Plasencia

01 May 2025

Tiring of the Autovia, we take a lengthy detour through the Sierra De Gredos mountains and after a truly terrible lunch in Piedrahita, we pitch up in Plasencia, a mediaeval walled town west of Madrid. It lacks the haughty grandeur of Valladolid but has a similarly thronging Playa Major and chilled Cruzcampo beers, albeit with loads of shrieking kids running around. Life is lived outdoors in Spain; that’s just the way it is…

Expecting the only Michelin-guide-rated place in town to be in the centre, it’s a surprise to find it’s housed in the local bus terminal, about half a mile out. It’s a real find - these Michelin folk are more intrepid than I thought. Traditional tapas like acorn-fed jamón, somebody’s grandmother’s croquettes but with a contemporary flourish of black garlic oil, and mushed-up tomato and olive oil spooned over excellent bread takes care of the classics. Things then take a lurch eastward with crayfish tempura with a paprika mayonnaise and Lomo Gyosa. Along with a couple of Iberian (generous) pours of good wine, it’s a smidge over £50 a piece. Bargain. Plasencia has a similar population to Aldershot (where the scooter club hails from), but I’d be surprised if their bus station offers similar fayre.

Next morning, my Compadre is in need of unforeseen medical attention. The hotel reception says there are no doctors locally and the pharmacy can’t sell him what he needs over the counter. So he presents himself at the local hospital. After a quick registration process, he is seen by a doctor in a couple of minutes and fitted with a precautionary IV drip while being wheeled around by an English-speaking porter. Various tests are performed and results delivered in near real-time. Less than two hours later, he’s sorted: back in the pharmacy where an automated system prepares his prescription. The cost to him of all this? €14. Spain spends $4,368 per capita, per annum on healthcare. The same source - Statista - reports the UK spends $5,139. An imperfect comparison, admittedly, as this does not take account of differences in the cost bases of both countries but an interesting one nevertheless.

While all this was going on, I took a walk round the walled city and it’s much as you expect. Sympathetically but not obsessively preserved with a small indoor fresh market: gleaming seafood, lovingly arranged arrays of fruit and vegetables, and the prized Jamón, protected in hessian bags and hanging in all three butchers.

Like Valladolid, the town also has a taste for off-beat sculpture. Here, it’s a workman with his hands in his pockets, staring lasciviously at the Grieta en el culo de los constructores (Builders’ Bum Crack) of a somebody with his head buried in concrete. No doubt there is a serious socio-political point being made here but it eludes me completely and there is no handy placard for reference. Again, I promise I’m not making this up; look at the photo below.