La Venencia and the Spirit of Resistance

Jenna Broughton
3 days ago
2 min read

A strange chill crept over me as I stood before Guernica in the Museo Reina Sofía. Not the kind of cold you shake off, but one that settles deep in your bones. Towering and chaotic, Pablo Picasso’s masterpiece lay bare the horror of the Spanish Civil War with its tangle of distorted bodies, gaping mouths and fractured forms. This wasn’t just a scene of a town bombed into oblivion — it was a brutal meditation on the madness of war and how quickly humanity can forget itself in the fires of violence. Yet beneath the anguish, Guernica also whispered of Spain’s long, blood-stained road toward democracy.

Pablo Picasso's Guernica as viewed at the Museo Reina Sofía

This year will mark 50 years since Francisco Franco died and ended his brutal reign as dictator of Spain. And while Madrid was the center of his regime’s political power, the modern metropolis bears little resemblance to a period in the not too distant past. But one of the relics of that time is La Venencia, an unassuming sherry bar near the center of town that became the watering hole for anti-fascist troops to share the news of the day from the battlefield during the Spanish Civil War. It was also known to be where Ernest Hemingway would gather information on the ongoing conflict for his dispatches for North American Newspapers Alliance (NANA).

As I approached La Venencia, I wondered if I would encounter the same feeling I had at the museum – if somehow the ghosts of its past would haunt me. Instead, I was met with a boisterous crowd spilling out onto the cobblestone road. A living museum it is, but La Venencia doesn’t feel beholden to its painful past, but there are subtle reminders of a storied history when you step inside.

La Venencia wears the battle scars of the passage of time with its brooding dark wood tables and chairs and the patina that has developed on its amber walls. The dust on the glass bottles of sherry behind the bar seem more an accessory than a nuisance. Any other place would be called dingy, but somehow it is all part of its allure. As is the brusque service. The staff is fine with your presence as long as you don’t ask questions and order quickly. And definitely don’t be caught violating its strict no photo rule.

As I push through the crowd, I maneuver my way to a spot at the bar. From the list of just five sherries, I select the fino. While I have never acquired a taste for sherry, something this trip will not change, I determine that the fino’s dry and delicate style might be more tolerable to my palate. The bartender scribbles my tab in chalk in front of me. Its impermanence is as fleeting as this moment.

It feels impossible to immerse myself in all the history that lives within La Venencia’s walls. But still I take careful sips of my sherry and do my best to hold onto something that is ever slipping away. And where Picasso's Guernica was a scream suspended, La Venencia's past lies buried in the folds of time.