certainly on my mind. I’d also long known of the National Park at Doñana, famed also for its birdlife, and knew that Spring would have been the best time to see it at its best, but accepted that a hopefully warm and welcoming September would be my one opportunity. And I would make the most of it.
The statue of Lola Flores close to where we stayed in the Calle Sol, September 2019. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix
Fittingly, the small townhouse Sally found was managed by ‘Ole Solutions’ in a town famous also for its Flamenco heritage. A townhouse on the Calle Sol – Sunshine Street, a few steps away from where Lola Flores was born. Tick and tick again. With a little dog next door (huge tick, for me at least – Sally might have preferred a cat). And, on the down side, a boiler that went on the blink: waiting for it to be seen to ate into valuable time, but, looking back, the time still seemed ample for most things nonetheless. I was fascinated by the childish drawing in the kitchen on the fridge – a couple with one child. Reminding me a bit of ‘The Others’… And the stunning poster on the wall of the tiny lounge which commemorated the annual Festival of Horses and Horsemanship.
The poster advertising the Festival of the Horse (and Horsemanship) on the wall of the living room of our accommodation at Calle Sol 57, Jerez. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix, September 2019
Before setting off from GB, I booked the trip to Doñana by email – Viajes Doñana – which I knew to operate from Sanlúcar de Barrameda. I picked one of the available dates and then fretted for days about how we would get there in time and where the meeting point was. Despite Sally’s desire for more freedom, the freedom afforded by hiring a car, I managed to persuade her that travelling by public transport would take us to the main places of interest in the Bahía Cádiz. I booked us tickets on the high-speed inter-city from Sevilla – we flew in from Stansted – to Jerez, dreaming of making the longer train journey from top to bottom at some stage. This remains a dream, however… just as my other longer distance train ‘plans’ also remain vague and dreamy: the ones I have achieved were long ago – UK and France and Germany…
The station at Jerez de la Frontera, September 2019. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic LumixThe tiled exterior of Jerez de la Frontera railway station, September 2019. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix
As I say, I had been drawn to southern Spain for a while – for various reasons and even a ‘feeling’ which I could not explain – and it didn’t disappoint. I hadn’t visited Spain since the early 1990s when Nick and I imposed ourselves on his brother in Barcelona, during the latter’s secondment there with Unilever. (On another occasion in the early 2000s I was there ‘for work’ otherwise known as Roland Berger’s inter-office tennis tournament – in Murcia.) Many people will probably these days take it for granted that they will visit sunny climes, or anywhere, over and over again, and Spain is a favoured destination for many Brits, but each time I’ve been away I have always considered that I may in fact NEVER return to this or that place and therefore it is best to make the most of those opportunities while I can. To paraphrase Horace: the perfect day for anything will never come, the perfect day is today, if we make it so! I’m possibly getting confused with the words of any one of a number of characters in Star Trek. I’m translating from a German translation of the original Latin in ,,Die Sonne lacht für Dich” and so can’t be sure whether this was could count as an accurate rendering of the Roman poet’s words in English.
Sally and I mostly agreed on where to go and if we weren’t of one mind then we went our separate ways, but only on one or two occasions – on the day of the Doñana trip, for a few hours, and when I decided to visit Jerez Zoo.
We took in Cádiz, passing by the looming cruise ships in the marina, we wandered through the streets of the historic centre, via the Cathedral (with its interior netting presumably to catch the crumbling ceiling of the dome), made our way to the city beach and enjoyed tapas by the sea, strolled wistfully by one of the numerous paradors, visited the Parque Genovés, with its parakeets and Baobab tree. We had a memorable encounter with an irascible ticket collector the very next day, on a train trip back to the Atlantic coast, via what I will call ‘Las Salinas’ – salt pans you could see en route to Cádiz; stepping out this time at Cortadura, still within sight of the magnificent but crumbling cathedral. The beach to my mind was curiously empty, as were the bars – we could eat our fishes on dishes and sip our drinks in relative peace. Sally lost a shoe somewhere along the way, and a member of bar staff kindly calling back to one of the places we visited to check it was not there. We went to a shop selling all the sorts of stuff you need for the beach including buckets and spades and row upon row of flip-flops… I thought of how close I was to North Africa and how Algeciras was also a short distance away, but just too far to go on this occasion… bringing to mind the music of Radio Tarifa – and by extension Helen and Ali. You could spend a whole lifetime here and not discover everything it had to offer. Just as you never really 100% know your ‘home’ territory, nor indeed the people inhabiting it.
A mural on the external wall of the central market in Cadiz, September 2019. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix
On the third full day, we ventured further to Sanlúcar de Barrameda, this time taking the bus (coach) service out of the station at Jerez – avoiding the train having been ‘stung’ the day before – well, there was an armed guard standing a metre or two away, and I’m not talking a pistol, blocking the exit. We never did see the reimbursement of that fine despite the RENFE form-filling at Jerez station under the eyes of not wholly unsympathetic but nonetheless ultimately shoulder-shrugging staff.
The meeting point for the visit with Viajes Doñana was on the waterfront of the Guadalquivir, having visited Taberna Juan for non-alcoholic refreshments – close to where the sign indicated “El Embarque“. Funnily enough. It was odd to see the remnants of a race and indistinct footprints where the runners had been in the dunes – some metal barriers and a tent where presumably competitors had registered or returned. I say odd because I felt frustrated at having paid for a tour – 40 Euros – on the understanding that numbers were restricted to protect the park. Only to find cyclists also on the beach, and a surf littered with the flotsam and jetsam of the ocean beyond. Well, it would be just this once… As the bus drove down that beach we were welcomed by familiar birds – the Gulls flanking us along the surf. Perhaps I did see some tracks of the elusive Felid amongst the Stone Pines… And there were plenty of other things to see, although mainly Deer and Domestic breeds. We stayed in Sanlúcar for an early evening meal – more fishes on dishes. And thereafter the discovery of chocolate olives.
Me (Sophie Louisa) contemplating fishes on dishes in Sanlúcar de Barrameda, September 2019. Photo by Sally B.
Day Four saw us remain within Jerez and take the hop-on hop-off bus tour only a shortish distance. Our goal was to see the highlights – not including the riding school; unfortunate from my point of view – but taking in Tio Pepe and a few small glasses of Sherry – one particularly thin and vinegary one was reminiscent of the horrible ‘speciality’ of Sanlúcar – Manzanilla is not so fino from my point of view. Lo siento. Within the Bodega Gonzalez Byass I found the sheer vastness of the space and the decorative aspects more interesting than the prospect of sampling alcohol… Endless variations on the Tio Pepe mascot and also black and white photos of famous visitors (including ‘La Lola’) displayed artfully on barrels on the way to our ‘final destination’, the tasting rooms. One of the former storage areas was set out, beautifully, tastefully, and not excessively, for a wedding or other reception, and next door another wedding was taking place, visible tantalisingly through the bars of another part of the historic complex. A stone’s throw from the Alcázar and the Catedral.
Inside Tio Pepe, September 2019. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix
At lunchtime we had visited the Meson del Asador – serving modern Spanish cuisine, right on the corner of the main square; the food proved excellent and I see from the scribbles on various scraps of paper that I gave it four stars out of five; unsure why I withheld the fifth star, but perhaps because service was a little slower than desired, due to its popularity, including with locals, or at least Spanish-speakers. So good we visited twice: we were to go back again on the final evening, which was disrupted in a minor way by a helicopter flying low, directly overhead, its red lights glaring, humming like an infuriated dragonfly at dusk. Emergency services or a private flight, I wondered?
Day 5 was the day of the Zoo visit. Much anticipated. I walked all the way across town from Calle Sol, in the sunshine, leaving Sally to linger in the centre where she appeared to have amused herself in a bar or two. The walk took me through deserted streets, past a closed dance school, various churches and shops. At one point I thought I was being followed, and hurried on. Reaching the Zoobotánico, I made sure I visited every part, knowing the Iberian Lynx were there as a ‘reward’ at the end – the highlight of the collection in Jerez which runs a breeding programme and has released a number of individuals back into the wild. From the Flamingos to the Birds of Prey (in caged enclosures I felt were far too small – I saw the Osprey looking forlorn) to the Giraffes, the European Bison, the Mouflon with its repetitive encircling of a dead tree, and the Monkeys behind glass. I took in a walled garden and a sandwich mixto (ham and cheese) and finished with a visit to the Souvenirs just as the place was closing.
One of the Iberian Lynx in the enclosure at Jerez Zoo, September 2019. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic LumixLa tienda – the shop – selling souvenirs at the Zoo (and Botanical Gardens) Jerez, September 2019. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix
In the evening, we visited one of the most widely advertised and popular Flamenco haunts – Tabanco El Pasaje. Full to the brim with foreigners and perhaps even visitors from other parts of Spain. I remember hearing the woman’s wailing song, the guitar being thumbed and thumped, and the characteristic castanet-like clapping of hands. There is some coarseness to a Flamenco voice that has probably performed the same songs multiple times throughout the summer and autumn to such crowds. I managed to film a short video in the mirror above the Bar despite the lack of space. Possibly to the annoyance of others. Very few were using their phones and maybe those that didn’t enjoyed the experience more. In the end the standing room only did for me: there were many elbows to negotiate and it was a relief to get out onto the street again and cross over to the shop with the striped and spotted dresses, for a little window-shopping. There were other more select places we could have gone but didn’t. The main point was that Flamenco could also be ticked off the list. I’d tried this out myself in the back room of Lincoln’s Drill Hall, leaving the class (or at least failing to turn up) after a couple of Saturday afternoon sessions, disturbed by too-direct – militarily-delivered – comments on my posture and the feeling that I did not take it quite as seriously as it required, or as the other participants evidently thought it deserved. I must admit to being attracted to the shoes, although not the swishy skirts – maybe influenced by a certain attraction to the style of Joaquin Cortés – more than to the actual reality of the dancing, in the end. I went there to enjoy myself, not be upbraided for a neck problem I could no longer fix. The arm movements were no problem; the feet and head, yes.
Tabanco el Pasaje on that night in September 2019 – full to overflowing. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic LumixThe entrance to a crowded Tabanco el Pasaje where Sally and I were off to see and hear Flamenco… September 2019. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic LumixAnd what a relief to get out and go over the road for a spot of window-shopping! Jerez opposite Tabanco el Pasaje (more-or-less), September 2019. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix
Day 6 was the last full day and time to post cards home or to friends elsewhere. I’ve written ‘fontana’: was this the fountain with the magnificent equine sculpture – I think so. In the afternoon, we visited Rota (and not Chipiona which is also generally recommended) as our final beach. It was windy – ventosa is scribbled on a piece of scrap paper – and the vast flat expanse of golden sand soon emptied as the winds blew in from the ocean. Some parts of Rota might best be described as tacky – you could get an affordably greasy kebab – but the historic centre was compact and clean and nobody could possibly fault the beach itself and its facilities. There was even some feline wall art to see on the way back to the bus stop on the edge of town. Caminando slowly por las calles again.
Where were we? A reminder … The beach front at Rota, September 2019. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic LumixThe feline wall art Sally and I encountered on the way back to the bus stop in Rota, September 2019. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix
We left for Sevilla as we had arrived, by inter-city train. And managed a hurried visit to the heart of that grand city, resting a short while in a tranquil ‘arabic’ park we mistook for our ultimate destination – ending up rather later than desired amongst the horse-drawn carriages and crowds around the grand cathedral, with too little time to really enjoy the best it had. Hurrying back on foot through the streets in the heavy humidity of a late September day to catch the airport bus. And that, for me, was Andalucía. Maybe next time Granada or Córdoba. Or maybe not. Nothing a decent ‘coffee table’ book couldn’t fix. In the meantime, I could journey with either Michael Portillo to Salamanca or Monty Don to some of the other parts I’d never been – Madrid, Valencia – nor would be likely to ever visit…
Horse-drawn carriages waiting by the Cathedral in Seville, September 2019. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic LumixOne of those strips of paper you spray perfume on at airports… For Agua de Sevilla – Water of Seville (The Eternal Spring) – Sally had indeed bought me water in the centre of Sevilla. Gracias – thanks for the company too. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with OLYMPUS C-310 Zoom DIGITAL CAMERA
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