May 26th, 2010
Bitter Fruit
Sevilla is repleat with Seville orange trees, a bitter fruit not fit for consumption. They are instead harvested by the city and sold for the making of marmalade. Right now some of the trees are burdened with full ripe oranges and some just with little green pre-oranges that fall on you when the wind passes through.
These oranges can also be found in the local sangria we found out today at lunch.
So you know how in movies and tv shows when someone goes to a bar and orders a beer they never specify which beer they want, as if the bar only had one kind? Well in Spain it really seems to be like that in most places. You say “una cerveza” and you get whatever they serve. Usually you don’t have anyway of knowing. Fortunately none of it has been Bud or Coors so it’s been working out ok.
Last night we met with Estefania, a friend of a friend who had spent a year living and studying in Sevilla. She was kind enough to meet with us and show us around even though she hadn’t spoken to my friend in 16 years. He’d tracked her down when he heard we were coming through. She took us to a good bar for tapas and ordered us a wide variety of very tasty dishes. It was the kind of tapas experience you are supposed to have in Spain but can be surprisngly difficult to have if you don’t speak the language and don’t know where to look. After, we went to a place for dessert that had the most amazing looking (and tasting) concoctions. We ordered some to share and I ordered one made with the local oranges. It had a slight bitter edge off set by the sweet merangue and cake.
Today was laundry day and a bit of a revelation. The place that our hotel sent us to had a drop off and pick up service for the bargain price of 6€. Considering the time saved (and the fact that in Venice we spent more than that just trying to get our clothes dry) it was more than worth the price. I’m never going to do my own laundry in Europe again if I can help it.
In the afternoon we took a guided tour of the Alcazar with Concepción Delgado (suggested in Rick Steves). It was well worth it. Simmilar in styling to the Alhambra but not moorish. It was mujahideen. That is: remodeled and built atop a 10th century palace by arabic workers left behind after the reconquista at the behest of Christian king Pedro I.
The extensive gardens were quite lovely.
Tonight we are going to a flamenco show (because that it what one does when visiting Sevilla) and tomorrow my parents head off to Barcelona while we stay here for another day. Saturday we fly to Valencia.
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May 26th, 2010
Toro, Toro!
After making an early evening of it we set out in the morning for Sevilla by way of Ronda, one of the white hill towns of Andalucia.
We only had a few hours there before needing to move on so our first stop was the bullring. It dates back to the early 1700s and is the largest in the world (according to the audio guide), which is kind of surprising as it really not very big.
The arena serves as a museum of the history of bull fighting as well as being an active arena, as evidenced by the blood stains left on the sand. The experience was pretty good. It gave a peak into the history and pagentry without having to experience any of the brutality of actual bull fighting.
Adjacent to the museum is a park overlooking the valley and has a spectacular view that stretches for miles.
Around the corner from there is the Puente Nuevo (New Bridge) which spans a deep river gorge. It was completed in 1793 and replaced the old bridge which had been built in 1735 but collapsed six years later. Apparently they learned a lot about bridge building in the intervening years because the new bridge is still here.
After a quick lunch of pizza we headed off to Sevilla.
Oh yeah, we have been seeing a lot of this sign:
It makes me laugh.
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May 25th, 2010
This Spain Fling
It’s our first early night back at our hotel since we arrived, and wifi in the room gives me a chance to add a word or two. Unbeleivable, all– in a good way– that’s how it’s going. Ken gets high marks for navigating city streets and attractions alike. Unlike in Italy, the tourists we’re among seem more mixed. We’re surrounded by many different languages, and Americans are less the rule. In other words, it’s easier to lose myself in being somewhere else. Somewhere other than where we’re from.
Now we’re relaxing at the end of our romp around Granada. The pomagranate being the symbol of this city (so sayath Rick Steves) we postulate grenadine must be named for this place. But I swear I’d always known the name Granada. I just can’t remember how.
To the lady at the shoe store who gushed at the very mention of this town: you were right. The Alhambra is magical. Mythic-seeming, it had been conquered so long ago, I can’t relate to the timline. It’s a contradiction too. A palace of impossibly intricate design, it was ruined and restored by a culture that simulaneously rebuked yet revered its past. All that to say: it is worth a trip around the world and back again.
So the Alhambra. Yes. Sublime romanticism for the taking in a modern world. Not to forget, we’re not the only ones discovering this daily. Tourists outnumber locals in such places. And lest I sound too high-falootin’, I are one. Well, we are a tour group of four. Before this trip, and for the first time, I abandoned all pretense of blending.
Because I don’t.
Shoe fashion here includes Greek-style sandals with buckle anklets. I’ve never seen harem pants worn on the street before coming here. I’m wearing tennies (my feet are thanking me for it) and wearing my backpack across my front (thieves beware). I really don’t care how I look; I’m here to see–not to be seen. It’s just…8,000 tourists a day hit this town by storm. The town don’t mind; tourism is important for business. I only wish we could relate better to the place we’ve come so far to visit. Being a tourist, that can be quite a trick.
So to Warren: Thank you for connecting us with Estefania whom I very much look forward to meeting tomorrow night. Before we rendezvous with her in Seville, we’ll sample Ronda with its bullring, its street cafes, and its scenic bridge.
Let me end with a callout to my favorite food and drink which is to be recreated on the otherside of This Spain Fling. Last night’s tail of toro was a melty geletin carnivore’s delight. Salmorejo will be prepared (by me) in the dog days of summer with Spanish (I-can’t-remember-the-proper-name-of-them-now-but-the-sell-them-jarred-at-Trader-Joes) peppers. And… Sangria, why had I forsaken you?! Never again, O paramour of the parched and palid pilgrim. Never again.
The salvation-giving banos arabes will forgive me for not telling about our 2-hour-long soaks and quarter-hour massages. And I’ll remember the double-scoop of coffee and pistaccio ice cream from Los Italianos around the corner from the Chris Columbus statue, even without blogging about it.
I do detest travelers who go on and on expecting others to read about their vacations. Don’t you agree?
Hasta luego!
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May 24th, 2010
The Winning Team
As we made our way back towards our bus stop after dinner we could hear the sound of a huge crowd singing the Granada football team’s fight song. When we got to the Gran Via we were in the thick of a throng of screaming and cheering soccer fans there to welcome home the winning team. The previous night they had won their game and ascended to the next round of the finals.
We just happened to be perfectly positioned so that when the bus carrying the winning team rolled into the plaza, it stopped right in front of us. It was pretty exciting to be in the midst of that many jubilent people.
When the bus dropped us off near our hotel we could still here the crowd singing in the city below. And just now, fireworks.
We spent the morning in Cordoba at the Mezquita, a once Muslum mosque converted into a catholic church in the 16th century. It was interesting to see the ornate, over the top decoration of the church overlaid on the understated geometric simplicity of the mosque.
The drive from Cordoba to Granada went incredibly smoothly and made up for all the trouble we had yesterday. The Spanish countryside is mile after mile of neatly planted rows of olive trees. There is nary an inch of uncultivated land to be seen. As we approached Granada we could see the peaks of the Siera Nevada mountains looming over the valley.
Our car friendly hotel is right next to the Alhambra which is good because we have tickets for a 9 o’clock entry, for which it is recommended we show up an hour early. And so I must end here as it is all ready late.
Tomorrow I will tell of the fantastic dinner we had and the ridiculously friendly waiter.
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May 22nd, 2010
Bagpipes and Banjos
In Toledo we came out of the parking garage to the incongrous sound of bagpipes echoing up the city walls from the valley below. Later, as we emerged from our hotel it was a banjo. And then, as we climbed the narrow streets towards the center of town a band that sounded very much like The Pogues started in (I would be woken up by them later at around 2 am). For the rest of the day as we came across certain streets positioned just so, the music would reverberate off the walls of the closely set buildings.
Saturday in Madrid was the European football finals (or something of the sort) between Milan and Munich. Fans of both teams had flooded the city in wild, roaming packs that would break out into competitive (or cooperative) fight songsin full throated roars regardless of the hour or location. Including, Irene tells me, outside our window at two or three in the morning.
Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your point of view) we left the city in the morning before the expected craziness really got underway.
So far a lot of this trip has been a lot like an episode of Seinfeld. Lots of places know how to take a reservation, but not necessarily how to make good on one. At the rental car agency we were told that even though I checked the box saying I wanted a GPS that was only a mild expression of desire and not an actual reservation. Not sure what I would have needed to do to confirm that, yes, I really would like a gps please, but apparently just ticking the appropriate box isn’t enough. Good to know Avis, good to know.
We’ve been trying to make do with just the directions I printed out at home with less than stellar results. We made it to Toledo well enough, but our drive to Cordoba was a bit of a disaster at the beginning and the end. Mostly at the end.
Finding our way to our hotel proved to be way more difficult than it looked like it should have been. In our defence the signs pointing to the city center could have been clearer and sometimes we just didn’t believe they wanted us to turn down the “streets” they wanted us to turn down. We got there in the end.
This is going to come off very stupid American of me, but Cordoba reminds me a lot of Mexico. And no, not just because of all the Spanish. It reminds me of Merida, the capital of the Yucatan, with it low buildings and tiny streets.
We arrived too late to take in any of the attractions apart from wandering the narrow lanes and people watching. There is some sort of festival/carnival going on outside of town but the lovely ladies in there elaborate dresses can be seen all over.
Tomorrow we are setting out early for the mosque and then head for Granada. More to come.
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