Nadir, my dear.

When your rooster crows at the break of dawn
look out your window and I´ll be gone
You´re the reason I´m travlin on
But don´t think twice, it´s alright.
-Bob Dylan

Hey everyone! Here follows the account of my last few days. Briefly put: I seem to have hit the low point of my trip and have had to rethink the route I had planned out...but I am optimistic that it will be for the best and that by tomorrow afternoon, the dog days will be over, as Florence plus the Machine would say.

ZARAGOZA

While writing my last update, I finished an entire bottle of manzanilla by myself. I went back the next day and corrected my copious spelling errors, but decided to leave in the flowery, partially innebriated language as a warning for kids to not drink and blog. Friends don´t let friends do it. Anyway, my first afternoon in Zaragoza was pretty cool. I ran into an Irish dude at the bus station who was staying at the same hostel as me, so we navigated our way across the city together, and it was cool to have someone to talk to in English for a while. After checking in, I wandered around Zaragoza´s old town, popping into a few cathedrals on the main plaza, including the Basilica Nuestra Señora del Pilar, which allegedly contains a pillar on top of which the Virgen Mary appeared to St. James when he was bringing christianity to the Iberian Peninsula. It has quite a long history, with churches having been built on its grounds since Roman times. During the Spanish Civil War, two bombs were thrown at the church and didn´t explode. Miracle? Or sketchy Czech engineering? Either way, the shells are still on display, which was pretty cool. Fucking fascists, man. I also visited the Catedral del Salvador (commonly known as La Seo). La Seo had a free audio tour, which was awesome, and like 5 masses a day are still conducted in it, and I got to see a smaller one being performed in a smaller chapel. I wandered around for a while longer after that, just taking everything in. I really like Zaragoza. It strikes me as the type of city I would actually really enjoy living in. Not too big, but there´s a lot going on, and a ton of history. Notably, Zaragoza was founded by the Romans in honor of the Emperor Austus, and was originally named CaesarAugusta (say it a few times fast and you´ll se how ¨Zaragoza¨ evolved from it). There are a ton of Roman ruins buried underneath Zaragoza, and the city has at least 4 museums dedicated to telling different aspects of the Roman history. I had resolved to tackle the Roman museums on my second day, so I went back to the hostel, updated my blog while drinking a bottle of manzanilla, and fell in with a few Americans and Canadians. We passed around a bottle of scotch, taking pulls and trading travel stories, then headed out to find the nearest Irish pub. I had a blast with the Canadian chicks. The three of them had just done two weeks of backpacking around Morocco, and made me really jealous with their experiences in the interior of the country. We all agreed that Tangier sucked, and I was happy to hear that the rest of the country was really cool for travellers. Mental note: backback around Morocco at some point. The next morning, I got up early and went to the Aljaferia Palace, a fortified castle built a thousand years ago during the Moor´s control of the region, then subsequent Spanish monarchs tacked on bits and redid parts of it. It´s in pretty good condition, and is actually the current seat of the local legislature. That means that there are some places that aren´t open to the public, but they don´t have signs...the security guards wait for you to wander into an unmarked ¨restricted¨room and then tell you sternly that you aren´t supposed to be there. Oh well. It had some great comparisons of the architectural styles over the years, but I might have enjoyed it a bit more if I hadn´t seen the magnificent Alhambra first. It´s like that movie Equilibrium. Really awesome movie, but it came out the same year as the Matrix so nobody really paid attention to it and it wasn´t as epic so it still doesn´t get a lot of love. Back to Zaragoza. After a morning of wanderingaround the Palace, I popped into a local market and bought some fresh fruit for brunch in the park. In the middle of eating my apple, my trip to Spain took a decided turn into less awesome territory when I realized something wasn´t quite right with the fruit, or maybe with the salad I ate the night before. Either way, I guess I should have just kept to a ham-only diet. I booked it back to my hostel and spent the next 4-5 hours alternating between vomitting and being curled up in the fetal position in my bunk. Luckily, I started to feel better in the early evening, and dragged myself out of bed to see the 4 Roman history museums, culminating in an audiovisual show on the ruins of the Roman amphitheatre, excavated only within the last 30 years. I made myself eat some bread that eveing, then chatted with a nice Spanish lady from La Rioja before calling it a night.

BILBAO

I can´t begin to express how psyched I was about Basque country. I´ve always been really fascinated by it since I started studying Spanish and learned that it existed. So when I arrived in Bilbao, I had some pretty high hopes for the next few days. I tried booking a hostel online the day before I arrived, but I could only find one bed in a ¨private room¨ in a hostel that was a bit more expensive than I wanted to pay. But I figured, hey Bilbao is a pretty cool city, so I´ll just bite the bullet on this one because it will be worth it. Totally wrong about that one. So I´m pretty sure the ¨hostel¨ was not actually street legal. I trotted up to the address and there was no sign, no notoce of where to go, and it looked like a lawyers office. I was just about to try to find a tourist office, when I happened on three English chicks with giant backpacks who were looking for the same place. One of their posse already had a key, assured us it was the right place, and let us in. There was no reception area, and whoever would have served in a reception capacity was not there. It was quite lucky that I had been let in by the British chick, because I ended up waiting around for almost TWO hours before I could check in, drop off my bags, and go check out the city. I had even called the informational number for the hotel and was told someone would be back to help me check in in 30 minutes. She showed up over an hour later, and wasn´t even apologetic about it. There was only one working toilet for over 20 people, and there was a sign posted on the bathroom that you were only allowed to be in it for ten minutes. I was really glad I didn´t get my stomach virus while at this place. And the room I reserved was just an outcropping of the common room where the door wasnt flush with the hinge so it was really loud. So all in all, I was underwhelmed. As some background, there are two things that are guaranteed to put me in a sour mood: 1) you make me rushed, and 2) you make me cold. Both factors were well in play by the time I left for the Guggenheim museum. The museum closed at 8pm, and I didn´t arrive until about 6:20, so I didn´t get a chance to see everything I wanted which bummed me out a bit. I also got mad at myself for wasting too much time in abstract art. I get it 1950, you´re trying to say that art doesn´t have to be about imitating the human form or landscapes to have value, so paint something that doesn´t look like a kindergartener overturned his crayon box onto a canvas. I don´t dislike abstract art, see my notes on the Museum of Spanish Abstract Art in Cuenca - that place was breathtaking. I probably could have given that part of the Guggenheim more of it a fair shake if I wasn´t rushing through it so I could consider what each piece had to say, but all I ended up soaking in was yellow square, blue stripes, fingerpainting, white canvas. The more modern exhibits were really cool though. I really enjoyed this one room that had like 40-50 old tvs, each of which was playing a different interview this artist conducted with a member of this Turkish slum town that has high rates of drug use, violence, and domestic abuse. All the tvs were different, and in front of each was a chair so you could sit and have this creepy comfortable yet voyeuristic look into so many people´s mesed up lives. After the Guggenheim, I wandered around Bilbao a bit to get a feel for the city. Again, I was only there for a day, so take this with a grain of salt, but I kinda think Bilbao looks like a futuristic urban Pleasantville designed by an NYU architecture student. There was a ton of modern as well as perfectly-maintained (or perfectly imitated) older architecture, all the streets were wide and clean, lots of little modern art pieces in smaller parks, you can literally look through an urban city and see the pristine rolling hills of northern Spain a kilometer away, and the metro has these futurisic partial nautilus shell entrances. I found it had a lot of pretty things, but lacked heart. It didn´t quite feel like a real city. I saw a lot of old people, but not so many younger people. I didn´t go to the outskirts of town where the University is located, so maybe I would have gotten a different impression of Bilbao had I been outside downtown. Part of this unfavorable review might also be attributed to how cold it was. I brought one long-sleeved moisture wicking shirt just in case it got cool one night while I was hiking in Galicia. WRONG. Northern Spain is going through a notoriously cold summer this year, which means I grossly mis-packed for this leg of the trip. Shivering on my way back to my fake hostel from the Guggenheim, I stopped in at a local pasteleria and bought some handmake cookies. When I got back to the hostel, I hung out with the three british chicks, two austrian dudes, and american couple, and a french guy. The American fellow and the French dude had brought along three giant bottles of liquor, which we sipped for a while before heading out to check out Bilbao´s nightlife. Again, Bilbao had a major fail. We were there on a Friday and not a whole lot was going on. We wandered around for about 4 hours, stopping in at a salsa dance club for older folks, a place packed with jersey-shore wannabes, and a really loud pirate-themed place. I had a good time hanging out with all the people I met and if nothing else, really enjoyed that part of my experience in Bilbao. I got up early the next day to catch a bus for San Sebastian, on Spain´s northern coast. It was still really cold in Bilbao, and by now it had started to rain. My bus was almost an hour late, and the bus station in Bilbao is not an indoor one. Insult, meet injury. You two will hit it off in Bilbao. I was so excited about getting to the coast, spending a few days relaxing on the beach in the sun, and putting some less than great times behind me. Alas...

SAN SEBASTIAN (DONOSTIA in Basque)

Everyone I know who has been to Spain has told me ¨OMG YOU HAVE TO GO TO SAN SEBASTIAN¨. On paper, it looked like they were right. Gorgeous beaches, pleasant weather, surfing, beautiful old buildings, great hiking. I booked two days in a hostel ahead of time. As I waited for my bus to San Sebastian, I checked the weather forecast and realized something was terribly wrong. The temperature was dropping in San Sebastian, and the rain was set to continue indefinitely. After arriving in San Sebastian, possessing no cold weather clothes of any kind except the now-smelly long sleeve running shirt I had worn for the last 2 days, I thought it might be time to rethink this whole ¨skirting the north coast of Spain and hiking for 5 full days on a pilgrimage trail¨ plan I had been so excited about up to that point. I decided to test myresolve by walking the two kilometers in the rain from the bus station to my hotel wearing my full pack to see what it was like. Surprisingly, it wasn´t that bad. San Sebastian is a beautiful city and very walkable, and the extra weight of my pask kept my heart pumping and my body temperature up. It wasn´t a bad walk, but I had a moment of clarity when I realized that I would definitely be spending three quarters of my life for the next three years in this type of cold, rainy weather. And I am on vacation, goddamnit. At that moment, I decided to cut out my beloved pilgrimage trail to Santiago de Compostela. I figure it would be better to do the entire month-long trail anyway, since I´m such a completist-snob. Maybe next summer or after graduation. Who knows? All I know is that I had to soak up some sun after San Sebastian. I was still pretty determined not to let the weather completely ruin San Sebastian for me. So after checknig into my hostel and taking a really hot shower to psych myself up, I went out in 15 degree (Celsius) rainy weather in my tank top, skirt, and sandals to check out San Sebastian. After about 15 minutes, I popped into a boutique and bought a cool leather jacket for a reasonable price (just don´t remind me it´s in Euros, please). I popped into a bar in old town to try some pintxos, a basque word for sandwich-like tapas that have a good amount of culinary complexity, usually involve seafood, and are almost always delicious. After that, I wandered some more around old town before heading back to my hostel, chatting with this hippie from Virginia who is staying in my dorm room, and hitting the sack. This morning, finding the cold and rain to persist, I sucked it up, pulled on my new jacket, and walked up this light hiking trail up to a smallish mountain to the east of town. There´s a pretty big Jesus statue on top (obviously) and an old fortified castle turned into a museum relating the history of San Sebastian. It was a pretty refreshing walk (the rain let up a bit) and I took another trail down the mountain. I stopped into the Museo Naval and checked out their exhibit on Basque whaling and whalers. It was really interesting. The museum framed it in kind of a cool way, saying that it was no longer necessary to kill whales, that whaling destroys biodiversity, but it was important to tell the full story of that aspect of Basque culture and history. It ended with some pretty gruesome shots of modern whaling in Japan, with yet another explanation how whaling is an unnecessary and destructive practice. Clearly, the museum benefactors have seen Whale Wars. After that, I walked back down to the bus station a couple kilometers away to buy my bus ticket back to Bilbao for tomorrow morning, then strolled back into old town to find some internets. This update is probably longer than neessary because it´s warm in the internet cafe. And I´m hesitant to go back out there. I´ll probably round out the evening with some more wine and pintxos, and then more wine.

After this, instead of skirting the northern coast like I planned, I decided I will be trying to catch a train from Bilbao to Valladolid, in the warm central Castilla-Leon, then hang around there for a few days before visiting nearby Salamanca and Segovia. After that, I might shoot over to Valencia on the east coast for a few days before heading up to Barcelona. It will all be very weather dependent, since I don´t want to happen upon more Seattle weather anywhere else on this trip.

Hope everyone is doing well and I hope that my next update will be more cheerful and I will have much more to report!

Much love,
A-bear

Hamming it up (Spain Part III)

Saludos everyone (or at least the 2 people reading this blog)! Even though it's only been about 6 days since my last update, it feels like a month. I have quite a bit to recount, so bear with me.

SANLUCAR (Continued)
When last we met, I was in a locutorio in the main plaza of Sanlucar de Barrameda, disappointed after an evening of failed attempts at visiting the sites I'd hoped to cross off my checklist and feeling a bit lonely after parting with my comrade in travel and cuddles. Many apologies for the dejected nature of my last post. After I logged off the public computer and tried to pay for my time, I was harrangued by the son of the owner, a Dominican fellow who comped my internet usage (which was pretty sweet) and then spent the next twenty minutes trying to get me to tell him where I was staying (which was a little more than creepy). I made some friendly chitchat before insisting my boyfriend was the jealous type, that he had many tatoos, and that he wouldn't take it too kindly if I went to the Dominican Republic with another man, no matter how beautiful the beaches supposedly are. Note to Kevin: you have to get some mad Jersey Shore tribal tatoos if you don't want to make a liar out of me. After escaping that painful but somewhat flattering situation, I headed over to a cafeteria on the plaza for a dinner of what else? Bocadillos de jamon (ham sandwich). Spain is a very diverse country, with many dialects spoken, different climates, and a discernably distinct feel to each city I've been to; but if there is one thing that serves as the grout to the myriad of mosaic tiles that is Spain, it's gotta be ham. They take it really seriously here. It is delicious and cheap. I'm not talking the grocery store ham that looks like the inside of a baby's cheek filled with strychnine, and a salty taupe-colored juice; I'm talking legit honest to god perfect strips of meat prepared in a pantheon of truly delicious ways. With homemade bread. And it's cheap. So yeah, I've been eating a lot of ham recently. Anyway, the waiter took pity on me for eating alone and bought me a couple of beers. Either that or I just look like some easy American tourist. My good friend Austin recently called me a rioja-slurping tart, and I can't say he's too far off. So maybe the tartiness vibe just can't be contained. Who knows? Back to Sanlucar: the next morning I went to the heavily restored 15th century castle and took a Spanish language tour from a nice lady named Carmen. When she found out I was from the American south, she gushed about how much she wanted to see the plantations (based on her tour, I could tell she was REAL into classist history) and we became fast friends and exchanged contact info should she ever find herself in good old New Orleans and looking for recommendations. Sanlucar is also the home of Manzanilla, a sherry-like wine that can literally only be produced in Sanlucar, due to its microclimate between the Guadalquivar river, the marshes of the National Park, and the Atlantic Ocean. Apparently even though English language tours are offered, nobody who speaks English ever shows up for them so I, yet again, joined a Spanish language tour of the facilities. It was pretty awesome to see the storage rooms (inside an old 18th century cathedral) and have a tasting at the end. I bought a bottle, which I am now sipping as I write. Don't judge me. It's delicious. Manzanilla is light of color, and pretty strong in taste. They age it in these giant casks, draining only part out of each cask and adding new Manzanilla to it when it's about 2/3 gone, so as to maintain some richness of the old flavor. After I finished with the formal tours, I walked around the town for a few hours (it really was quite beautiful and quiet during siesta time), then treated myself to a dinner at this restaurant overlooking the river. I had some local white wine (don't cry for that, Argentina), clams in a roasted garlic sauce, grilled monkfish with roasted vegetables, and a fruit torte. The food was wonderful and the view was superb. I could not have asked for a nicer final evening in Sanlucar. I got up at 6:00 the next morning and strolled across town to the bus station, taking two buses to arrive in...

TARIFA
Tarifa is the southernmost point of continental Europe (probably...I think I read that somewhere but I could be making it up). Either way, it's really far south and you can see Africa across the Mediterranean Sea. When I arrived, the weather was actually cloudy with a threat of rain, and quite cooler than I expected for (probably) the southern tip of Spain. I had made reservations at this funky youth hostel, but when I arrived, they had no record of my reservation and were (of course) all booked up. I spent the next two hours wandering around with my backpack trying to find a hostel, pension, or even hotel that had a room for (at this point) less than 100 Euros a night. I was turned away like Joseph and Mary in Bethlehem at every corner. Yes, I do think that's an apt comparison. Finally, I stumbled into one of the last hostels on my list, and told the guy at reception my sob story (in Spanish). He winked at me, and told me (in English) that if I could wait a minute and could conduct the transaction in English, he could give me a "good price". Hoping this was not an invitation for prostitution, I agreed to wait, and after he dealt with a few other clients, he gave me a screaming deal of a double room with a private bathroom during high season for the price of a single room during low season, probably saving me at least 60 Euro. That guy will forever be my hero, and you will be happy to know that no prostitution was necessary. I spent the afternoon wandering around old town, specifically around the castle of Guzman El Bueno. During the Reconquista, his son was captured by the Moors, and when he was given the option of surrendering or having his son killed before the castle walls, he threw down his own dagger for the deed. Pretty fucked up, right? Anyway, the castle is right on the Mediterranean, and the whole of the old town is quite the tourist destination. Definitely picturesque. I went to the beach in the late afternoon to work on evening out my mis-shapen tanlines, helped a couple of French dudes jump a fence onto a private beach, and finished reading For Whom the Bell Tolls (excellently written by Ernest Hemingway). I sold out and bought an e-reader for this trip, a Barnes & Nobles "nook", and filled it with writings about Spain. There's a lot of Hemingway, and Don Quixote in both English and Spanish. Lately, I've been favoring the English version since I have proved myself a touch overly optimistic by thinking I could read 500 year-old Castillian without zoning out every now and then. That evening I showered and went out to a bar to watch the Brasil/Paraguay game of the Copa America. As a perpetual fan of the underdog, I was obviously rooting for Paraguay. Me and nobody else. This old dude sitting next to me struck up a conversation about if the team that everyone thinks is best should ACTUALLY win, and when Paraguay won (WOOOO!) I had convinced him to cheer with me. He happened to be an owner of another bar called Moskito (haha) and invited me over for a drink. Why not? Worst/Best decision ever. After the two beers and the scotch on the rocks I had at the sports bar, he bought no less than three rounds of shots, at which point I made good friends with two chicks from Barcelona. We bought each other several rounds of drinks (I lost count at 3) and hopped around various bars in Sanlucar SWEARING WE WERE BEST FRIENDS and eventually exchanging contact info, before I stumbled back to my hotel somewhere between 4 and 5 am. I awoke with a start at 10:15 am, which was a full hour later than I was supposed to show up for the ferry I booked for my day trip to Tangier, Morocco. The ferry left at 10:00, btw. Extremely hungover, I stumbled down to the tourist office to ask if I could belatedly use my reservation for the one that left at noon. Luckily, they are apparently quite accomodating of tourists who get drunk and miss their early ferries. It was no problem. That sets the stage for...

TANGIER, MOROCCO (day trip)
I arrived at the ferry terminal with a giant bottle of water and still pretty sure I was going to barf. The 35 minute ferry across the Mediterranean listed like it was in the middle of a hurricane, and I'm only slightly exaggerating. My plan - if anyone saw me throw up - was to blame it on morning sickness, pat my stomach lovingly and then sneak drinks throughout the day. Luckily, I did not vom. I met up with my tour group in Tangier. It was me, 3 elderly polish folks who did not speak a world of English or Spanish, and about 12 dudes from a young adult soccer team in Murcia (southern Spain). That left me as the only person on the tour who did not have a traveling buddy, which would not have bothered me if it didn't mean that the tour guide, a Moroccan fellow named "Al", walked/sat next to me the entire time and ushered me into shops to try to buy something. The tour guides work on comission for stuff tourists buy. When he tried to get me to take a private "English" tour in a carpet shop, when everyone else was getting the standard Spanish tour, I politely declined saying that Spanish was fine. I could see he was a little upset that I wouldn't have 5 Moroccan men pressuring me to buy something worth more than my car. I did buy a few scarves, using the Moroccan cultural norm of haggling. At this point we enter the part of the story where Erin thought she might be sold into white slavery. You see, as I was negotiating a price for the scarves, I was the only person intent on buying anything, as the Polish folks has no idea what was going on, and the young soccer player dudes had no mind to buy anything all day. So the group continued on without me. The tour guide said he would come back for me. When he did not, the store owner had his son take me to the next stop on your group tour. I hesitantly agreed, making a mental map of where I was in relation to the main plaza. He led me through the labrynthine streets of Tangier, and right before every turn I thought to myself "ok, if I don't see my group soon, I'm going to run for it"...but thankfully I did not have to hire Liam Neeson to find me. I ended up at the old-school pharmacy that sold ointments and creams to assuage common ailments. I ended up buying a tin of rose cream because it smelled like my grandmother used to when she hugged me tight when I was young. I put a little on every day. It reminds me of home. After that, we took a bus to this weird place on the side of the road where you could ride a camel for 1 Euro. Hell yes I did it. It was really weird. Kind of bumpy and the camel owner screamed directions at the camel the whole time, which was a little disconcerting. I don't think camel will ever be my preferred method of transport, btw. We also stopped by this local park that has an amazing view of where the Atlantic and Mediterranean meet. I couldn't take a picture that captured how beautiful it was to see the aquamarine meet the deep blue. All in all, I'd say I don't know if I would take a guided tour of Tangier again, since most of the time I was just ushered into shops filled with jewelry or carpets I couldn't afford, and I just felt guilty. One last cool note about Morocco: I ended up buying a few small handcarved toys from this kid on the street (all in Spanish) and when he asked where I was from and I responded with the United States, his face lit up and he said "Obama! I like Obama and I like America! Good voyage, lady!" It was actually kind of cool to hear that. It is quite a bit different when I travelled abroad during the Bush administration and everytime I admitted my nationality, I was met with a subtle eye roll and almost felt like I should apologize. Anyway, after returning to Tarifa that evening, I was exhausted and still pretty hungover, so I found a supermarket and bought some chips, local cheese, freshmade bread, and -- what else -- Iberico ham. I had myself a lovely little picnic in bead, watched Apocalyto with Spanish subtitles, and called it an early night.

CUENCA
I had thought about spending another few days in the south of Spain, but remembering that I had spent so much time in just one province (if you can believe it) decided it was best to head north. I spent nearly a full day in transit, finally arriving in the town of Cuenca, in Sevilla-La Mancha, a UNESCO World Heritage Site due to it's nearly perfect medieval preservation and unique situation between two gorges of the rivers Huecar and Jucar. The cliffs that arise between the rivers show the beauty of the "casas colgadas" or hanging houses, that jut up from the cliffs as if they were a natural extension of the rock, fashioned by a rennaisance god. I arrived at this windy area of La Mancha, and made my way to my hostel, a medieval building called Pension Posada de San Jose. The door to my room was clearly well over 200 years old, as it took a good deal of coaxing and appropriate pressure for the door to alow me to secure it with the locking mechanism. I confess I felt a bit at this point like a medeival knight begging for his lady to surrender entrance to that which is most sacred: the comfort of a bed. I spent the evening wandering around Cuenca's old town, seeing the unfortunate medieval cum 20th century restoration that is its cathedral, before wandering into the new town, which is at least a kilometer away from old town down quite a steep hill, and took a few pictures of the casas colgadas from the Puente de San Pablo, the bridge connecting old town to the mountains across the Huecar River. The next morning, I visited the Museo de Cuenca, a wonderful little museum detailing the pre-Roman, Roman, and post-Roman eras of the city (yes, most everything is best viewed from a Roman context). Afterwards, I visited the Museo del Arte Abstracto de Espana (the Abstract Art Museum of Spain). This museum houses probably the greatest conglomeration of abstract Spanish art from the 1950s and 1960s, and I cannot say enough good things about how refreshingly real all of it seems set against the background of the medieval topogrophy and after the gothic/renaissance museums of other great cities in Spain. I headed down to the new city at about 2 to check out the Plaza de Espana, and found that literally nothing would be open before 9 pm. I headed back up to the old town through a fairly rigorous hike up the hillside, later following a sendero (walking path) up to the very top of the old town. The views were amazing, and I look forward to posting pictures of the beauties of Spain that were revealed to me in these few hours. I had dinner at the restaurant in my hostel, the viewing patio of which overlooked the Rio Huecar, and I saw the sunset over a lush and beautiful landscape. I woke up this morning to travel to Zarragoza, which I will relate in my next post. Needless to say, I love it. It's an amazing city that voices its history in every turn; and I have met quite a few English-speaking tourists to speak with since my arrival, which has been a great comfort for my lonliness.

I'm not gonna lie, I have had quite enough of the delicious Spanish ham that seems to unite the country. Last night, my choice of pork loin marinated in cider served involunatarily with fried potatoes has quite put me over the realm of my ability to cope with meat-only meals. Now I only crave salads, apples, mangoes, strawberries, and the lightest amount of grilled chicken. Alas, it is usually not meant to be.

I hope you are all well, and that you continue to enjoy life to its fullest.

With all my warmest regards,
A-bear

Spain: Part Two (The Two Towers)

Jineteando en mi caballo, por la sierra yo me voy
Las estrellas y la luna, ellas me dicen donde voy
-Cancion del Mariachi

Hello all. Time for the second Spain update. Again, I´m on a public computer so pictures might have to wait until I get back. Pardons all around.

GRANADA (continued)
When last we met, I was gushing over the Alhambra and looking forward to seeing the Capilla Real (Royal Chapel). I´ve read a lot about Isabella and Ferdinand (so much so that I almost feel like I know them), and so seeing their final resting place was very cool. The Chapel itself was beautiful, but I found it pretty remarkable that both monarchs were entombed in simple lead caskets. I guess they kinda blew their nest egg on the 800 cathedrals they had built around Spain. Waste not, want not. Speaking of which, we also visited the adjacent cathedral, which was also incredibly elaborate. After wandering around the city for a few more hours, we caught a bus out of the madness of Granada and arrived in...

CADIZ
I loved Cadiz. It´s a smaller beach town on the southwestern shore of Spain, and possibly the oldest city in Europe. It was settled by the Phoenicians back in the day (named Gadir), before the Romans took it over (and called it Gades), and then after the fall of Rome, the Moors took it over and called it Qadiz, then it became modern Cadiz after the Reconquista. There were a TON of archeological and archetectural sites we got to see. We spent the first evening taking a coastal stroll around the entire periphery of the town. It took about two hours to make a circuit of old town, and most of it was right against the Atlantic Ocean. Incredibly beautiful and relaxing after the hustle and bustle of Granada. The next morning we went to the Museum of Cadiz and saw Phoenician sarcophogi, Roman sculptures, and modern Spanish art. Then we went to the Cathedral, which was pretty depressing. Either the sea air or shoddy craftsmanshiphave taken a toll on the cathedral, which is only a few centuries old. Nets have been hung from the vaulted ceilings to catch the bits of plaster that periodically detach themselves from the ceiling and fall. Some of the windows were clearly broken, and birds have been living in some rafters. I even saw a few plants growing amongst the upper levels of the domes. It´s a shame; it really is a lovely cathedral, but the building is a fine example of the decline Cadiz has experienced since Spain lost its colonies and empire. The view from the bell tower, however, was perfect. After a bried climb, it was so beautiful to see the Atlantic Ocean and feel a fresh breeze as a respite from the heat. After descending, we finished our tour of Cadiz with a visit to the Casa del Obispo. This place was awesome. The bones of this building have been continuously in use since before Phoenician times. Parts of the house have been excavated to show what the parts of the structure were used for throughout the milennia, most recently as an administrative house for the local Catholic Bishop. It was crazy to see the evolution of form and function of what to an untrained eye looks like piles of rocks and plaster.

SEVILLA
We took an afternoon train into Sevilla and checked into an AMAZING hotel called Las Casas de la Juderia (which I like to interpret as: the Houses of Jewy-ness). It was originally a huge mansion that took up an entire city block in the old city of Seville. It was renovated into a labrynth of rooms, courtyards, and fountains that feel like an escape into a bygone era. Thanks Erica for the recommendation!! The location was brilliant. We took a long evening stroll through Sevilla that first evening, grabbed some dinner, and called it an early night. The next morning we packed in the GIANT cathedral, La Giralda, and a stroll through the Jardines del Murillo. The Cathedral was easily the largest of the trip; we even decided to spring for the audioguide out of fear of getting lost. In the Spanish tradition of finding a beautiful mosque and then adding a bunch of baroque shit to it, the Cathedral is the third largest church in the world, after St. Peter´s in Rome and some other church I wasn´t listening to. After seeing all of the gilded glory of the Cathedral, we climbed to the top of La Giralda, the Cathedral´s bell tower and last remnant of the mosque it replaced. It is 35 grueling flights of stairs to the top, but the view of Sevilla and the breeze at the top were worth it. The Jardines de Murillo are the gardens attached to the Alcazar, the old fortress. We decided to take a siesta before heading out to see a flamenco show that night at this great theatre called Tablao Los Gallos. I had never seen flamenco before -- it was fabulous. Can´t wait to share the pictures. We splurged on a late dinner after that at this
great Andalusian-Basque fusion restaurant called Egaña Oriza. The highlight was the tapa risotoo with mushrooms, truggles, and foie gras shavings. I don´t even like foie gras, but this was fantastic. The beast thing I´ve eaten the whole trip. That just about brings us up to this morning, where Kev and I went to the Museo Taurino (bullfighting museum and bullring) and got a tour of the facilities and history of bullfighting. The Seville bullring is one of the oldest in Spain, and has a fine display of paintings and bullfighter costumes throughout the years. After taking a storll around the Barrio de Santa Cruz, it was time for Kevin to return to Madrid for his flight back to Seattle. I already miss him, and it´s only been 8 hours. I don´t know how it´s going to go without a travel companion -- I guess we´ll see!

SANLUCAR DE BARRAMEDA
As soon as I got Kevin to his train, I hoped over to the bus station and got on a bus to Sanlucar de Barrameda, the northern point of Spains sherry triangle. It´s a smaller city in the Cadiz province, and right across the Rio Guadalquivar from La Doñana national park, one of the last major protected wetlands in Europe. I stubled across this great pension (Pension Blanca Paloma) that is only 17 Euros per night, which is quite a change from the hotels Kev sprung for over the last week. It´s pretty spartan (tonight we dine in hell?) with only a springy matress and a fan, but the door locks and it has a good location. The best part is that it´s definitely run by a family that speaks a dialect of Spanish that I don´t quite catch every word of; and the old dude who runs it is part blind and has the kind of jowls that exacerbate our communication malfunction. He´s really nice though, and very patient when I ask him to please repeat himself. This evening I tried to track down a couple of evening activities: nighttime tours of a sherry bodega and a tour of the 15th century castle, but while both were advbertised, none were actually being offered tonight. Go figure. I got a nice long walk around Sanlucar though, and treated my feet to a mobile pedicure: a walk in the sand by the Rio Guadalquivar. Sand is a natural exfoliant, and it also has the benefit of not judging me on the shape of my cuticles. I should probably head out to find some dinner: it looks like the entire town is converging on the plaza outside as I type. I could have sworn this town had one-twentieth this population when I arived earlier today. That´s it for now; I´ll try to keep everyone posted on the next few days. Right now it´s looking like another day in Sanlucar, followed by a few days in Tarifa (the southern point of Spain) and a day trip to Morocco! Stay safe, everyone. I´ll try to do the same.

Love,
A-bear

Spain...So hot right now.

¡Saludos de España! Spanish keyboards totally make typing Spanish words way easier, btw. Ñ HAS ITS OWN KEY!!

Ok, so this post will be lacking in fotos because I´m on a public computer, but I am otherwise eager to post this first update from Spain. Here follows the account of our first misadventures.

MADRID
Kevin and I left Seattle on Thursday morning and landed in Spain on Friday morning. I still feel like that day never existed. Kev slept not at all on the plane, and I ill-advisedly kept my contacts in for the entire 24 hours of travel and location of our hotel. So my eyes hurt real bad. But other than that, Madrid was totally great. I was able to navigate us to the airport to our hotel without too much trouble. Even though our hotel´s street wasn´t listed on any map (seriously), I figured out that madrileños (Madrid-folk) are really nice and helpful with silly American tourists who own faulty maps. The first afternoon, we checked out the Palacio Real (Royal Palace) which destroyed my definition of opulence. First of all, there is a ceramic room. I´m talking walls, ceiling, ornamentation - everything. It looks like one giant piece of pottery YOU CAN SLEEP IN. Secondly, the carpeted walls and intricate tapestries make Graceland look like a hovel. Later that evening, after totally taking advantage of a FAT siesta, we walked around the Plaza Mayor and strolled around the La Latina district and got some tapas. I don´t know if you are familiar with Iberico ham, but it is the stuff of dreams. It comes from a pig that ONLY eats acorns its whole life. I seriously don´t understand why cannibals bother with human flesh. It is brilliant. We had a night cap in the Plaza mayor and then went off to bed. The next morning, we hit up the Prado Museum (must see) and spent about 4 hours with my friends Goya, Velazquez, and El Greco. I didn get a chance to go the Reina Sofia museum (home to Guernica) but I will be sure to hit that up when I go back through Madrid for my flight back. The weather in Madrid was actually really pleasant. Probably low to mid 80s and sunny with a breeze. Things took a turn, however, after that.

CORDOBA
We took an afternoon AVE express train to Cordoba, a city of about 300k people. I insisted we include Cordoba in our tour of southern Spain for the Mezquita, the cathedral neé mosque, originally founded by the Visigoths in the 6th century, then razed by the Moors after their invasion of Spain in 711 where they built an elaborate mosque, then converted to a gorgeous cathedral after Cordoba fell into the hands of Christians during the Reconquista. I fell in love with the Mezquita after watching Darren Aronofsky´s exquisitely flawed film, The Fountain. I recommend seeing it if only for the visuals. It was everything I could have asked for in person. Easily one of the most beautiful structures I have ever seen in my entire life, and the depth of its history is apparent in its unique beauty. I will definitely be loading pictures when I get the chance with more explanations. After the wonder of the Mezquita, we went to the Museum of Torture, which had really graphic depictions of the torture inflicted on heretics (mostly women) during the Inquisition. Mel Gibson would have loved it. As we wandered around the beautiful historic whitewashed buildings and (pre)medieval architecture, we realized the temperature just kept climbing - even after like 5 pm. It got to about 101 before we decided to splurge on an Arab bath. Three temperatures of soaking water, and a relaxing massage at the end. It was glorious. Well, except for the really hairy men in the baths. I wonder how often they have to clean the drains with mediterranean men in there all the time? Anyway, it was a lovely experience and the perfect cure for footsore tourists adjusting from the 45 degree rainy climate of Seattle. We also checked out the Puente Romano later that evening (Roman Bridge almost fully restored) and had a great dinner at this restaurant called El Churrasco, and I had the eponymous Churrasco, a pork filet served in Arab sauces. It was off the hook.

GRANADA
We got up really early this morning to take a 2.5 hour bus to Granada, home to La Alhambra. Although Granada has almost the exact same population as Cordoba, the two could not have felt more different. Cordoba felt so relaxed, the old historic district (where we stayed) was incredibly well preserved with hardly any modern infiltration, and while there were definitely a fair amount of tourists, I never felt like I did in Paris and Rome: e.g. waiting in line for hours next to screaming kids, guys who wear socks with sandals, and a full mosaic of fanny packs. Cordoba felt like a vacation. First impressions of Granada are that it is crowded, busy, packed, monuments are side by side with apartments and office towers, and (since La Alhambra is the most visited site in Spain) I felt like a grumpy member of a cattle herd during my visit to La Alhambra this afternoon. Perhaps the integration of the old and new in Granada is what makes Granada feel so vibrant and alive, but the flip side is it feels overstuffed and at times kitschy. Cordoba, while great for a tourist looking for a peaceful vacation, gave me the feeling it is more a city in decline, or struggling to find its place in modern Spain. But hey, I only spent a few days in each place so what do I know? Anyway, La Alhambra was absolutely beautiful. There was so much to see. Like La Mezquita, it was built by the Moors but recaptured by the Spanish and converted for the latter´s puposes after the Reconquista. The difference is that La Alhambra was the last bastion of Moorish stregnth in Spain, so, as the haven for Islamic culture in Spain, it had a few more centuries of wealth and artistic development as the other regions fell one by one - and the results are insanely intricate and beautiful. I didn´t even know it was possible to create the type of detailed fixtures I saw in La Alhambra - and the Moors did it a thousand years ago. Lots of pictures coming soon. Probably too many, in fact. The gardens and grounds are just as lovely. Aside from the cattle-like nature of visiting La Alhambra during peak tourist season and the HEAT HEAT HEAT that comes from visiting Spain during July, I really enjoyed the experience. I look forward to tomorrow: the Capilla Real (Royal Chapel), final resting place of Ferdinand and Isabela, the Cathedral, and touring the gardens of the first mosque to be built in Spain in 500 years. Someone tell those people boycotting the Ground Zero mosque that Spain survived a new mosque on controversial ground totally fine.

Ok, if you´ll excuse me, I need to go ingest some salt so I don´t dehydrate. Tomorrow afternoon we leave for Cadiz! Itś a 5 hour bus ride, and I will probably finish the third Game of Thrones book (Is it just me or is it getting TOTALLY EFFED UP AND DEPRESSING?). Iǘe gotten some great suggestions from you all so far. Keep them coming!

Cha-Cha-Changes!

"I still don't know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild"
-David Bowie

Greetings! I have decided to resurrect my long-dormant blog. I know what you're thinking: I'll probably flake out again after another handful or so of posts -- like a drunk who promises to get clean and then does ok for a few weeks before boredly watching the jersey shore, deciding the nadir of humanity has been hit, drinking a fifth of Campari, and then driving their Dodge Caliber through the glass foyer of a 7/11.* But it's not like that, baby. I'm gonna change this time...for real. I promise.

Since my last post back in November, quite a few things have happened to me to change my life pretty significantly. Hence, the blog update. Hold onto your pantaloons...

#1: I applied and was accepted into law school. I'm really looking forward to joining the pretentious hordes of the unemployed and unemployable after my three years in the joint are up. I actually miss being a student. While I have LOVED working at my job for the last year, I realized that in order to be better at my job and to be able to exert the level of control I wanted over my cases, I needed to go to law school to be qualified to do so. I'm so grateful to my former employers and coworkers for everything I learned and the experiences that have inspired me to keep going with my education. ::tear:: Anyway, I start school in late September. I think it's too soon to definitively say what I want to do with my law degree, but I'm toying with immigration law (which I LOVE), internationally-focused law (like the huge international relations geek I am), or who knows maybe I'll discover I love tax law! Probably not, but I'm trying to approach this experience with an open mind.

#2: I quit my job (See #1). I obviously couldn't go to school full time while working in a position that de facto requires 60-70 hours of work per week. School doesn't start until late September, but I quit last week so that I could spend over a month in....

#3: ....SPAIN! I went backpacking with some of my buddies from high school the summer following our sophomore year of college.

The real "A" Team

A much better representation of our maturity level.

Anyway, on my last 40+ day trip backpacking around Europe, I intentionally avoided Spain. I always thought Spain deserved its own trip, and I didn't want to shortchange my experience there by sandwiching all the vibrancy of the entire nation between the culture overload of Paris and Rome. As a shameless Latino-phile, Spain has always held a sense of exotic curiosity for me as the mother, conqueror, bloated sovereign, and/or disgraced autocrat of the majority of the Western Hemisphere (depending on whose perspective you take). As a Latin American Studies major (nerd alert!) most of what I learned about Spain came from a very Latin American frame of reference. I think it will be incredibly interesting to see how Spanish art museums and architectural wonders from the Renaissance address the origin of the profound wealth that made the Spanish empire flourish, if it is addressed at all. For this reason, one of the places I am dying to see in Spain is the museum of Latin American art in Madrid. I hope to take a few hours every three days or so to update my blog and keep all of you posted on my time there. I leave tomorrow morning and will return on August 11th. If you have any recommendations for places to go or sites to see, please shoot me an email or hit me up on the facebook. I should be checking those fairly frequently. Kev is flying out with me and we are spending the first week together in southern Spain: Cordoba, Granada, Sevilla, a day trip to Morocco, Gibraltar, etc., then he flies back to the States and I'll be figuring out where to go from there. I know I want to hit up Cadiz and Murcia in the south, then maybe go straight north and hike part of the Camino de Santiago de Compostela pilgrimage trail for about a week, then skip across the northern coast and hang out in Basque country: Santander, Bilbao, San Sebastian, maybe Pamplona, then skirt on down to Barcelona to meet up with a few friends from college who will happily have about 5 days of overlap with my trip. I'd love any recs for specific places to see, restaurants to try, or types of food to eat. HOLLER AT ME!

#4: Moving time. Kev and I are moving into the city! We found this cute house to rent that has giant windows, an open floorplan, and a fenced in yard. Pretty much my big three. Our current neighborhood is secluded, boring, and right by the interstate (which is convenient but LOUD). The new neighborood is near Lake Washington, has a lot of waterfront parks, is an easy commute or bus ride to school, is located within walking distance of a good amount of bars, restaurants, grocery stores, and did I mention PARKS?! This all becomes very important because we are also getting...

#5: A puppy! Within a few days of my return from Spain, we will be picking up our brand new Alaskan Malamute puppy. Her name is Tauntaun. Because she is a snow beast and her owners are colossal Star Wars geeks. Let's just hope she doesn't smell that bad...on the outside. We've had that name picked out since our drive across the country last January to move Kevin up to Seattle. We were on our way through Wyoming (P.S.: never go to Wyoming - it's full of snow and Dick Cheney), and, having recently re-watched the Empire Strikes Back for the 50th time, I remarked that only Tauntauns could ever live in such a icy hellhole. Kevin reminded me that malamutes would also be quite happy covered in 6 feet of snow, and thus the name for our future dog was born. She is only about 10 days old right now, and I don't have any pictures of her yet, but this is what she will probably look like in a couple of weeks:

Who wants to come visit me now? Hmmm???

Maybe after I get back from Spain this blog will morph into a "I HATE LAW SCHOOL OMG WHY WON'T THIS DOG STOP HOWLING I NEED XANAX!!!" semi-annual update. Fingers crossed!

So that's about it for now. Check back in here in a few days and ::hopefully:: I'll have kicked that nasty Campari habit and will have a Spain update ready for your eager and attentive eyes. Love to you all, and hope to hear about your summer plans soon!

-Abear

*No Ethiopians were harmed in the writing of this blog. You're welcome, Alex.