Bob Loblaw's Law Blog

"I fought the law, and the law won."

-every law student ever

And a Happy happy hour to you all. I am writing to you from the comfort of my couch, drinking a Guinness Extra Stout, watching a SyFy (is anyone else irrationally pissed they changed it from SciFi?) showing of Serenity, and shooing away my 3 month-old Alaskan Malamute puppy from biting at my extremities. Thanks to my only Friday class being cancelled tomorrow, I am officially finished with my second week of law school. It's been about a month and a half since my return from Spain, and the month between my return to the good old US of A -- and the end of my leisurely life as I know it -- was a pretty wonderful opportunity for me to do nothing except settle into the new place (it's awesome, by the way), go for daily runs, and raise/train my new puppy. Despite my somewhat lackadaisical approach to training, our smart little monster now knows basic commands and seems pretty much house trained. Success. She's also a cute little bugger.

I can has your soul?

By now, obviously, I'm an official law student. As a preface to the next few (years of) blog posts, I've never met an attorney who didn't tell me they hated their first semester of law school, but didn't end up loving the experience in the long run. I definitely need to make some readjustments to my life now that I am a professional student again: mainly, remembering what it's like to sacrifice sleep to complete excessive reading, having assignments hang over my head at night and on weekends, and just really holding in the contempt for classmates that habitually make asinine and self-important comments in each class. Ideally, I'd like to post something at the end of every week that summarizes my reflections on law school; possibly something interesting I've learned, something unintentionally hilarious I've overheard, or just something messed up about the process of the study and practice of law. My thought for this week is: I'm really happy red wine exists. After a day of being hyper-caffinated to get through a straight 9:00-3:30 class schedule, and the previous night's infinite reading, red wine is my happy juice that makes everything ok when I come home. Maybe in a few weeks I can advance to meditation or exercise to wash my weary soul...but for now, red red wine, you make me feel so fine.

I've heard it described that the first few weeks of law school are like swimming in the middle of the ocean at midnight: you have no idea where you are, how to get to place of safety, or how long you can go on before you feel like you drown. Perhaps this analogy is a bit melodramatic, but for the first few days, it feels apropos enough to describe the unbelievable helplessness that comes with being surrounded by geniuses who can read and reason better than you after reading the most dense material ever put in front of you. Again, probably melodramatic. But lawyers are a whiney bunch. I'm pretty sure the profession only exists because, as a group, we can't deal with math or hard science. But we sure do talk good.

I think my biggest beef with law school is that I feel like I have no purpose. Sure, I'm apparently learning a valuable skill to be a part of a licensed profession...but I miss the sense that I'm actually doing anything with my life. I feel a little bit useless. I know this feeling will pass once I get the basics down and can work in legal clinics and specialize in a field where I can do some good...but I think for now I feel like I'm doing the same thing as thousands of other first year law students (reading old cases without knowing entirely what to glean from them), and don't feel like I'm contributing anything to society other than the future dividend to graduate student loan lenders.

I hope my (intended) weekly posts about the quirky experiences of law school will give you some joy, and that in my reflection, I can remember that I'm getting some joy out of all of this as well.

Love to you all!

A-bear

P.S. GEAUX SAINTS!!! The networks don't broadcast the games up here (those heathens), so I found a sports bar in our neighborhood that shows all Saints games. Looking forward to the Carolina game this weekend!

I'll be Amster-god-damned.

From way up on your cloud
Where you've been hiding out
Are you getting somewhere?
Or did you get lost in Amsterdam?
-Guster

Hey folks. You might be wondering why I'm posting a blog update when I'm supposed to be on a flight heading back to the U.S. Well s allow me to illuminate you. Shortly after my last post was published, the weather in Amsterdam started to turn to the cold, rainy temperate that I've grown accustomed to in Seattle's November-May season. By this point I had spent a couple of hours wandering around, walking from Amsterdam's Centraal Station (trained there from the airport) up to the Museum district, which is a few kilometers away. After the weather got bad, my first instinct was to say "fuck it" to Amsterdam and head back to the airport where I would be dry, but my wanderlust got the better of me and I decided to spend a few hours exploring Amsterdam and a few of its museums. Initially, I headed to the Van Gogh museum, since the last time I was in Amsterdam, I was a stereotypical 20-year old tourist who was high as a kite (Sorry, mom), so my memories of seeing Van Gogh are a bit surreal. The line this time was unreal...so I headed over to the nearby Rijksuseum, which (I think) I didn't see the last time around. I enjoyed the Rijks quite a bit...it was interesting after so much dogma-heavy Catholic art in Spain to see the more humanistic portraits of Vermeer and Rembrandt, culminating in The Nightwatch - which was just as impressive in person as I've been told it is by art teachers over the years. Since the weather was so bad, I decided to take a tram back to the station so I could catch a train back to the airport. The tram, bein in a touristy area during bad weather, was incredibly packed. I hopped on, and a few inutes later after being squished between a lot of people, I reached into my purse to grab some money to pay the trolley. That's when I realized my wallet was missing. Isearched frantically for a few mminutes, then hopped off the tram and ran back to the Rijksmuseum to see if I had lost it there somehow, even though pretty much every instinct I had at that point told me it had been stolen. My wallet contained not only my passport and 50 Euro in cash, but also my credit cards, my boarding pass for my flight the next morning, and the ticket for the airport locker in which my backpack was currently being stored. Yes, it was silly to carry all of that together at once, but I suppose after 35 days in all parts of Spain without any such incidences, I perhaps got lulled into a false sense of security in Amsterdam - which is supposedly MUCH safer than most places I've been in Spain. But, I suppose life imitates art, as the dude who got mugged in Amsterdam in Eurotrip (one of my favorite movies) should remind me. The receptionist pointed me toward a police station about 20 minutes away by walking. She told me I should take the tram, but I had about 5 Euro in pockets and I wasn't going to blow that on the tram since I had no idea what was going to happen to me. I made my way over to the police station, and the officer at the desk informed me that the American Consulate had closed 15 minutes ago, and there was nothing he could do. I asked him if I could make a report, and he said no, I had to come back tomorrow. After I insisted the Consulate would have an emergency line (and I'm pretty sure this qualifies) he sighed and went to look it up. I ccalled the American Consulate in Amsterdam (which was indeed closed) and the marine on duty patched me through to the American Embassy in the Hague. Praise Kanye for that woman, because at this point I was a nervous wreck. I had no money, nowhere to go, no identification, and a flight to catch at 10am the next morning. She called Kevin for me, since I had no way to make an international call, and explained the situation, helped us book me a hotel room for the night, and assured me that everything would be ok, I just needed to show up at the consulate the next morning to sorrt out an emergency passport. But I was definitely not going to make my flight.Thanks to her and Kevin, for letting me use his credit card information rather liberally over the last 24 hours, I got a room at the Amsterdam Marriott with access to room service so I could eat untilI got everything sorted out. I finally got a hold of myself while I was checking in, until the receptionist told me I had to give them some form of ID. I reitereated that everything had been stolen...EVERYTHING, and I had no ID. She told me I had to show her a police report, and I told her they wouldn't take one until the next morning. She kept telling me she couldn't let me check in, and at that point (though I had held it together pretty well up until that point) I totally broke down and just cried until the head of security came over and I explained my situation....then he convinced her to just let me check in, with the provision that I bring them a copy of the police report as soon as I secured one. This all only happened last night, but it feels like a month ago right now. Once I got up to my room, I cancelled my credit cards, talked to Delta to let them know I wouldn't be making my flight the next morning, then took a hot shower, crawled into the big, fluffy king-sized bed, ordered a club sandwich and fries from room service, and watched Inception in my room. It made a WORLD of difference. I felt completely normal again, and just accepted I wouldn't make my flight and at this point had done everything I could do. Ironically, it was probably the best night's sleep I've had the whole trip. No youth hostel bunk beds, or pension rooms opening up to a loud, raucus plaza. Just a quiet room and a thick comorter and English-language TV stations. It's really all a girl could ask for. That, and an awesome boyfriend who made all that happen. I seriously love you, boo! I woke up this morning and headed over to the American Consulate at 8:00 am. There was actually quite a long line, even though I thought I was getting there very early. Turns out, no less than 5 other Americans had their passports stolen the exact same day. One chick I met was supposed to be immigrating to Canada that morning, but her passport was stolen along with her backpack that contained all her immigration paperwork. So...I could have had it worse. Thankfully, we got skipped to the front of the line. They asked me for a police report too...I felt like I was going in circles. The police said I needed to talk to the consulate first, and the consulate wanted a police report to show some official offering of my identity. Security was pretty tight just to get into the building. I made it clear that I had nothing, and was prepared to break out the waterworks a bit, but they just let me fill out a form with all my vital info and admitted me. Then I filled out the paperwork, and had to pay $135 for an emergency passport. Thanks again to my totally understanding boyfriend, who let me wake him up at 1 am Seattle time to get his credit card authorization once again. They told me it would be tready by about 3pm, so I went to the police station, gave a full report to a very nice and funny officer named Martin (and got a copy to show the hotel), then headed back to my hotel and called Delta to see what flight I could get on in the next 24 hours now that I had an ETA on my passport. I spoke with a great manager who was horrified by my sob story, and got me on a flight for tomorrow morning without making me pay for any fare difference and waived the change-fee (provided I show my police report at the Delta check-in desk). This was such a huge relief for me, as I was sure I was going to be out a couple thousand dollars by buying a new last-minute ticket. I wish I could send that lady a fruit basket or something. I ordered some lunch and watched Eurotrip in my room (I thought I deserved a good laugh) then headed back to the consulate to pick up my passport. Now I officially have my passport, a ticket to go home tomorrow, and a comfortable bed to sleep in tonight. Yes, my time in Amsterdam has been a huge pain in the ass...but looking on the brightside of things, it's really only money after all. I'm taking out a shitload of debt over the next three years, so what's another $500 or so in the grand scheme of things? Plus, and I cannot understate the importance of this enough, this bed is ridiculously comfortable. I feel like a new woman. I was going to arrive home after spending two consecutive nights in an airport, sore and achy from that plus a month's worth of travelpains. Now I feel a bit refreshed. And it only added another day to my trip. The only part that really bums me out is losing my passport. I had so many stamps inside it Europe to my visas for Central and South Amercica and this trip...it makes me sad to lose all of that. I guess that's what pictures are for. I'm really glad they didn't steal my camera...that's for sure.

I know this has been kind of a rambling post, but I just wanted to reassure everyone that I'm ok, and I will be back home tomorrow. I will probably finish my thoughts on Spain one I'm home, and give an overview of Barcelona and Huesca, which were hugely fun because I got to meet up with some friends. I feel like I can't think about that part of my trip right now with the depth required to do that post justice, so I'll save it for later. All in all, a pretty solid trip. I can't wait to go home and talk to you all again.

Till next time!
A-bear

End of the line. No re-entry.

Hello Americans!

I know it has been quite a while since my last update. The frenetic pace of my trip has seemed to increase in the last week or so, and I have opted to spend what little time I had left in Spain to seeing things, instead of telling you all about it. Forgive me for my rationality. I am sitting in an "internet" cafe in Amsterdam right now writing this update. I have a 24 hour layover between Madrid and Seattle in this fine city, and so I decided to hang out and try to check out some sights before heading to the airport. So, here follows my final update from Europe, although I hope to post a final update on my trip once I return to the States and have some time to defrag.

SEGOVIA
It seems like months ago that I was in Segovia. I headed over that way because the Roman Aqueduct is located smach in the middle of town. It is in incredible condition, mostly due to an intensive restoration project in the 80s and 90s. No mortar at all holds the massive structure together, and I took plenty of pictures at all angles and light levels. On my first day in town, I trekked up the hill to drop off my backpack at my hostel, then headed over to the Alcazar, the Segovian fortress. As with most old fortresses in Spain, it began as a Roman fortress, then was built up by the Moors, then converted to a Christian stronghold after the Reconquista. Unfortunately, most of it burned down in the mid-1800s, so its present iteration is a much-restored, highly romanticized version of its earlier self. Allegedly, this castle was the inspiration for Disney's Sleeping Beauty castle, although I've heard the same said about the Neuschwanstein Castle just outside of Munich. Now having seen both castles up close and personal, I'd say the Alcazar looks a bit more authentic. There is a giant, four-storey moat (enpty) encircling the castle, and some serious dungeons as well as gorgeous towers with sweeping viewrs of Castilla y Leon. Fun fact: Isabel (as in Colombus' patron) was crowned queen of Castille in a church in Segovia, so they loves them some Queen Isabel in Segovia. After visiting the Alcazar, I cleaned up at my hostel before heading out to treat myself to a fancy dinner at Casa Duque, which has been serving up Segovia's specialty, cochinillo asado (roast suckling pig), for something like 150 years. And it shows. That was some delicious pig. and the other 4 courses were pretty fantastic. I was a typical tourist and took pictures of every course, so those will come shortly. I went to go find a bar to listen to some music after dinner, but like 40% of my Lonely Planet guide recommendations, the bar was no longer there. So I just went back to see the aquaduct at night and had some wine in the square and took pictures. The next morning, I went to see the Cathedral, which was pretty gorgeous, then had a quick lunch at a pastry shop before heading over to the Museum of Contemporatry Art, which had this interesting exhibit about the origin of painting as interpreted by a Greek legend, and it's implications on form and beauty. I enjoyed it, but like a lot of contemporary art, I felt like the artist was sort of browbeating me with the point she was trying to make. The museum also had a garden attached to it, and I saw two of the tiniest kittens I have ever seen living under one of the sculptures. I spent the afternoon wandering around Segovia before taking dinner in the plaza (roast suckling lamb this time, which I thought was mediocre). The next morning, I caught a bus to Burgos, in northern Castilla Leon.

BURGOS
I really liked Burgos. I got a good first impression because the owner of my hostel was a really kindly older guy, and we bonded over cooking crawfish when he found out I was from Louisiana. Then I found an open farmacia (pharmacy), and one of the clerks helped me find relatively small, inexpensive versions of all the shampoo, contact solution, toothpaste, etc. that I had run out of the previous day. Farmacias in Spain are not at all like Walgreens in the US. They stick to the narrower definiton of pharmacy, carrying only medicines and personal hygiene products. And they usually only have display products up, and you have to ask for the item you want so they can pull it oput of the back or a side drawer. Anyway, after my farmacia outing, I asked the hostel owner if there were any good walking paths nmearby, and he pointed me towards one that took me about 2 kilometers outside town, walking up the river toward a wooded area with a manufactured beach. It was a beautiful walk, and it felt nice to take a walk where I wasn't surrounded on all sides by tourists in a rush with screaming children. It took me a few hours to get all the way out and back, and I paused in the park at the end of the trail to continue reading DQ (Don Quixote - not Dairy Queen). The next day, I decided to pay homage to El Cid, who was born and raised just outside of Burgos. You may have seen the "historical" fiction movie starring Sophia Loren and Charlton Heston. Apparently he wasn't quite as valliant and Christian as the movie portrayed, but people seldom are. Either way, Burgos plays up their connection to El Cid, even though he spent his latter days and died in Valencia. His remains are buried in the Burgos Cathedral (typically extravagant and beautiful for Spain). There are several statues of El Cid in and around town, so I went to check them out, and saw the interesting artistic licenses taken. I had a famulous lunch at a vegan restaurant in the old quarter. I have long held a prejudice against vegan food, because I find most vegans pretty insufferable as a bunch (although I have known a few who are cool and not holier-than-thou about it). However, after so many weeks of bread and pork products, I felt like I was craving something with lots of vegetables and not a lot of processed fats. I gotta say, I've been totally coverted to the merits of vegan food by that restaurant alone. It was one of the best meals I had in Spain, and all vegan. While I'm not in danger of becoming a full vegan (I could not live without seafood, first of all), I think it couldn't hurt to incorporate a bit more vegan-inspired cuisine into my diet. I think as a rule people eat far too much shit, and the idea that we have to have a meat with every meal has become less appetizing to me as I get older. So look forward to vegan cooking experiences in future blog posts. Anyway, after a lunch that was delicious and filling without being heavy (!), I took a hike up to the Castillo (castle) at the top of the hill. Unfortunately, it was closed the day I was there so I couldn't go inside, but the trail was lovely and I got some great views and pictures of Burgos from the top. On my way back down I stopped over the Puente de Santa Maria, and passed under the Arco (arch) of the same name. The Arco usually has a museum inside, but it was closed to set up for the next exhibit. It sounds like some of the sights were a bust, but I really enjoyed myself in Burgos because the people were incredibly nice, the views were beautiful, and it felt a bit more relaxed than the previous few places I had been in Spain.

LA RIOJA (LOGRONO, HARO, BRIONES)
The next morning, I got up and caught an early bus to Logrono, in the heart of La Rioja, Spanish wine country. My hostel room was a single, which was nice, and had a small terrace overlooking the old town square. I spent my first afternoon just walking around, as I usually do, exploring and getting a feel for the town. I passed some great wine shops and wineskin shops (still handmade) and walked over a few bridges that cross the Ebro River. Logrono owes much of its growth during medieval times to the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage trail, and the town is very mindful of its history, with plenty of establishments catering to pilgrims and the trademark scallop shell decorating many a streetsign, wall, or walking path. I pintxo-hopped my way through the old quarter that evening, drinking quite a bit of red wine (I was in wine country...I had to...) before heading up to my hostel. I intended on taking an early bus out to Haro, which is supposedly the best please to visit bodegas (wineries) in La Rioja. I had a really lame experience in Haro (even though I got there by 11 am, none of the sights were open yet, none of the wineries would accept visits without a pre-arranged appointment, and this crotchety old dude who ran the sandwich shop in the bus station kept insisting he didn't understand me and wouldn't let me but a sandwich - fuck him, p.s.), so decided to cut out early in favor of nearby Briones, a tiny town of 900 people that is home to the incredible four-floor Dinastia Vivanco museum. The Vivanco family (or dynasty, as the name of the museum implies) is a major wine producer in La Rioja, and has been mproducing wine for several generations. The current owner has this awesome cheesey introduction video that everyone has to watch before entering the museum, and it discusses how he built the museum to pay homage to the land that has given the family its livelihood. The museum houses a thorough history of wine and wine-making, with massive exhibits and videos of barrel-making, wine bottle-blowing, wineskin-crafting, corking, and the world's largest collection of wine openers (seriously). There was also a ton of incredibly well-preserved artifacts of wine bottles, bowls, and art related to wine and its uses dating back from phoenician times to the present. It has got to be one of the most impressive private museums I have ever seen. Briones is such a small town that it has no real bus stop...so you have to just ask around town to see where the buses pick you up. It's completely unmarked, and I talked to about 5 different elderly folks (there seem to be few native young people in rural Spain) who told me roughly similar directions, so I hung out near a park bench that seemed to corrrespond to where most were telling me to go, and eventually, lucked out and caught a bus back to Logrono. That evening I had dinner in the square and a real ass 20 piece Mexican mariachi band was performing. It was SO refreshing to hear a Mexican accent again. No lisping at all. Wonderful. I stayed out a bit later than I anticipated that night (my waiter kept buying me glasses of wine) but eventually called it a night and got up the next morning to rush to catch my train for Zaragoza, with a connecting train to Barcelona. I was in such a rush, that I left my new jacket (that I purchased in San Sebastian) in the closet. I realized it about 10 minutes before my train pulled into Barcelona that afternoon, and I new that it was long gone by that point. I hope whoever finds it puts it to good use. In the meantime, I will pour a little out for my bitchin jacket that I thought would be the pride and joy of my trip to Spain. Sigh.

I need to head out now. Will finish my update a little later.

Real Talk: Spain

Well I can´t tell you where I´m going, I´m not sure of where I´ve been
But I know I must keep travelin´til my road comes to an end
I´m out here on my journey tryin to make the most of it
I´m a puzzle, I must figure out where all my pieces fit
-The great Dolly Parton

And a very good day to you from España! Right now I´m sitting in an internet cafe in Valladolid, Spain, having just taken an excruciating bus ride from Segovia and awaiting my next bus to Burgos. My wise and tarty friend Alex, currently about a month into her stint working in East Timor, recently made a very good point in her blog that about a month into your stay in a new country, a combination of homesickness and moderate irritability start to set in. In short, the novelty of experiencing a totally different place and lifestyle, while exciting at first, eventually wears down a bit, and you become less tolerant of the location´s idiosyncracies that were once amusing, but now just highlight the inconvenince of not being home. Don´t get me wrong, I´m not trying to compare my friend´s research project on sanitation and drinking water in East Timor to my trip backpacking around Spain just for the hell of it. Nor am I trying to complain - because backpacking around Spain just for the hell of it is pretty awesome - but I feel like I need to get a few things off my chest so that I can return to fully loving the hell out of Spain. So, without further ado, it´s time for REAL TALK: SPAIN EDITION.

1) Spanish people are REALLY loud. I´m not saying this is universal, but I have encountered SO MANY people have only two volume levels: mumbling (usually in a customer service capacity) or screaming like you´re trying to communicate across a football field (often found in small enclosed spaces, like aboard buses and trains, and in museum lobbies). The bus system in Spain is pretty reliable, and a lot cheaper than traveling by train, so I have been utilizing it pretty standardly. Without fail, every time I have gotten on a long distance bus, a pair of loud Spanish women of any age will sit directly behind me (no matter how many open seats there are) and proceed to talk at each other as if they were trying to communicate in front of the speaker system at a Van Halen concert. It´s just a little bit grating after a few hours. And I feel like every woman sounds like she has been smoking 3 packs a day since she hit kindergarten. I don´t mind the throaty voices; I´ve just been shocked on a number of occasions when a girl I take to be my age starts speaking with the voice of an emphysema patient.

2) I don´t get siestas. I don´t. I´ve tried, and the only time it remotely made sense was when I hadn´t slept in 30 hours because I had just flown from Seattle to Madrid. I get that it´s the culture here, and I have tried to embrace it. But it just strikes me as a HUGE waste of time. Yeah, I love naps...but I´m on vacation. I sleep in. And nothing here seems to open until 9 or 10 am anyway, so it´s not like museums or stores are open from 5 am and they need an afternoon break. It´s just like the entire city shuts down for technically 2 - but often 4 - hours a day. I want to go out and see sights, but nothing is open. I tried to nap during siesta, but it just makes me feel disoriented when I wake back up, and then I can´t get to sleep until like 4am that night. I tried just chilling at cafes and drinking sangria - but three hours a day is a long time to drink alone without admitting a serious substance abuse problem. I tried to hang out in parks and read, but I´ve torn through so many of my books that I have almost nothing left to read. I´d buy another book...BUT NOTHING IS EVER OPEN. That brings me to my next point:

3) NOTHING IS EVER OPEN. Not even pharmacies. Seriously. I ran out of shampoo, contact solution, and toothpaste all on the same day. Unhappily, that was yesterday, a Sunday. I walked all over Segovia trying to find a single open farmacia, and could not find a one. All day. Forget shampoo; people need medicine on Sundays, right? I feel like I´m complaining a lot, which I don´t mean to do. I think I´m just in a sour mood because I couldn´t brush my teeth this morning and I washed my hair with bar soap last night (after holding out a few days to find shampoo - it needed to happen). So I just feel...gross and kinda weird. And I miss home. I wanted to call Kevin or my parents a few days back just to check in and hear a familiar voice, but Segovia aparently has no internet cafes near the old town, and the only one I could find after wandering around for an hour was closed. Of course. During non-siesta time, too. Then I tried three pay phones, none of which worked. So I guess I´m just a bit irritated. But, in the words of Arrested Development, ¨don´t let that spoil prison for you!¨

I´ve actually had quite a lot of fun since my last update. The weather is wonderful, so I´ve been in really good mood aside from my minor grievances listed above. So from here on out, no complaining. Just good old fashioned cheerful notes on what´s been up as I´m travelin´through.

SAN SEBASTIAN (continued)

So you know how in my last update I said I was probably just going to grab some tapas and some wine and head to bed? Yeah...that definitely did not happen. I did make my way back to my hostel, where I ended up hanging out in the common room with two Austrian chicks, an American hippie (he denied being a hippie, but we convinced him later that night that he needed to embrace it), the Argentine owner of the hostel, and this young American kid (only 19) who works at the hostel and reminds me of who Shia LeBeouf obviously wants to be. His parents were Basque, but he was born and raised in the States, worked on motorcycles most of his life, went to a liberal arts college, dropped out after a year, innovated some crazy car part with this friend of his father´s, then used that money to travel all over the world, working odd jobs here and there for room and board. Really cool kid. Anyway, the two ex-pat locals took us to get some great pintxos (I had a crepe with monkfish, shrimp, and this awesome green sauce) and then to a non-touristy bar which was like a 20 minute walk through town in the FREEZING POURING rain. But it was totally worth it. We had this drink called Calimocha, which is a mixture of cheap red wine and coca cola. It tastes as bizarre as it sounds. After a few of those, some shots, some beers, etc., I made friends with the guitarrist of the band who was playing at the bar. They were playing a lot of American covers, as well as some Manu Chau and Juanes. Somehow (I´m fuzzy on the details) I ended up getting on stage and singing ¨No Woman No Cry¨with the band. It was a LOT of fun, and everybody seemed to really like it. We all eventually stumbled back to our hostel somewhere in the neighborhood of 3 am, and I of course slept through my alarm and missed my early bus the next day. It wasn´t an expensive ticket though, and the crazy good time we had the previous night more than justified paying for a new ticket on a later bus.

VALLADOLID

I arrived in Valladolid excited to see the sun again. It was warm and sunny, and I found a really cheap hotel in a central location. After having stayed in a comunal environment for the previous 5 or 6 nights, I was so stoked about having some privacy and taking as long a bath as I wanted. After some relaxing, I headed out at about 10 to grab some dinner, having finally gotten it through my thick skull that nobody goes to dinner before that time. Well, it seems this doesn´t apply quite as much in Valladolid. Almost everything was closed, so I ended up going to a wine bar called Vinotinto and ate some iberico ham and bread and drank some wine before taking a stroll through the central plaza area and then heading back to my hotel. Not that exciting a night. But I made up for it the next day. I booked a late train to Salamanca so I could enjoy a full day seeing the sites in Valladolid. A little background: Valladolid was once the most important city in Spain, but the powers that be decided that it Valladolid was getting too big for its own good and so the smaller Madrid was made the capital of the newly-united country, much to Valladolid´s chagrin. Charles V even tried to move the royal court to Valladolid, but it was hugely unpopular and only lasted a few years. Consequently, Valladolid has a TON of history, art, culture, and architecture...but not that many people around to appreciate it. It was one of the least touristy cities I´ve been to. Frankly, I didn´t even know it existed until I read For Whom the Bell Tolls early in my trip. So I started my day out exploring the city, heading first to the Plaza de San Pablo and the lovely church therein which bears the same name. There were a number of incredible statues inside, many of which were figures of El Cristo Yacente (Reclining Christ), which were super-realistic portrayals of Jesus´dead body after his crucifixation. The detail of the wounds would make Oscar Romero shudder. After that, I headed over to the nearby National Sculpture Museum, and saw some pretty amazing sculptures. Mostly religious, due to the huge importance of the Contrareforma (counter-reformation) period, in which the church pretty much mandated that all art had to address the greatness of the true faith. After that, I wandered through the Parque de las Moreras and made my way over to the Casa de Cervantes, where Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra lived for a few years and (possibly) wrote the prologue to Don Quixote. It was a lovely little house with a recreation of what his home may have looked like. The guides were incredibly informative. I think I might have been the only person there all afternoon. One of the guides and I struck up a conversation about Don Quixote (I told her I was trying to read it with limited success in Spanish) which led to discussing antiquated words, which led to bonding over the Game of Thrones series (her daughter is reading them too!). After I closed down the Cervantes House (siesta time!) I wandered over to the Casa De Colon (Colombus House) devoted to the life and voyages of Christopher Colombus. It didn´t reopen for another few hours, so I walked around for awhile and eventually decided to park on a bench and read some more Don Quixote. After a while, this older dude sits down next to me. Literally every single other bench was open, so I got a bit sketched out. But the Spanish have a different perception of personal space, so I didn´t want to overreact. He sat there for a few minutes, then started drumming his fingers on the bench, and eventually commented in Spanish on my e-reader, saying something about it being a touch screen. I nodded and returned to my e-book. He started mumbling intermittently, not looking directly at me, so I wasn´t sure if he was talking to me or not. Either way, his voice sounded like it had been ravaged by emphysema and he wasn´t making an effort to enunciate, so I couldn´t make out a lot of what he was saying anyway. So I just ignored it and kept reading. Eventually, he looked at me and told me I was very attractive, that I had a ¨precious face¨ (creepiest compliment ever). I shrugged it off, thanking him for the sentiment, but said I couldn´t really understand him. He smirked, then said ¨yes, you understand¨. I tried to return to my book. Then he pulled out his keys and told me he wanted me to go back with him to his place. At this point I got sufficiently creeped out, put away my book, and said I had to train to catch within an hour (not true), and wished him a nice day. He protested, telling me I should be able to spend more time with him, and I curtly told him no thanks, I had to go, and I started to walk away. I made it about three blocks when I got this cold feeling all over me and turned around and saw the guy was following me. I made a couple of quick turns and increased my pace. About five blocks later, I checked my periphery and realized he was still following me and seemed to be gaining. At this point I freaked out and broke into a run, and I could only think about those slasher films where the female victim is running as fast as she can, and Michael Myers or Jason or whatever serial killer just walks calmly and steadily towards her. Everyone knows she is going to die. Even she knows it. Luckily I had spent the last couple of hours exploring this part of the city, so I had a pretty good idea of where I was and made a series of erratic turns at full speed. I don´t know how long I ran, I just know when I turned around, I had lost him. I have literally never been that scared while travelling alone. It was midday in an incredibly public place, and I have gotten lost by myself at night in some of the sketchiest parts of South America, Memphis, and New Orleans and never been that scared. I really don´t know what would have happened if I saw him again. Probably yelled for the police. It just scared the shit out of me even though it was probably nothing and he probably just wanted to catch up to me to make another entreaty. I don´t know. I think I need to take up kickboxing. Anyway, I finally made my way back to the Colombus museum and composed myself. The museum itself was kind of a let down. There was a really great history leading up to his voyages, and then a few artifacts from the Americas...but not much mention of the people of the ¨New World¨ that were more or less obliterated after he ¨discovered¨ them. I thought it was an odd and convenient omission. After the museum, I headed over to the train station to catch my ride to...

SALAMANCA

I really loved Salamanca. I had some friends who did a summer course there during high school and I´ve always been a bit jealous of not being able to go. Salamanca is absolutely beautiful. Most of the city, and certainly almost all of the old town, is constructed from sandstone, which gives the city a dignified continuity that would look like it was trying too hard to be pretty anywhere else. After arriving and checking into my hotel (Don Quixote-themed, as it happens), I treated myself to a fancy dinner in the exquisite Plaza Mayor, which is illuminated at night to magnificent effect. I ate at an outdoor table at Meson Cervantes, and had a few glasses of wine and the roast duck breast with a house grape sauce, which I´m pretty sure I will spend the rest of my life trying to recreate. It was incredible. I wandered around a bit more after dinner to get a feel for the city, then turned in around midnight. The next morning, I decided to do a full walking tour of the city to get a survey of all the sights, which took about three hours. I had booked three nights at my hotel, so I was in no huurry to cram in everything on day 1. I popped into the lovely Cathedral and wandered around. It was almost chilly inside the huge stone structure, which was a nice respite from the near 100 degree temp outside. Afterwards, I wandered over to see the old Roman Bridge before going over to the Convento de San Esteban (Saint Steven Monastery), which was also gorgeous. I let myself get a little lost in Salamanca, and it was a wonderful way to get to know the city and find my way back, finishing my day with a trip to an Asturian bar that makes its own cider. Two cups, please. The next morning, I started my day with a visit to the Museo Taurino (bullfighting museum) which had a great collection of memorabilia from bullfighters throughout the years. Then, I went to the Museo de Salamanca to take in some roman, medieval, renaissance, and modern art. The location was superb: very peaceful. Then I headed to the university, found the infamous frog carved into the facade, then rounded out my day with a visit to the Museo de Art Nouveau y Art Deco, which had a bizarre collection of 1920s and 1930s art, sculpture, and (creepiest of all) children´s dolls and toys. After a few fresh mojito and another dinner in the Plaza Mayor, I turned in and caught an early bus to Segovia the next day.

I have to leave off here...my bus for Burgos leaves in 20 minutes. I will explain the glory of Segovia in my next post. Until next time, hope all is well!

Hasta luego,
A-bear

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