Cowhide leather boots were in the stirrups again, covered in white dust, oiled by horse sweat, and trainers filled with sand as the walkers sank into the powdery path. The camino took us through fields of sweet smelling strawberry plantations in huge white poly-tunnels.

Wooden walking sticks were bound with twigs of rosemary*, in small bouquets.  High-waisted riding skirts in sky blue or buttermilk looked so elegant and somewhat Edwardian on these side saddled girls with flowers in their hair. Proud and handsome men wore navy and white polka dot silk sashes, and sombreros “a la ancha” – which quite simply translates as ‘wide hats’ in earthy colours of felt. This was the most civilised of walks. It was a truly glamorous occasion.  It was old-fashioned horsy glamour at its sunniest!

We kept going till the sun was high in the sky, and then stopped for a 2- hour lunch break in a clearing under the dappled shade of pines.

A cooling bottle of San Miguel was thrust into one hand and the crunchiest, juiciest quarter of lettuce was passed to the other. Steve and I decided that this was the very best way to eat a lettuce: sliced through the heart lengthways at right angles, and dressed in olive oil and salt.

We were invited to sit at the Hermano Mayor’s trestle (top) table for gazpacho, then macarrones  “a la Catalana”, heated on giant spiraled gas rings, and then albondigas. We were hungry!

Black coffee was poured onto the largest ice cubes, for 1000 peregrines, and in the dappled light of the Donana, on the soft sandy ground, we took a 20 minute siesta, using a cardboard box as a pillow. The giant open-air affair became quiet in respect for the after lunch kip.

* History in the name: Rosemary (English) or Romero (Spanish) means: 1. A person on a religious journey or pilgrimage (originally to Rome). 2. The pungent botanical herb of rosemary symbolises remembrance and fidelity.

“Sixty loaves, forty bars of chocolate, forty packets of paper napkins, 400 bottles of beer…” I overheard The Hermano Mayor, (big brother) Alfonso, our host for the day, was ringing ahead.

The second and last day of the camino had begun with the lighting of 3 loud bangers. BANG to tack your horse,  BANG to mount it, and BANG to get walking quick-march. The horses didn’t flinch. They were used to it and this was their favourite occasion of the year.  The day was as much about them as it was about their owners.

Over 100 hermandads all walk towards  the village of El Rocio every year in pilgrimage. A feat of organisation and logistics, a feat of endurance kept pace by the spiritual rhythm created by walking the endless stretches of path through the sand and grassy dunes and a drummer plays his pipe while beating a drum.

The smell of eucalyptus, and pine warming to the early morning sun was overpowering.

People chatted excitedly, making new friends, catching up with old ones, and a time for contemplation, would come later in the day, when tiredness overcomes us, we become quieter and take the time to think up future plans, or simply steal a moment for one's own company.

The sound of a whistle played Rociero tunes into the warm wind, accompanied by a beating drum. It mesmerised and calmed us like an indian snake charmer on a whistle and drum all at once, and we kept walking.

Discarded husks of prawns were thrown from wagons onto the sun baked tarmac, and  chalk-white scuffs of hooves were evidence of  hundreds of pilgrims moving in the same direction towards El Rocio before us.

35kms to cover today. (35 degrees, with dry breeze made it quite comfortable)

Aniseed grew pertly on the verges and as the sun rose, the woods below darkened in contrast. The dust softened the profiles of horses and people into shadows in dappled light.

Bright polka dots (lunares) in extreme contrasts  on crisp skirts and hourglass silhouettes excited the eye.

Dust, dust and more beautiful dust gave everything a magical ‘sfumato’ effect all around us.

At 11 o clock on the dot, we gathered very close.  Frills of skirts closed up together, arms embraced/entwined in their neighbours, horses squeezed together and snorted, and stillness reigned for the Prayer Of The Angel, under a huge umbrella pine on the outskirts of the donana park.

It is was a very emotional moment for everybody, steeped in ritual and tradition.  Poetry was spoken, and music sung. Dedications were made to the people who had spent 6 months preparing for this day, and those who made this pilgrimage every year were overcome with joy and grief together. And for the new buds like us; the peregrines; the true honour and privilege to been invited, and included, was felt at this moment more than any other.

"Viva la fiesta" – Long live all this, they shouted.

St Georges Day, the feast of St George, will be celebrated this Tuesday. Feast days need to be honored whether it is a Sunday lunch or an outdoor barbecue.

You might have noticed that the best barbecues are always made of the simplest materials. I’ve seen this fabrication in Africa, Spain and New Zealand (where I ate paua sea steaks with the Maoris), but I’ve never taken it in closely enough to copy. While I have it documented, I thought I’d share it with you:

Make your own barbecue.

1. Cut a metal barrel in half.

2. Build a frame using second hand Dexion frame and screw the cut barrel to it.

3. Add metal grating from any builders’ suppliers.

4. Fill with charcoal, light and allow the coals to grey and glow.

5. Find somewhere beautiful and far away from civilisation and buy some good bangers, lamb chops and calçots, and serve with a Romesco sauce.

Here's my recipe for Romesco sauce:

Makes 425g

25g hazelnuts

50g blanched almonds

1 tomato peeled, seeded and chopped

Olive oil

1 clove of garlic

6 dried nora chillies

Salt and pepper

Roast the tomatoes and put all in ingredients into a blender on a coarse setting. This sauce is delicious as an accompaniment to calçots, Spanish spring onions that are delicious grilled on the barbecue. The calçots are grilled directly over the flames until they became completely black on the outside. (Don’t worry; the best part – the inside – will be still white and clean.) They are typically served wrapped in newspaper to keep them warm and eaten off curved terracotta roof tiles!

Here in Britain we endure hard winters with Ethan Frome patience and await each spring with bountiful British optimism for a blistering summer!!

However, if you are the luckiest person in the world, and get to travel to the other side of Africa, to break up the long winter months, I can highly recommend a visit to Babylonstoren, near Cape Town. This 16^th Century estate, with vineyard, farm, hotel and restaurant is quite evidently some inspired dream made real, driven by a vision, a purest aesthetic, and some extremely hard work. If you are planning a late summer or winter honeymoon, think of it rather as Eden, the garden of human love and sexuality, although Babylonstoren is more of a modern wonder of the world.

The South African cottages on the Babylonstoren estate are the essence of a house, no more and no less. Created with a John Pawson aesthetic, these beautiful, simple cottages take one very far away from city life.

The garden is vast and laid on classical lines but contrary to an English garden of blooms and abundant colour, Babylonstoren's gardens produce all that we really need to live on. Like a large-scale kitchen garden, everything is grown for a reason, be it for food or medicinal use. Goose pens and chicken runs surround and there within are enchanting surprises such as chamomile lawns and ornithological hideouts. It is an awakening of the senses.

This abundance of fresh ecologically grown food keeps the restaurant Babylon stocked well. We ate the most delicious salad I have ever tasted with a herb dressing which is apparently their secret. Clearly a compulsory, as everyone else had it as a first course too. The menu had two choices per course  - my favourite kind of menu - minimal in choice with maximum satisfaction! I forgot to pass by the farm shop and buy the cookbook. I wonder if that dressing recipe is included?  I might even find the time to grow a mini herb garden on my roof in London this spring.

COME ON SPRING - GET A MOVE ON!

Last weekend I was invited to a fabulous party at Maison Prunier on Avenue Victor Hugo, a well known Parisian caviar house and spectacular Art Deco delight, designed by Jaques Grange in 1925.

The party filled the main room  - a dramatic space with walls of black marble and ornamented with oyster shell inlay in overlapping circles of tiny circles, like bubbles under the sea. The generous, marble bar has large carved scalloped edges, where huge ice buckets display the catch of the day.  The beautiful floor continues the deep-sea theme in turquoise mosaic, glittering with gold inlay. I have always wanted a black dining room, and this is one of the most beautiful black rooms I have seen to date.

Curious to see more, I peeled my way out of the fun party and discovered another private dining room upstairs, just as beautiful as the main one but entirely different. This dining room was entirely gold!  (My tip of the day: The Prunier website says it sits 12 to 14 guests and is available for intimate private parties). I took these pictures of some details in the gold leaf paneling with paintings of stunning sea animals and plants. The pictures do it no justice whatsoever. This gold dining room is exquisite and one of the finest examples of its era and has to be seen to be believed.

The divine menu: caviar on potato cake followed by grilled red snapper on a tomato compote, followed by the obligatory tarte aux pommes.

Breakfast is the time that we celebrate birthdays in our family. Recently it was mine and my daughter surprised me with her delicious recipe for blueberry pancakes and bacon.

My team at Penelope Chilvers gave me the most adorable and edible miniature Impossible boots, and I treated myself to some 'home grown' floral satin Dandy slippers, which I have been longing to have since I designed them. I wore them to the Paris shows this weekend and they will be the style I choose to wear to all the forthcoming spring parties.

pabuch = shoe

The next part of my Turkish journey took me to Istanbul and to the Grand Bazaar, one of the largest and oldest covered markets in the world.  It turned out that my guide Ali, aka crowd controller/security guy and all round kilim enthusiast, also worked on the latest James Bond film, Skyfall.  Do you remember in the beginning of the film when the motorbike chase took place in the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul? The bikes crash through a glass window and end up in the area that has the most beautiful painted ceiling and then continue riding along the roof of the building. I wonder how they set up that stunt and whether these painted ceilings have been restored since!

It was in this Grand Bazaar that I spent an afternoon with Ali haggling for ikat fabric and drinking delicious Turkish tea. I collected silk ikat weaves in every colour and design and these were sent to our Italian factory who used the selection to produce these wonderful silk Sunshine Plimsolls  - brand new for Spring/Summer 13.

January is always a ‘dry’ month for me. I feel a definite need for abstinence after the parties and excess leading up to Christmas and have given up alcohol and sugar (apart from one naughty celebratory glass of wine in Seville last week, where we were shooting my AW13 look book - it was the stylist, Amy Bannerman’s birthday after all!)  I’m feeling good, in more than one way.

It was a year ago now that I went in search of local expertise in Turkey. A short flight from Istanbul took me to the centre of the huge peninsula to the darker, more remote city of Konya. It’s a city I’ve heard being compared to the state of Texas for its agricultural wealth. It’s also a spiritual destination and acutely religious city where Muslim faith is fundamental to the daily routine. It is here that I was introduced to two inspirational men, who both exhume “positive energy”. Mehmet, the innkeeper, carpet shop owner, master of kilims and son of a shepherd. And Rumi, 13th Century Persian poet, philosopher and originator of the Whirling Dervishes, whose home was Konya. Both great men.

I stayed in Mehmet’s house where his wife prepared a very clean and delicious evening meal of vegetables and yogurt. Meat is only eaten at lunchtime, and alcohol is completely absent. Mehmet seems to be loved by all – he looks after various people in his community who have less than him, and deals out his “positive energy” to all around him. One morning, in his shop he was visited by at least 6 people who popped in for a few coins, some gave him something in return. He was given some hand knitted un-dyed lambswool socks which he kindly lent to me and which I put straight into my Impossible Boots as it was at least minus 9! Exquisite old rugs piled high acted as thermal insulation to warm the shop while snow fell outside.

He explained to me that in a Turkish family like his, (his father was a nomadic shepherd in the region just outside Konya), people share with their family and neighbours and never more so than at the end of Ramadan which is locally know as’ The Kilim Festival’.

This is marked by the slaughtering of a sheep or goat, that is given away in the following proportions: 1/3 to immediate family, 1/3 to relations and 1/3 to 7 poor people – in 7 cuts. He explained the fascinating process of the kill and how he likes to trick the animals into a peaceful death, to avoid their adrenalin getting into the meat. He told me that goats would stay in families and cry at the smell of blood, whilst sheep don’t. I have always had a certain fascination for goats, as they are mysterious creatures, with charming yet comical faces. Once when I was in Morocco, I even made a special detour to watch the goats that climb the trees in the Argan orchards. I told you - I’m fascinated!

So this quiet contemplative January may I recommend the following: vegetarian suppers, Rumi poetry and curling up on the sofa to watch one of my favourite films, Le Quattro Volte by Michelangelo Frammartino and the documentary "The Artist Is Present" by Marina Abramovic, both extraordinary works that, in their own way, encourage us to consider the world around us and our place in it.

It all started in Turkey. I went there in freezing cold conditions last January in search of Anatolian kilim weavers. I was lucky enough to stay with an internationally renowned expert and “Master of Kilims” who introduced me to the ladies who weave kilim rugs in their homes in Konya. We picked the yarn colours out of buckets of wool; orange, saffron, sapphire, taupe, pomegranate pink are the colours I chose for SS13’s colour palette. The striped rugs were made especially for my new kilim shopper - this bag will last a lifetime.

Considering that the Turkish traditionally dress in browns, blacks and greys, it is surprising that colour is all around, from the kaleidoscope of kilim colours to the 'Eastern paradise green' of the doors in the streets. One year on and the collection is almost ready to launch.

It's A Wrap

On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, after an inevitably busy morning of last minute preparations, Penelope likes to clear the kitchen table, put on some carols, open a bottle of red and set about wrapping her presents. Here are her wrapping tips…

1. Brown paper packages tied up with string, these are a few of my favourite thing. Bulk buy parcel paper from the Post Office and wrap everything in it. secure  with beautiful ribbons from VV Rouleaux. It’s economical, traditional, recyclable and looks great under the tree.
2. Re-use pages from old road maps for smaller items. Who needs them now with SAT NAV?? Add festive detail with a sprig of natural holly or spray gold for added sparkle.
3. Hand make gift tags from favourite old Christmas cards or use a personalised stamp on card.  If you have children, ask them to add glitter and sequins with glitter glue. Punch a hole for your ribbon or string and write your message with a metallic magic marker.