Sevilla

I left Cordoba, a quiet town, called the Damascus of the West (and a town at the centre of the "9-11 Mosque" debacle), and took the bus for Sevilla, a very busy city by comparison. Sevilla is the biggest city in southern Spain and is that region's commercial centre. It is also said to be a town which typifies Spanish culture, sort of a display of Spanishness on steroids. Its bullring, along with Ronda's, is considered the most important in Spain, sort of a Montreal Forum of the sport. Its barrios (historic neighbourhoods) are the birthplace of flamenco, that most Spanish of art forms. It also has the most over the top Santa Semana (Holy Week) celebrations, where men with hoods looking eerily close to those of the Ku Klux Klan parade through town with their crosses and candles and statues of the saints. Months after these parades, the ground is still covered with black splotches from their candles. There are literally dozens of parades during Holy Week, the most dramatic of which features several especially devout men carrying a huge float of the Virgin -- get this -- on the back of their necks. The float weighs hundreds of pounds, and they carry it in shifts for the entire day. Sevilla is famous for its parties in the street, its labyrinthine barrios, and its particular brand of folk dance, which I heard being described as plucking an apple from the tree, twisting it off, taking a bite, throwing it to the ground, and stomping on it, all the while snapping your fingers and looking your partner passionately in the eye. "Passion" is a word you hear applied to Sevilla and its residents a lot. It definitely has a very romantic feel to it, despite its size. The character of Don Juan was based in Sevilla, and there is a statue of him to this day. Any resident of Sevilla can quote you the Spanish poetry which, according to the legend, allowed him to seduce a nun.

Originally (no surprises by now) a Moorish city, it was taken at around the same time as Cordoba, and it became a more important port and commercial centre. Its location on the Guadalquivir River, upstream from the Atlantic Ocean, is still navigable by ocean-going vessels. For this reason, it was the port of departure for Columbus' voyage of discovery, and was the chief Spanish port for the discovery of the New World. It was here that the treasure fleet brought back enormous quantities of New World gold and silver, mined or taken from the Aztecs, Mayans, and Incas. You can almost imagine the ships coming back as you stand on the banks of the Guadalquiver. The great piles of lucre that must have come through this port left their mark on Sevilla. It is filled with grand architecture which is very particular to that part of Spain. The King of Spain currently keeps a converted Moorish castle here, letting tourists look at it while he is not there. I did not go to see it, as I was sight-seen out.

I did, however, see what is one of the most prominent sights in the city, the Cathedral of Sevilla. Architecturally, I found the Mezquita of Cordoba to be very interesting, but the Cathedral of Sevilla overwhelms in its sheer volume and grandiosity. In fact, it is the third largest cathedral in the world, after the Vatican and Saint Paul's in London. It had a series of treasure rooms, where the church holds statues, rosaries, and crosses which dazzled the eye with gold, silver, precious woods, ivory, and gems. There were other rooms dedicated to sacred paintings. The cathedral also has the largest alterpiece in the world, which is over-the-top, to say the least. First of all, I would estimate that it was about the area of the small hockey rink, maybe a little smaller, laid on its end. Oh yeah, and it is all gold, as far as the eye can see, with around 50 scenes of the saints. A tad much for me. There is also another, smaller one, made out of silver. They only use that one during Holy Week. I can only imagine what it would be like for a 17th century townsperson to come in and be bowled over by the wealth and power of the church. The bell-tower was interesting. It used to be a square minaret, with a ramp going up to the top, so that the first muezin, who was disabled, could ride it all the way to the top. It was quite a trip up, giving you a magnificent view of Sevilla.

My first job when I got to Sevilla was to find a place to stay, according to the usual pattern. Sevilla is huge compared to the other cities I was in, even just its city core. Also, its streets are more winding and harder to navigate. This made finding a place hard. I overheard these students talking about a hostel, checked it out, and took it. It was the first place I stayed in that was like the hostels that you hear about, with 6 people staying in seperate bunks in each room. It was nice, though, with every person getting their own safe, free internet access, a kitchen, free breakfast, a pool, and lots of social events. I also met some interesting English-speaking people there which was a nice change, and I went around with them for a while. I paid for a tour of the bullfighting ring, as there were no fights on, and that was interesting. The tour-guide was a stereotypically hot-blooded Spanish girl, who started quarrelling with one of the guests, and seemed to be really into the bullfighting scene.

It really is a dangerous sport for all involved: bull, bull-fighter, even occasionally for the fan. While I was there, I saw a picture in a magazine of a bull-fighter getting gored through the mouth by a bull's horn. He lived. On the other hand, just the other week, I saw an article
in the news of a bull in Spain that got into the crowd and injured quite a few people. They are really quite feisty, those bulls. No wonder they go for confession before every fight; they also have two operating theatres on site for every bull fight. I came to have a certain respect for the bullfighters, as they do a dangerous job with a sort of panache. It's kind of like a mix between an art form and a sport, one which runs in families like a trade. Hemingway, who was quite a fan,
called it the only art form where the artist is in danger of death, and in which the degree of brilliance is left to the performer's honor. Walking past the corridors leading to the bull-ring actually got my pulse up, as I imagined what it would be like to walk onto the ring as a matador, knowing either you or the bull were going to die.

I took a walking tour of the city from an Australian guy who lived there, and it was fascinating. The city has quite the history. We went past little courtyards in houses, where it is culturally acceptable to walk into someone's place to look around, as they are quite proud of the way they take care of their gardens. On a sad note, we went to "El Calle Muerte" (the Street of Death), a Jewish ghetto where the inhabitants were savagely killed without warning, during the brutal years of the Spanish Inquisition. Sites relating to the Inquisition are still there to see, as Sevilla was quite prominent in this unfortunate part of history, but I opted not to go see any.

In the evening, a group of us from the hostel went to go see a Flamenco show in one of the most famous barrios in Sevilla, right across the river. On a side note, if you ever listen to the song "Mr. Jones" by Counting Crows, I realize it very well could have been inspired by Sevilla. Flamenco was not what I expected. It's kind of a gypsy thing. There are three components to flamenco. Guitar, voice, and dancing. It's also free-flowing, not being planned ahead. The guitar is highly rhythmical. The voice is not for everyone. One girl I met described it as being like "an Indian rain-making dance". It was definitely very emotive, almost like yelling, with the guy screwing up his face like he was constipated beyond remedy. I was told the lyrics were about bad things happening in love or missing one's home turf, nothing new there. The dancer would occasionally get up and stomp her feet and swing around in time to the music. I thought it was fascinating, but not everyone liked it. The same girl described the dancing as looking like something that one would do at gunpoint.

Regardless, Sevilla was interesting, but in the end, not my favourite, as it was really big and hard to find your way around. I stayed for a couple days, contemplating making a run for Portugal at one point, but ultimately opted against it, as I would not be able to do it justice in roughly 24 hours, and I would exhaust myself in the process. It was in Sevilla that my parasite became fairly apparent. In my last hours in Sevilla, I swung by their free fine arts museum, whizzed through it, and took my bag to the bus station, which was really hard to find, around all the medieval walls of the city, across public squares, and through gardens. I met a lot of nice people at the hostel, and one guy who helped run it told me about a city called Tarifa. It is the southernmost city in Spain, and in Western Europe.

He said that the hostels there were cheap and plentiful. This was on my way home, kind of, and en route to Gibraltar, so I decided to take a bus and wing it when I got there.

Cordoba Part 2

I fell asleep that night and slept like a baby, waking up later than I thought, and I rushed off to the Mezquita. I met Amy and her sister, and we got in for free, as the mass was going on.The Mezquita was a phenomenally interesting building, one of the most interesting I saw in Spain. It started as a Visigothic church, 1500 years ago, and one could see remnants of this inside. The Moors took over and built the greatest mosque in the West over the site. It is impressive, with a sea of red and white striped pillars inside, hundreds of them, along with a beautifully decorated prayer wall. Then, the Catholics conquered the area in the 13th century, and built a cathedral -- get this -- inside the mosque. Where there were quranic verses, there now are spaces for images of the Virgin Mary, and in the middle of the mosque, there is an incredibly ornate Cathedral with elements of Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque architecture. Much of it was built in the Catholic Counter-Reformation, a time when the Catholics were vying with the Protestants for control over Europe. There were incredible amounts of mahogany and decoration which staggered the eye.
Outside of the Mezquita was a courtyard with orange trees where swallows were flitting around in circles, as if they were playing in flight for the mere joy of it. We then got some food at another highly recommended restaurants in the area. We tried orange with salted cod and bull's tail, which was quite tasty.
We checked out a museum which covered the area's history since the earliest inhabitants, thousands of years ago, continuing through the Celtic peoples, and then onto Roman and Moorish history. There were tonnes of Roman artifacts, from statues of gods and goddesses to early Christian art to crypts with skeletons inside. Then, I fell asleep in a sunny courtyard outside. Before supper, we all parted ways, which was kind of sad for me, as I enjoyed the company. I spent the evening walking around by myself, trying some different food before returning back to my original hostel.
As much as I enjoyed Cordoba (it was a favourite of mind), I woke up the next morning and headed out for the bus station and hopped on a bus for Sevilla.

Cordoba Part 1

I got on the bus, and left behind the camera debacle as best as I could.

Now, Granada was the easternmost point I went to in Spain, and Cordoba was going to be the northernmost. Granada was a bustling centre of students and a hub for a lot of tourists, while Cordoba was described by Lonely Planet as being a city in the midst of a very rural area. The two cities did contrast. Even the journey over was different. While there were mountains on the way to Granada, the road to Cordoba was one of very gently rolling hills, with olive groves as far as the eyes could see. I wondered, as I looked out at the groves, how the whole world could eat as many olives as there must be growing in this area. At times, the olive groves were replaced by fields of sunflowers or wheat stretching from horizon to horizon.


When the bus rolled into the station, I started the game of getting my bearings again. I walked to the historic centre, stopping only to eat some snails at a roadside stand and pick up some free Team Spain gear that someone was handing out. I looked around and around for a hostel, playing the "let's find an affordable, non-crappy place to stay" game. I was starting to feel desparate when I saw a tiny sign for a "Pension", which I had learned was a type of place to stay. I walked down the narrow side street, and checked it out. It was a beautiful, quiet house with a courtyard inside and this kind of old guy running it. I was one of the only people staying there, and he told me I could have a whole floor to myself. I took it for 18 Euros. It was an even nicer place than the one I had in Granada. As a bonus, the place across from it was a music conservatory, and you could hear the sound of pianos being practiced softly. I bought some groceries, and the people who ran the hostel let me keep it in their fridge.


The whole feel of Cordoba was very peaceful and quiet, yet with lots of rich history. Its quietness contradicts its history. It was the capital of a Roman province, a Moorish caliphate, and it was one of the first cities in Andalusia taken back in the Reconquista. During its Moorish period, it was (I think) the biggest city in Europe, and the centre of research and culture, with a university hosting the finest Muslim, Christian, and Jewish minds. In short, it was one of the most happening places to be. All of these era left their mark on the city. Now, it feels very quiet, like as if it retired and thinks back now on its former years. As per custom, I left my bags in the room, and I went to wander the streets of Cordoba. It was much more walkable than Granada, being smaller. My place was located less than a minute or two from "La Juderia", the old medieval Jewish part of the city, which was phenomenally cool. It was, again, hauntingly quiet, with gorgeous, narrow streets which were at times narrower than my arm span. This neighbourhood was like a labyrinth, but I still soon stumbled on the Mezquita, an old mosque with a cathedral built inside it which I will talk about later on. It was beautiful, even from the outside. I walked a little further and found the Guadalquivir River, with an intact Roman Bridge crossing it. I walked on the Roman Bridge and watched the sun set over the old medieval mosque with the river flowing beneath me. It was stunningly beautiful.

I thought about having supper, then I just started watching a World Cup game from the window of an eatery. All of a sudden I heard, "Hey Steve!" It was Amy again! We caught some supper at a place that used to be a monastary. The food in Cordoba was really good, with a regional specialty being Salmorejo, a cold soup with tomato and lots of garlic, and ham and eggs on top. It was seriously delicious. I've had gazpacho, and this is way better. Then, we wandered the streets and found an old Roman temple devoted to the worship of the emperor, just in the middle of the city, as if it were no big deal, then wevgot some ice cream in an old 17th or 18th century square. Amy had found out that if you wanted to go to the Mezquita, it was free if you went early in the morning, so we arranged to meet there the next day.


I went to bed, and slept like a rock...

Granada Part 2

I'm almost ashamed to say what a difference getting settled into my hostel made to my outlook. Before, you feel homeless and out of place. After, you are ready to go exploring. So, exploring I went.

I immediately walked up the hill from the Spanish Catholic part of town to the older, Moorish section. I sound like a broken record, but the streets around the Albaizin were beautiful and narrow and winding. I wanted to case out the Alhambra, where it was, how much tickets were, etc., for the next day. I asked around, and went up the cobblestone streets leading to the very big hill it was on. What a walk it was! After the heat of the Spanish sun, the path went up into beautiful deciduous trees which reminded me of Ontario woods. On either side of the path watered flowed in a sort of pebbled stone trough, which made a delicious gurgling sound. It was a long way to the top. Afterward, I wandered the streets of the Albaizin, taking in the atmosphere. It was that night that I was to have my worst ever meal in Spain. I went from place to place asking if they were open, as it was around 8:30. They thought it was ridiculous that I would want supper that early, as restaurants only begin to open for supper after 9 PM. Businesses are also usually closed during the afternoon for the siesta, even banks.

However, I found a place that was selling a salad with asparagus, cheese, and ham. This sounded good, so I ordered that, with a drink. The salad came, and it was downright nasty. Pale pieces of iceberg lettuce, with bits of processed cheese, little squares of processed ham, really terrible olives, and canned, pale aspargus, all drowning in mayonnaise that they had just squeezed on in a gridiron on top. I honestly couldn't finish it, and that's saying a lot, as I will eat a lot of stuff. When the bill came, it cost me 9 Euros, which was ridiculous. Feeling ripped off and unimpressed with Granada, I went back to the hostel, bought some fruit juice and went to my room, where I fell asleep before 10, I was so exhausted. I still had not had a really solid night since my mountain experience. I woke up to a drunken guy yelling at his dog in Spanish, made a phone call about my camera to the bus station, and found out that I would not find out decisively until the next morning for some reason. I decided to just enjoy myself in Granada for the next day.
I wandered in search of breakfast and found another sub-par meal, which seemed to be becoming a theme in Granada. It was just the smashed up pulp of a tomato on top of toast. It was cheap, and since my bank card wasn't working, I wasn't going to be prodigal about it. The cathedral was close by, and I stopped in during Mass, as this was the only time the Cathedral was free, and I was curious. It was interesting seeing Mass in a Spanish cathedral, particularly one built in the last city taken from the Moors. I believe it was built right over top of their old mosque. I didn't understand anything the priest was saying, but I'm pretty sure at one point he did the Apostle's Creed or the Lord's Prayer. I checked out the cathedral after. It was not as big as Malaga's, but still interesting. By this time I was ready for some English speaking company, as I was missing Abe. I heard these girls speaking English in an American accent as they were looking around at the Cathedral, and I got talking to them. They invited me to check out the Alhambra with them and walk around the city, and I was pleased to oblige. It was nice to have company. They were dentistry students from Texas. We exchanged travel stories; they had just come from Barcelona and Valencia. We wandered around in search of lunch and found a place where, after we bough a drink each, the owner brought out a free paella and potato salad thingy. It was glorious. Afterward, we checked out the Alhambra. It was impressive, with vast gardens, Moroccan-looking rooms, and vistas looking out over the city below. There was a theatre that the Catholics had built later on, and a separate medieval Moorish fortress inside, with really cool look-out towers. Unfortunately, when we went to see the star attraction, the inner palace, we were told that we had not come at exactly the time our tickets said we should, and we could not be let inside. "It's impossible," the gate keeper said. I suggested that it was not impossible, he could just let us walk in, but that did not change our situation appreciably.
It would have been cool... a friend who did go there said it was amazing inside. But I was enjoying the company and was not too bothered. All this walking around was tiring us out, so we were looking for a green park to just chill during the late afternoon sun. As I was walking in the city core, I thought I heard a voice yelling "Hey Steve!" I looked around, and it was Amy again with her sister! What a welcome sight. My American friends left for a park, and I switched to hanging with Amy and her sister. My debit card wasn't working, so we spent the better part of two hours finding a place to call North America to get it to work, when we finally got it to work, it was quite exciting. We walked around the city a bit, and then we went to a Bodega (winery/restaurant) where her sister had read some of the best eats in Granada were. So far, my Granada experience was underwhelming gastronomically, so I thought I had nothing to lose by going there. It blew my mind. It was busy, and just locals were there. We couldn't get a table so we stood at the bar, in front of 6 enormous casks of wine. We each got something to drink, and it came with some really good, generous tapas. Then we decided to get a cold platter, and it was tremendous. It cost only 15 Euros, and it would have been enough to stuff four of us. It had local cheese, breads, jams, smoked salmon, and loads of meat. It was there where I was introduced to the tinto de verano ("the colour of summer"), a Spanish drink mixing a bit of wine with sparkling lemon soda. It was delicious and refreshing. We had a really fun time there, then we went for some good Spanish ice cream and had a good chat. I made sure they got on the bus back to their hotel, then I went wandering one of the famous tapas streets. I went home satisfied and full of good food, and I slept.
The next morning I woke up, went to make my phone call for my camera in the lobby of the other building, and got hassled by one of the servants and made to feel generally unwelcome. It's OK. It was time to go. I got on a crowded bus for the bus station. It was long, and the longer I was on there, the more ready I was to leave Granada. I made a last ditch attempt to find my camera, but it was ultimately fruitless, so I regretfully hopped on a bus for Cordoba.

Granada Part 1

I got to the bus station with my bag, and a nation of options stared me in the face. At the train station, names like "Madrid", "Barcelona", "Valencia", and "Sevilla" flashed across the departure list, with trains leaving several times an hour. At the bus station, Sevilla, Cordoba, Cadiz, Granada, and other smaller towns were options. I could even get a bus to Romania, but I quickly ruled out that option. I remembered reading a description of a route encompassing Ronda, Granada, Cordoba, and Sevilla in a book which we had on our coffee table at home called "National Geographic's 500 Trips of a Lifetime". That intrigued me and I considered these cities especially, a consideration which was not hurt by the fact that they were far closer than Madrid or Barcelona; all of them were within Andalusia. Check a map if you like. I had previously asked the guy at the desk in the hotel and the girl next door who sold flamenco dresses. They both listed Granada as the top city they would go to, and each of them liked either Sevilla or Cordoba and were ambiguous regarding the other one. Also influencing the decision was the fact that I read that there would be a big bullfight in Sevilla the following day, and this was considered, along with Ronda's, to be the greatest bullfighting ring in Spain. However, I realized I couldn't do everything, and I decided to start off with Granada.


I got my ticket, hopped on the bus, ate a pear and part of my sausage, started reading my book, looked at some of my pictures, and fell into a fairly uncomfortable sleep on the way to Granada. The scenery was mountainous, much like the way to Ronda. Three hours and about 9 Euros later, I arrived in Granada. I heard some girls next to me speaking English and saying they lived in Granada, so I ran out and asked them what to look for in the town. While I was still in the train station, I sadly noticed that my camera wasn't in my pocket, I rushed back to the bus, less than 90 seconds after leaving it, and it was gone. The next few hours were an ordeal, talking with the station information desk, tracking down the bus number, sitting outside what I thought was the bus, etc... the long story is, I couldn't get it back. Theft is widespread in Spain. I was unspeakably disappointed, as I love that camera (I still hold a fool's hope of finding it again), and it cast a cloud over the next while. I realized how much easier things would be with Abe, who spoke Spanish.

Eventually, I realized I had to go, though. Thus began the process of exploring the new city. I can safely describe the process of seeing a new city in Spain in terms of several stages.


1. Arrival. Arrive in the city. Mentally tell yourself, "I am in x. Cool." And, in the future, carefully check your person for everything valuable you should have.

2. Initial let down. You get to the city and were expecting beautiful architecture and history. Instead, you are surrounded by Spanish convenience stores and dilapidated sticks. You realize that you are outside the city centre, and you ask where the city centre is in your best Spanish, which, if you are me, is pretty bad indeed. Bonus points if you ask an interesting person.

3. The journey to the centre. Whether by bus or by foot, you get yourself to the historic downtown, and you begin to be relieved that it doesn't all look like a let-down.

4. The search for housing. You realize that you need a place to stay that night. You feel slightly anxious, fearing the worst. You wander narrow cobblestone streets, dragging your big bag, looking for anything that looks like a hostel. You want something decently nice, but not too expensive. You drag your bags up an entire set of stairs to reach the front desk, only to find out that the rooms are 90 Euros. Too pricey. You keep walking, and your standards start to slide. Maybe you already had a reservation, but you are trying hard to find it on unlabelled streets. You finally find one, and pay slightly more than you told yourself you wanted to.

5. Settling in. You put your bag in your room, feel relieved, and start thinking you could enjoy this new town. You find a map, explore, and get some food in your belly.

6. The visit. Check out everything you want to see.

7. The nudge. You start feeling like you've enjoyed this city, but it is time to see the next one. You hop on a bus, and start the cycle again.

That's the basic pattern. I felt really selfish just living for Stevo, sleeping where I wanted, eating what I wanted after being responsible for a bunch of people. It was like being a bachelor on steroids.

Back to Granada...
After doing everything I could (and I mean everything, spending several hours) to find my camera, I made a booking at the bus station for a hostel, as they had a little booth there set up to get people hostels. 17 Euros. Not bad. I realize the booth may have taken a cut, as you can get places online for about 11, but I was in no position to be picky. The guy at info told me he could get me a cheaper hostel, and he gave me the address for one for 15. Stepping outside in Granada, it looked unimpressive mainly, with a road under construction, some fairly seedy restaurants across, and a McDonald's just up the street. However, off in the distance were the Sierra Nevadas, huge mountains which keep a snowcap year round, even in that hot climate. It was cool seeing snowcapped mountains there. I was told I had to take a city bus to the city centre, so I lugged my huge bag on the bus, paid my fare, and strained my ears and my eyes for "Real Porto" my stop, asking people around me fairly regularly if they knew where it was. You feel kind of vulnerable in a new city by yourself, particularly when your bank card is not working.


I got off at Real Porto, and the city centre was quite different. Busier, narrow cobblestone streets, fountains, old churches, etc. But I would check that out later... I had wasted my afternoon looking for my camera, and I needed to find a place to stay before I thought of anything else. I tried to follow a questionable map to the cheaper hostel, but the old man at the place I came to gave me a quizzical look when I tried to tell him I should get a room for 15 Euros. This one was much more expensive. I went back into the streets and tried to look for the place. I was tired, I was hungry, I was ticked off at losing my camera, and I was getting sick of not having a place to stay. I was even feeling a little bit lost. Granada is a really student-y town with a lot of hippy stores with statues of Buddha. I decided to try and find the first hostel, and, after not too long, I walked past a convent and arrived at it. It was like an oasis. I walked in, and was greeted by a landing with Catholic iconography and a picture of Jesus that said "Jesus is a friend who never fails" written in Spanish. It felt welcoming. Off to the side was a room where a Spanish grandma watched TV. A girl I assumed was her grand-daughter confirmed my reservation, took my passport, and gave me some keys, taking me to another, close-by building, walking me up the stairs and showing me my room. It was much better than I expected, spacious, with a sink, a bed, a desk and a chair, and two windows opening out to the street. She didn't even want me to pay her until the morning. It felt like a Godsend. I still think of the YMCA song when I think of that place, for some reason. What a relief it was. I left my bags in the room, freshened up, and prepared to go out and explore the city.

Let me give a brief intro to Granada. Granada was the last city occupied by the Moors, and it surrendered to Ferdinand and Isabel, a famous Spanish King and Queen, in 1492. That's not too long ago. Partially as a result of that, the city feels quite Arabic. Parts of it really felt like Morocco. The most well-known place in Granada is the Alhambra, an old Moorish palace with fantastic architecture. I believe it was there, in 1492, that Isabel and Ferdinand met with Christopher Columbus to commission him to make his voyage of discovery. The Alhambra is on a big hill, and there is a lot of up and down in the city, with cobblestone streets. Also well known, across from the Alhambra, is the Albayzin, an old medieval Arab neighbourhood, with incredibly narrow and winding streets. Granada is a big student city, with a famous university and loads of students, and some male students there have a dorky habit of growing one really long thin braid. They will regret having pictures of that when they are older. Granada is also famous for its tapas culture, where free tapas are given with every drink that one purchases.

Ronda

Abe and I had good time in Malaga as we were waiting for his emergency passport to come in, but I really wanted to check out another city on a day trip, since I felt we had Malaga fairly cased. We went in to the consulate on Friday morning as soon as it opened (10 AM for those industrious Spaniards) and, low and behold, his emergency passport was there waiting for him. There was nothing keeping us from staying in Malaga. We made a mad-cap dash for the bus/train stations which lay on the other side of the city centre, I with a big backpack and wearing sandals. The bus, typically, was not keeping to its advertised schedule, and we had a few minutes to pick up some lunch at a grocery store. We did, but ended up making another mad-cap dash for the bus, with two minutes to spare. At this point in time, we decided to be more conservative in our scheduling.
Ronda is somewhat west of Malaga, about two hours, above the Costa del Sol in some nice mountains. The drive was a pleasant one, going through little villages whose primary industry seemed to be pressing olive oil. We arrived in Ronda in the early afternoon, found a map, and headed for the historic centre, stopping only at a video store so Abe could ask if they had "Nacho Libre", an old, presumably very awful comedy which he was obsessed with finding. No dice.
Now, a word about Ronda. Ronda is, quite simply, spectacular. It is the largest of what are called "puebla blancas", Spanish for white villages, a fairly self-descriptive term for white-washed villages in the mountains which the Moors made for defensive value. Ronda is one of the most scenic, as it is situated high on a mountain side, with a 100 metre deep gorge gouging it through the middle, and two magnificent old bridges spanning the chasm to the medieval part of the city. The streets were narrow, steep, and winding, with old men and school-children walking inclines which at times were around 45 degrees. Old churches, monastaries and shrines littered the streets; it would have been nearly impossibly to even walk by all of them. I particularly liked a beautiful, centuries old fountain which the local kids drank out of. It provided cold, clean mountain spring water in the hot dry weather of Andalusia. The town was incredibly beautiful, historic, and peaceful.
We approached the old Arab gates to the city, going by old tanneries and baths which were around a thousand years old. We saw old winding paths going down the river, which in turn flowed out onto the valley floor, littered with olive groves and wheat fields. Guitars were played softly in the streets. How do I describe the sights there? Churches with horse drawn carriages and mountain vistas and old moorish tilework in centuries old houses. The old part of the city was hemmed in by mountain cliffs for about 270 degrees, making all but the most stalwart siege impossible. We checked out a free historical museum, and it chronicled the old Celtic, Roman, Visigothic, and Arabic history of the area. After walking and seeing many sites, we decided it was time to eat. We settled into a little restaurant, got some tapas, and watched the USA play Serbia in the world cup. It was a very satisfying day trip. It was there that I discovered that my debit card wasn't working.
Ronda was definitely one of my favourite places in Spain, and I would highly recommend it.

We got the evening bus back to Malaga, got some more cheap tapas, and stayed our last night in Malaga. In the morning, we checked out of the comfortable Hotel Tribune, I got Abe a taxi going to the airport, and I was on my own. I picked up some chorizo sausage and pears at the farmer's market, and trucked with my bag out for the bus station, blazing my own path.

Malaga

I have decided to include a synopsis of some of my time in Spain on this blog...
As the staff team was packing early on the morning on which we had to leave, Abe found out that he could not find his passport. As this is important for flying, we had to come up with a plan. Fortunately, there is a Canadian consulate in Malaga, so he had to extend his flight, cancel his current passport, and stay in Malaga till he could get his emergency travel documents sorted out. We got his flight delayed by a few days, and so that he could get his passport. I decided to stay with him, check out Malaga, and chill, as I was kind of tired. The rest of us scattered, some to Canada, some to France, and some to the south of Spain. Abe and I grabbed a cab for the Canadian consulate, found it, and began the lengthy process of applying for an emergency passport. I tried to be somewhat helpful, making hotel arrangements while he processed his forms, getting something for us to drink, and then returning to the tiny consulate, eating paella out of a tupperware container with my hands, and falling asleep under the consulate's homey-feeling Canadian map, which apparently hadn't been updated since the 1960s or 70s. We got a girl at the travel agency to show us how to get to the hotel. She was from Romania, and talked about how much she hated living in Malaga. How charming. We walked past the bull ring, and continued on for about 20 minutes.The map I had of Malaga said that our hotel was right on the river flowing into the Mediterranean. We were excited. As it turns out, however, the "river" was actually not more than a sort of dried out bed of dust with absolutely no water in it, where some people played soccer.

We settled into the Hotel Tribune, left our stuff in the modest, but clean room, and decided to check out our surroundings.
Malaga was the first fairly large Spanish city I was in. It is on the Mediterranean, has a prominent port, and is built against the backdrop of some fairly big hills. Apparently it is the sixth largest city in Spain, with over half a million people. Lonely Planet (one of my favourite travel websites) describes the city as "very Spanish" and "exuberant", and I would tend to agree with their assessment. Several things stand out about Malaga. First, the streets are very cool. Lots of little alleyways, which feel very Spanish. That's the best way I can describe it. The broader avenues were sometimes covered over from on high with this somewhat translucent cloth which would cut down on the sun. Malaga is also known for its botanical gardens and plants, and this was quite cool, with lots of flowers growing in the downtown, beautiful trees, and gardens. This was the first place I was in that really felt like Old Europe. There were centuries old monastaries, cathedrals, churches, chapels, etc. everywhere, and you would find what in Canada would be considered a very important historical site by walking down what seemed to be a dead end street. Ronda was even more this way; it seemed to me that if you picked up a stone and were to throw it randomly, you would probably hit an old church.
Since Abe was disappointed that he had to stay an extra few days instead of going home to see his lady friend, I asked him what sites he would like to see. He wanted to see the Picasso Museum, as Pablo Picasso was born and raised in Malaga. Fair enough. We checked out the museum. I was surprised that Picasso had some earlier stuff that looked entirely different from his later, cubist stuff. There were some interesting pieces on bullfighting and on horses. But, for the most part, I need to be honest, Picasso doesn't really turn my crank. It was still cool to have gone, though. The coolest part of the museum was when we thought we were done, and we saw a very small sign saying simply "Ruins" or something like that, pointing toward a very nondescript staircase that looked like it could have been used to access a cleaning supply closet. We shrugged and decided to check it out. Turns out, the museum is built over a set of Phoenician ruins from when Malaga was a Phoenician colony exporting salt and stuff. Being a history geek, I really enjoyed checking out original Phoenician walls, guard towers, houses and stuff like that. I can't believe they didn't really advertise it. It was stuff that was around 2500 to 3000 years old.

After leaving, we decided to keep up with the historical bent and check out the local Roman ampitheatre. While there, we ran into Amy and her sister who were staying in Malaga! It was fun catching up, even though it had only been several hours. We exchanged information on what was hot and not in Malaga, took our picture together in the theatre, and continued on.
Both Abe and I are "economical" (or "cheap"), and we looked for the cheapest food we could find. We found a place that had tapas, 6 for 5 Euros. This became our dependable haunt, and it introduced me to an illustrious sandwhich made up of brie cheese and caramelized onions. Delicious. I saved money by getting my money at a local farmer's market, which was really neat. I would get chorizo (sausages) along with fresh fruit and manchego cheese (cheese from La Mancha). It was cheap but good.

I wanted to go on a day trip, but Abe needed to stick around town the next day, contact referees for his passport, and deal with the consulate, so we did our business there the next day, and after briefly checking out the bus and train station (where we saw Amy and her sister again), decided to spend the rest of the day in Malaga. It was a good call.

The next thing we checked out was the old fortess, called the Alcazaba, which the Moors left behind on the imposing hill of Malaga. Say what you want about the Moors, they built impressive castles and fortresses. It was super fun to check out their well-built system of defenses, utilizing the slope of the hill, tight gates, archer towers, imposing walls, and walkways bent back on themselves. They were also recyclers, using old Roman columns they found, which are still part of their gates. As you got higher up, it changed from a fortress to a palace, with nice gardens, these really lovely fountains and systems of channelled water gurgling pleasantly at your feet, and beautiful lookouts over the Mediterranean. The interior of the palace looked very Arabic, with the same sort of tilework, arches and pillars, and what must have been considered luxurious living in medieval Spain. Also, there were these Chinese tourists who seemed to be stalking us and giggling. We paid the extra money (about a euro) to see the part of the fortress further up the hill, which was quite a hike, but it was less impressive than the lower fortress, though it did have a cool little museum about Spanish colonialism. Apparently, the Catholic forces only managed to take the Alcazaba, and hence, Malaga, in 1487, just over 500 years ago.
We also checked out the Cathedral of Malaga, out of all the churches in the city. It was the first old Cathedral I have ever checked out. It is pretty impressive, although when a building takes 260 years to build, you expect it to meet certain standards. The architecture is not like the old Gothic cathedrals of France and England; it has a different style, a Renaissance style. There are almost no windows, and the interior is filled up with a lot of little chapels to various saints, with a lot of old religious artwork contained inside. I'm going to state the obvious and say it was huge.
The rest of the time, Abe and I did stuff like eat, drink zumo (juice), and watch world cup games in little cafes.

Uncle Steve!

On July 28th, I became an uncle! Kevin and Anna had a baby girl. Her name is Molly Margaret Ava Adam. I think she is very cute, and I can't wait to see her.