Vinos, Caminos & Pintxos: The Small Town Of Haro

Much of the drive from Zaragoza is through nondescript territory, interior Spain at its flattest and most arid with the occasional industrial complex or giant warehouse thrown in for good measure. Then with almost comical precision the vineyards begin at the very moment we pass the “La Rioja” provincial sign and pretty soon we are looking out at picturesque hilltop villages crowned by a soaring church spire and/or the turrets of a castle. This is exactly the scenery we have come here to explore.

Ignoring the temptation to dive into other villages too soon, we head straight to our next destination of Haro, arriving too early to check in to our apartment and so heading first for the main square. It’s love at first sight: again, this is exactly what we were looking and hoping for from our first Rioja base. A sign on the town hall balcony proclaims “Haro: Capital of Rioja”, as does the iron plaque out front. A large mural depicts drunken men being led away by a smiling policeman.

This is, after all, the epicentre of the Rioja wine industry, the place where once a year, at the end of the grape harvest, the entire population comes out into town and spends the day throwing huge quantities of red wine over each other. This bizarre event is depicted in murals and statues around town – what a crazy day it must be. We can only wonder how or why the streets aren’t permanently stained red. 

Settling down for our first beer (yes, beer rather than wine, we need a throat charmer first), the signoras-what-lunch at the next table are drinking a strange looking drink the colour of watered down Coca-Cola. When we ask the bustling owner what it is, he tells us it’s a Vermouth made locally in Haro which everybody drinks as an alternative to the obvious, and then he proceeds to pour us a huge glassful to share and tells us it’s our “welcome to Haro” gift. Oh don’t we just love a freebie.

Next, our host Pedro meets us outside the house with a beaming smile, an outstretched hand, a bundle of maps and a wealth of information on where to go, what to do, where to eat and drink and then marks on the maps all the wineries which he recommends to visit.

“Anything you want”, he smiles on leaving, “call me. I am always in Haro”. What a welcome all round. Hello Haro, hello Rioja.

The idea of this part of our journey through Spain is that we will have two separate bases within the Rioja wine region and explore the different parts of the province from each – visiting the picturesque villages by day and returning to base for wine and food each night. Daytime visits to the bodegas aren’t such a good idea when driving.

It works well – the area is of course dominated by wine production and all that goes with it, but a lot of these towns and villages are also on, or close to, the famous Camino de Santiago de Compostela. At various points we see what appear to be long distance trekkers passing through, or arriving in, towns – but with afternoon temperatures creeping up towards 40C we’re not convinced they’ve chosen the right time of year to do it.

In the town of Najera, the Santa Maria la Real monastery, easily the largest building in the old town, was built in the late 16th century specifically to bring pilgrims to the town as they made their way along the camino, offering a sanctuary of peace and reflection as well as a bed for the night. Najera is on the “Camino Francés”, one of the five converging camino routes.

Najera is a town of two distinct halves: the new, very ordinary city on one side of the river and the old, much more appealing town snuggled between river and mountains on the other. There is little uniformity in the villages we visit, some are functional and surprisingly modern, others wonderfully photogenic from afar but, once within the streets, seem to be in a permanent state of siesta.

Standing out from all the rest are two small towns which are everything we expected from the Rioja region and then some. One is our home base of Haro which is turning out to be the perfect homestead to return to every day; the other is across the border in the adjoining province of Alava. This is the perfectly formed, perfectly positioned town of Laguardia in Basque Country, so completely beautiful that we know we have to make a second visit before we move on.

Laguardia presents the idyllic hilltop vista, but Haro is for sure the perfect base – it has the main square, the hillside cobbled streets where wine bars dominate, secondary plazas and gorgeous old buildings, but it also has an outer layer of ordinary town where bodegas invite visitors to imbibe and the town gives everything back and makes life easy. And then….and then, you wander into a wine bar and the pintxos are spread out along the bar. And you swoon.

Oh, pintxos, where have you been all my life?! Actually, I first came across pintxos on a blokey football trip to Bilbao a few years ago, and have wanted Michaela to share the experience ever since, so it’s with considerable delight that we discover that the tradition extends into the Rioja region. Pintxos are smaller than tapas, designed to be eaten one at a time with each round of drinks.

But pintxos are no ordinary, predictable snack. Inspired combinations, magical flavour pairings, daring texture clashes, 1- or 2-bite explosions of flavour where each one is an adventure and a surprise. Go to the bar, order your wine and point to the pintxos you want, and don’t ever ask what it is, just wait to be amazed and delighted. This is surely the best way to eat in the entire culinary world – you end each day having had a huge variety of flavours and never need to go looking for a large meal. And it’s an understatement to say it’s inexpensive!

Oh my God, pintxos ROCK!! It’s a delight to be reacquainted with them, a double delight to see Michaela fall in love with them in just the way I did. Rioja and pintxos for a week. Does it get any better than this!?

You have to watch these car rental companies, they can he sneaky little devils, lots of nasty “extra cost” tricks up their sleeve. This one (Hertz, to name and shame), has tried two, one of which was to claim the car was free from damage when we collected it, leaving us to go back into the office armed with photos of the sizeable gouge down one side. On our guard, we are keen to keep the vehicle as clean as possible ahead of return so there can be no dispute over the extent of damage – so we’re not too amused when overnight we get one of those rainfalls full of desert sand which leaves every car in town looking like a leopard with chickenpox.

Undeterred, we head out into the lanes for one last sortie from Haro, aiming for Sajazarra, described as one of the most beautiful villages in Spain and in fact recognised as such by its accreditation on “los pueblos mas bonitos de España”, an official list of same. It’s definitely worthy of that accolade, with its honey coloured houses bunched around a castle-like structure about which we can find virtually nothing. It’s a truly lovely spot with a restaurant big enough to suggest the village gets frequent busloads of visitors. A consequence of being on the “bonitos” list, possibly.

From the road near Sajazarra we can see another, even smaller village perched right up on the hills beneath soaring limestone peaks. It looks an amazing setting. Creeping into its baking, quiet streets, we find activity in the church, where villagers are putting the finishing touches to preparations for the weekend’s fiesta in honour of St Mary’s Day, to whom the church is dedicated. Spain does love its fiestas.

This second, tiny village is the precipitous Cellorigo, from where the views across the vineyards and plains are spectacular. At the very moment we turn to gaze upwards at the peaks instead of down across the land, a giant eagle soars majestically from behind the rocks and circles above us, scanning the parched grasses for its next meal.

This has been a great first half to the Rioja adventure. Delightful explorations by day, great wine and food in lovely Haro by night – everything just as we had hoped but perhaps even better than that.

We return to the car to leave Haro on Saturday morning. The car’s newly acquired coating of dust has been beautifully enhanced by a large finger drawing of an oversized set of male genitalia. We need to find a car wash. It might not be appropriate to have a large phallic drawing on our car, given that our next overnight stay is in a convent, of all places.