El Ultimo (Dia) y Nos Vamos! Que Lastima!

After breakfast, I decided to go to El Templo Debod. This is my fourth time in Madrid, yet I had never visited this famous landmark. The charming taxi driver who took me quipped that after 41 years of living in Madrid, he hadn’t either. The temple was a gift from Egypt in appreciation for Spain’s assistance in saving precious ancient monuments which had been submerged after the construction of the Aswan Dam Project. The United Nations put out an urgent call to enlist countries in this effort, and Spain was one of the few that answered along with the United States, Germany, and Belgium. The temple was dismantled then painstakingly reconstructed. There‘s a small but interesting museum inside which explains how so many of these monuments were saved.

The small two-story temple sits on a hill overlooking the city. I loved the spectacular views of Madrid in all its splendor. A reflection pool and a fountain grace the front of the monument. A lovely park is also on the grounds. where I saw people walking their dogs. At one moment, two large, beautifully groomed black French poodles hit the ground running as they arrived with their owner. In another area, students engaged in meditation sat in a circle with their teacher. The fresh cut lawn, towering trees and gardens were a welcome respite from the hustle and bustle of the city below. Many tourists visit this place, but I also saw dozens of locals from the nearby apartment complexes jogging, and walking their dogs. As I began my trek down, I had tears in my eyes. Mi ultimo día en Madrid. (my last day in Madrid). I decided that for the rest of the afternoon I would simply wander where my feet took me.

I walked towards the Royal Palace, then swung over to one of my favorite cafés, El Oriente, for a granizado de limón, a drink made with finely granulated ice and lemon/lime syrup. It’s tart, tangy, not excessively sweet, and quite refreshing.

I walked farther north past a terraza or terrace. Madrid has so many of these, most with lovely views of the city. El Vistorillo was a familiar one from previous visits, so I stopped in. I ordered a beer and took a table on the edge of the terrace so I could see the beautiful Almudena Cathedral and plentiful trees. I reveled in the cool, dry weather, a welcomed change from the scorcher we suffered through yesterday. I sat between two groups of people. To my left two well-heeled couples enjoyed a lunch of tortilla española and a salad. The wives did much of the talking. To my right a lively group of American students studying here for the summer chatted, ate, and drank. I heard one of the girls lament she would not be ready to leave Europe by the end of the summer. I thought to myself, “Yes I know exactly how that is. But at least you can stay a while longer; I’m leaving tomorrow.”

I left the terraza and kept walking. I knew I had to return to the hotel by late afternoon to pack and get dressed to see a flamenco performance of Bizet’s Carmen, but there was still a little more time for wandering. I passed a tapas bar called San Lucar. The crowd of people there attracted my attention, so I went in. I noticed the menu featured many tapas from Andalucia. When I saw pringá listed, I knew this was my place. I was thirsty so I ordered a beer and received a small dish of green olives as a complimentary appetizer. I noticed the bartender also served what looked like large yellow beans to go with the olives. When I asked about them, he gave me some and showed me how to eat them. Just bite the skin, peel and enjoy. I was still hungry, so I decided to order a some pringá and a glass of manzanilla, a delightful earthy sherry from Andalucia which is best served chilled. While I wailed for my pringá, the bartender gave me some aged goat cheese to drink with the manzanilla – a wonderful combination! The pringa finally came. It was different from the one I tried in Sevilla which was served on a hard roll instead of thin toasted bread. The sausage concoction in the middle though was quite tasty.

As I munched on my tapas, I met a young couple in their 30’s standing next to me, Pepe and Luisa, both from Madrid. Today we had all discovered Bar San Lucar for ourselves and were enjoying the moment. I felt comfortable conversing with them. After exchanging pleasantries, they wanted to know about my impressions of Spain, and of course I was delighted to tell them. We must have talked for over an hour, and then I realized I needed to return to the hotel to pack for tomorrow’s flight, shower and change for the group’s last supper together and tonight’s performance. I really wanted to stay longer with them, but time was running out. When I asked for the bill, Pepe said, “No, por favor Mariana; te invitamos.” I was touched by his generosity. We exchanged e-mails and farewell embraces, and my eyes welled up with tears. As I left the bar and walked Bailen Boulevard toward the hotel, I began to cry. Why does it have to be like this every time I leave Madrid? I feel like I’m leaving my best friend.

At 4:30 pm I reached the hotel. I had two hours to get ready and pack. I left the hotel rather than go with the group to La Taberna del Marciano where we would have dinner near Sol. This would be my last walk there where I would pass familiar landmarks: El Palacio Real, Plaza Mayor, Puerta del Sol. I was the last one to arrive, and sat with Gary, our tour guide at a separate table. Everyone was in good spirits even though many of us were not ready to return to the United States.

After our meal, about a dozen of us had tickets to go see Carmen at the nearby Teatro Reina Victoria. It had received critical acclaim from the press and the “Bible” La Guia del Ocio. It was indeed an exquisite performance –colorful, spirited, romantic, brilliantly executed. The leading lady was exuberant and enchanting with just enough sass. The director adeptly used Bizet’s most memorable music from this work. I had forgotten how beautiful the melodies are, and made a mental note to purchase the CD. The live music enhanced the production. The guitarists, three cajonistas, and singers were all virtuosos. The correographer, a woman probably in her 50’s, had a minor role. She must have been quite an extraordinary dancer in her day, and she was still in excellent physical condition. All of us were genuinely moved. For several of the students, it was the first time they had experienced flamenco. The general consensus among them was, “Thank God I got to see it before leaving Spain!” Of course there’s always Carmen De La Calle in San Antonio which features flamenco dancing on Fridays, very good, but not quite the same.

After the performance, I had made plans with Sandra, Shanelle, and Valerie to spend our last evening in Madrid at El Junco, the lively jazz club we went to on Tuesday. Victoria and Mariela also decided to go with us. We arrived early, so we went to a nearby bar to have a drink. In the meantime Mariela met some folks from Chile, her native homeland, and they invited her for a drink. She was very excited to meet them, so we could understand her enthusiasm. The rest of us went on to El Junco to get seats. We were worried that she went off with strangers and hoped she would return quickly. Thank goodness she did.

For a Sunday night at 11:30, the club was already beginning to fill up. We barely got seats. Tonight’s music was a blues jam lead by an American from Queens who has lived here for 17 years. Valerie clicked with this club, and decided to do her feature story on a comparison between El Junco and a another jazz venue in San Antonio. I suggested she interview some of the musicians in the band and at least one of the staffers as this would be her only chance. I could see she easily connected with her interviewees as she eagerly took notes while they spoke. I was really proud of her for jumping right in.

The club continued to fill up as the musicians jammed with the blues. There was just as much energy and fabulous music as the last time we were here. Being the transnochera that I am, I could have stayed all night, but since we had an early wake-up call the next morning we needed to head back. It was already 2 a.m. Mi ultima noche en Madrid ya se me fue. Que triste! But I found yet another place to enjoy jazz here, and I’ll return to El Junco.

Madrid- the Second Day Back

One of the first things I did today was to purchase La Guia Del Ocio, Madrid's leisure guide. For me that's the Bible for what´s happening culturally and entertainment-wise around the city, and it only costs a euro.


I blogged for several hours to catch up on my writing. Although the urge strikes to experience more of Madrid, first things first; then I play tonight. I walked all the way to Sol from the hotel because the hotel indicated there were no internet cafes in our area. After several hours´work, I thought about attending a major opening at Circulo de Bellas Artes called La Transicion a la Democracia 1975-82 instead of meeting the group for dinner, but it was the last night for seven of our students and the entire Alaskan group who had been with us during the tour, and I wanted to say goodbye.



From the restaruant, Sandra, Shanelle, Valerie, Steve, and I went to Chueca, the gay/lesbian district. Chueca is full of hip, trendy bars, cafes and restaurants. Throughout its streets we saw rainbow flags hanging from overhead wires. Tomorrow the EuroPride celebration kicks off. It promises to be much larger than any Gay Pride celebration back in the States. This year, the European Union designated Madrid as the center for this celebration. Gays/lesbians from all over Europe and other parts of the world will converge here, as many as 2,000,000 and will reach its climax on Saturday, the 30th the day of the huge Gay Pride Parade.

Hundreds of people were already in the streets, even though the official celebration does not start until tomorrow. After walking around for awhile, we popped into Cafe Madrid for a drink. Later on Valerie needed to use the internet to blog (what dedication!) so Steve, Sandra, Shanelle and I went to a bar a couple of doors down for some vino tinto. It had a nice modern flair, a sleek, white formica bar with red stools. We spoke to a young, congenial bartender who took our order as he explained the pecking order of red wines in Spain. Some of the best come from El Ribero del Duero near Burgos. Some time passed and when Valerie was ready, we headed for El Junco, a jazz club on La Plaza de Santa Barbara. We had passed it when we got off the metro and almost missed the non-descript place, a virtual black hole in the wall with a small sign. Mariela and Victoria would also be joining us here at 11:30 and we wanted to be punctual.



I had heard many positive comments about this club. During my first two stints in Madrid, but I never went for lack of time, and so I was determined to make it over there. We walked into a dimly lit room and sat at the bar. The musicians were setting up for tonight's jam session; the bar was pretty empty. We ordered some drinks and waited for the show to begin, supposedly at 11:30, but of course in Spain shows never start on time. So what? La noche está en pañales! The night is still young! About a 30 minutes elapsed and another musician entered. He approached Shanelle and gave her a peck on the cheek. For a second, I thought they knew each other, but evidently he found her attractive. I think he wanted to make sure she stayed, so he told her they´d be starting the set within a few minutes. More time passed; finally people began coming in and the muscians began to play. I found it amazing that most of the audience was young-- people in their 20's and 30's, unlike San Antonio. The place was packed soon after with the audience really getting into the music as they applauded every solo improvisation. The music was fabulous. There´s a wonderful energy about this club even though the night doesn´t get rolling there until much later. I´m definitely spending my last night in Madrid at El Junco.


Later on in the evening, yet another musician, the sax player, approached Shanelle. His name is Dayne; he´s from Cuba and he´s cute. Unlike most musicians, he doesn't smoke or drink. They seemed to have clicked because he asked her out for tomorrow. She is adorable.



About 2 am we decided to head back to the hotel. Steve had already left because the smoke was bothering him. All in all it was a fabulous evening!

Life is a Beach - Well, Not Really

After leaving Granada on June 21, we headed for Torremolinos, a resort near Malaga on the Costa del Sol. Malaga has greater fame, but it´s much more expensive. We actually stayed in the town next to Torremolinos. I heard some rather negative comments about the area, and wasn´t exactly looking forward to coming here; I would have rather remained in Granada. Nonetheless I can understand why the students were so excited about spending some time here. They all wanted to dive into the Mediterranean of course, but they also relished having some free time and just chill --tranquilo no más! No wake-up calls, no schedule -- beach bums for a day!

Our hotel, which was on the ratty side in every way, was up a steep hill, but not far from the beach. The beach was attractive and clean, the water a deep azure blue. The main drag bustled with activity. Tourists could choose from a variety of restaurants ( I spotted several Indian places) bars, cafes. They could shop at small superettes and souvenir shops. I heard many different languages, too from Japanese to German. Lots of tourists from England and Ireland come to kick up their heels, too



As soon as we arrived, some students and I dashed for an internet cafe to blog. We walked for two miles and finally came across one. Later on, we learned the internet was much closer, just a few blocks -- oh well -- the exercise can´t hurt. I blogged and missed dinner, but from what I heard didn´t miss much.



Denise and I had a drink together in the noisy hotel bar with annoying music in the background. We talked about how much we´ve enjoyed teaching together during this tour as well as our next road show (oops, sorry I mean study tour) -- get this-- INDIA! We have both always wanted to visit this incredibly fascinating place. The plan is to go in 2010 and we´ll have plenty of time to research, plan and promote it. I´m really excited !!



Early in the trip Kim Corbin told me about a place called Ronda which is near here. She asked me if I wanted to go with her. It was a small medieval town deep in the sierra with spectacular views of a gorge. I didn´t want to just lay out there on the beach and perhaps get burned, so I gladly accepted. Getting there however was a comedy of errors. We couldn´t find out about the bus schedule until the next morning. Laura, the hotel clerk, said she would call for us then. We found out the bus was leaving at 10:20 frrom Torremolinos which meant we had to get a taxi to the station to save time. We had less than an hour, but we thought we could make it. Laura called us a taxi. When we arrived out front two ladies jumped right in the car como si fuera nada (as if it were nothing). I was really angry, but the taxista called us another cab, and it came right away. We told the driver our destination and when the bus was leaving. Her reply, ¨Impossible! No les alcanza el tiempo por el tráfico.¨ (Impossible! You won't get there in time because of the traffic) We were already a few blocks from the hotel, and we were trying to decide what to do. I thought it would be better to just go and catch the next bus at 12:50 even though we'd arrive early, but Kim didn´t want to and opted to spend some time at the beach to kill time. In the meantime, the meter is running; we head back. The fare for just around the block was 4.5 Euros.



I stayed, too. She went up to change; I waited for her and then we walked to the beach. I left to find an ATM machine and said I'd return in 15 minutes. I couldn't find one and when I did, it didn't work. In the meantime I decided to return to the beach to find Kim, but she was gone, and I figured she must have returned to the hotel because I was very late. When I trudged up the hill and into the hotel, there she was waiting for me ready to go.



Laura called us another cab and we were on our way with plenty of time to spare. The cab driver asked us which station we wanted in Torremolinos, but we didn´t know there were two. I told him we wanted to go to Ronda and I asked him if he knew which station, but he didn't. We stopped at one station, and I asked him to wait in case we had to go to the other. I dashed in to inquire, meanwhile the meter is running. This station was the one and I motioned to Kim to come with me. The price is 15 Euros - very expensive since the other driver would have only charged us nine. But since he had to park and wait, that jacked up the price. I do believe nos vio la cara. We got there 30 minutes minutes early, bought our tickets and just engaged in pleasant conversation with each other. It was already time, I and was afraid that the bus had come and gone. I asked at the ticket window, and all was well. The clock advanced however, and still no bus. Then we heard that it would arrive late because of heavy traffic in Malaga. More time lost. The woman in the ticket office said the trip would take at least 2.5 hours; Kim thought we would get there within 1.5. I was hoping for something in the middle.



Hallelujia! The bus finally came at 1:20. As we proceeded along the coast passing through Malaga, Marbella and other beach towns however, we encountered traffic at every turn. ¨By the time we arrive it will be time to return,¨ I complained to Kim. After traveling over an hour on clogged roads we finally broke out of a holding pattern and headed for the hills--literally! Within minutes we could already see an expansive view of the countryside. I was surprised to see a sign indicating that Sevilla, our next stop on the tour, was only 120 kilometers away. I said to Kim, ¨Hey, we might as well spend the night in Ronda and have the group take our stuff and we´'ll see ya' in Sevilla! By around 4 p.m. we had arrived at our destination -- Ronda ciudad sonada. We had exactly four hours to enjoy the city.



Ronda is one of the most spectacular cities in Andalucia. It is divided in two -a vibrant newer section full of restaurants and fine shops and el casco viejo or the historical core which interested us more. From the start we experienced incredible scenery including a huge gorge called El Tajo. It is over 130 meters high with the beautiful Guadalquivir River running through it. An 18th century bridge connects the old and new sections with whitewashed houses hanging precariously on either side of it. Orson Wells and Ernest Hemmingway both lived here for a time and have written about this beautiful place.



We were both hungry and looked for a restarurant which would provide us with a view. After a couple of tries, we finally found one called La Duquesa de Parcent which looked pricy, but the balcony overlooked the gorge, so we splurged. The menu del dia was only 15 euros not including beverages. We had a leisurely three-course lunch while we drank in the spectacular countryside. We must have been there for almost an hour and a half. We walked around the rest of this charming, picturesque town enjoying its medieval architecture, winding streets and lush green parks. We did a little shopping so we could purchase a souvenir. I bought a small ceramic piece depicting the gorge to hang in my travel corner; Kim bought some pretty green numbers made from porcelain to hang somewhere in her house. We later came across a statue of la Duquesa de Parcent in one of the parks, so she must have had some importance. I'm curious about her. Who was she? Another research project.



It was going on 8 p.m., so we headed for the bus terminal for the trip back. I'm so glad we went; it was worth the trouble getting there. Kim was great company, too! At around 10:30, the bus drove right through our town, so we asked the driver to let us off. That way we didn't have to go to the terminal in Torremolinos and take an expensive taxi cab ride back. We decided to stop somewhere for a beer before going back to the hotel and turning in for the night. No transnochando tonight!



The next morning we got up late because we weren't leaving until 12:30 to travel to Sevilla. The students had another shot at the beach, and they were very happy campers!

My Return to Granada - Better the 2nd Time Around!

We left Valencia early yesterday morning (June 20) for the long bus ride to Granada, the last stronghold of the Moors deep in Andalusia. I was last here in 1986. It seemed much smaller then. Unlike our hotel in Valencia, our lodging was downtown, relatively close to some of the city´s points of interest.


We arrived during the afternoon at our hotel, Luna de Granada and immediately began to explore the city. Gary gave us his usual orientation and passed out maps. I went with Richard, Sonia, Kim and Steve to visit the cathedral and the royal chapel where some of Spain´s greatest monarchs are buried, including Los Reyes Católicos (the Catholic Kings) Isabel and Fernando. Just before we entered the cathedral, we approached some vendors who were selling a diverse selection of teas, spices and herbs. The kaleidescope of fragrances was intoxicating. I felt a strong urge to purchase something, but I knew I would not be able to pass it through US Customs because it was not packaged. All I could do was to take a picture of the moment.




We entered the cathedral, a massive gothic structure--very beautiful indeed. A choir sang a capella, and their lovely chanting added to the experience. The choir members were nowhere to be seen; I only heard the echoes of their voices gently caressing the interior of the church.




We then proceded to the Royal Chapel just around the corner. Unfortunately we couldn´t take photos. We saw the massive carved monuments to Los Reyes Católicos, then walked down a set of stairs to view their coffins. It was an eerie sight. Here I was -- standing before the remains of two individuals who played a pivotal role in Spain´s history. Sonia later remarked that Queen Isabel was her¨hero¨ because she was so ¨strong and ¨charismatic.¨




After our visit, it was time to go to dinner so we headed back to our hotel. We also needed to get ready to attend a flamenco perfomance featuring gypsies later in the evening. Dinner was a sumptuous buffet, a definite change of pace from the family style dinners we had been eating.




I went back to my room to change into a long black skirt and blouse. I was eagerly awaiting the performance which was to take place in the Albaicin, el barrio árabe not too far from the Alhambra which we would visit tomorrow. The neighborhood was picturesque to say the least with its white washed homes, winding cobblestone streets, intimate restaurants and cafés. In 1984, this quarter was declared a United Nations World Heritage Site. When I was here over 20 years ago, I couldn´t spend much time in this neighborhood. Since then, it has expanded and become a crown jewel for Granada.



The show was supposed to be authentic flamenco performed in a cave, but in reality it was done in a long narrow room referred to as a cava or cave. It was packed with tourists. I sensed this would not be the real thing as promised. The price of 35 Euros (almost $50 US) included transportation to/from the hotel a drink, a one hour show and a brief tour of the Albaicin area. In my opinion, it wasn´t worth the money. I thought the dancing and the flamenco guitar were contrived and shallow. I didn´t note even sincerity in the performers. The whole operation seemed like one big money-making machine. After seeing performances in Madrid at venues such as Casa Patas and El Corral de la Moriría, this one paled by comparison.


We returned a little after midnight. I would have stayed at the Albaicin, if there were places open. There was nothing around the hotel either. The situation reminded me of San Antonio where nearly everything shuts down at 10 pm, even on week-ends. I really didn´t feel like turning in, even though our wake-up call would strike at 6:15 am. After all, Gary said Granada was a ¨party town.¨ I also had to live up to my reputation as la callejera, someone who likes to roam the streets. (even though Denise still keeps calling me la callejona) Some of the younger travellers planned on going to a discoteque, but that´s not my scene anymore.



All I wanted to do was to have a nightcap. One of my other traveling companions, Sandra, who is here with her two daughters, also wanted to do the same. So we set off and we finally found a bar, humble as it was, that was still open. We sat outside. It took a while to get served and in fact, the owner, an older man with white hair and glasses, brought Sandra a sangria instead of the beer she ordered. As we were leaving, I remarked to the owner, who was very pleasant, that I was disappointed Granada shuts down so early and that his was the only place open. He replied,¨No es cierto señora. Hay un bar muy bueno a la esquina. Es de un amigo mío. Yo las llevo allí. (That´s not true ma ám. There´s a real good bar on the corner which belongs to a friend of mine. I´ll take you there.) So we went with him and entered. He told us he would probably meet us here with his wife after he closed up his bar for the night.



The bar had a modern flair with soft but colorful lighting. Brazilian music played in the background, As Sandra and I sat down at the bar, a young black man greeted us. In a cheerful voice, he welcomed us and recommended we order a beer with grenadine. He said, ¨Ya sé que esta combinación es medio rara, pero pruébala.¨ (I know the combination is a bit strange, but try it). We both decided to try it. When I saw he was about to open a Budweiser, I put my hands out in front and shouted¨No, no, no!¨ He immediately understood and opened a bottle of Alhambra, presumibly a local brew named after the famous Moorish palace which we would visit tomorrow. The beer concoction was actually quite pleasant -- sweet but refreshing. The bartender was from Sao Paulo, and moved to Sevilla two years ago. Tonight he was riding the success of his new place which he just opened two weeks ago. Even though it was after 1 am, the bar was fairly crowded. We had some tasty tapas with our beers. Then the young man put out dishes of gumdrops. They were small, soft and fruity and melted in my mouth. I found myself nimbling on them continuously.



Later, the owner from the previous bar and his wife came in. They were very glad to see us. We talked for quite awhile, engaged in pleasant conversation. By 2:30 am, Sandra and I remembered we would have a 6:30 am wake-up call. We had an 8:45 reservation at the Alhambra and punctuality was essential or else! The senior couple insisted we go on to what appeared to be a punk bar with them right next door, but we knew that would spell disaster because we might oversleep. It took some convincing to pry ourselves way; however, we didn´t want to appear rude. We told them about about our tour through Spain with our students, and one punker who overheard us said jokingly we were setting a bad example for them. The evening ended on a light note, and we returned to our hotel for the night.



The Alhambra



I was exhausted the next morning, but as usual, I got my second wind just thinking about the thrill of visiting the Alhambra again after 20 years. In the 13th century, Granada became the capital of Al-andalus, the last Moorish stronghold. The Moors constructed this majestic palace in a privileged location surrounded by mountains and woods, close enough to Grandada, but also far enough away so that the ruling sultans could protect themselves from unruly subjects.



When I last visited the Alhambra in 1986, the palace was in a state of disrepair, and the gardens were brown. Nonetheless, I still thought the site was beautiful because of the history and culture residing within its walls. This time I was absolutely stunned at the remarkable progress made in the Alhambra´s restoration. The walls gleamed and I could see virtually every detailed carving on them. Likewise for the Generalife or gardens which showed off their lush green vegetation and colorful, fragrant flowers. The cool, dry air, bright blue sky further enhanced the experience.



Our guide Nils met us at the entrance. I immediately took to his warm personality, He has an interesting background too. He was born and raised in Spain; his father is Swedish and a painter; his mother is French. I could sense his passion for the Alhambra and Moorish culture right away. I liked his approach because he conveyed major concepts and values behind this palace rather than boring us with meaningless details about its history. He recommended a book called The Alhambra by Oleg Grabar to learn more and I will purchase it.



We began our tour with the Generalife, a paradise which exudes an interior quietness and stimulates the senses. As we walked through the gardens I could smell roses, and other fragrant plants. The green cypress bushes, tall, thick and verdant served as a barrier to outside noise and heat. The air actually felt cooler here because when we left the palace the temperature was a bit warmer.

As we proceeded through the various sections of the palace, I was awestruck by its elegance and beauty and the panoramic views of Granada from it. Surprisingly, the walls are made of plaster; however, the masterful work of artisans who carved intricate designs in them centuries ago made them look like alabaster. According to Nils, many of the designs connected to repetitive patterns in mathematics and nature. Even though I had sensory overload, all was in perfect harmony -- I wasn´t even tired, even after the three-hour tour.

When we left the palace, Gary told us we had two hours of free time before leaving for our next destination. Some of us decided to catch up on our blogging. I wrote for awhile and then I went with Sonia for a bite to eat. Richard recommended a Middle Eastern place that does takeout around the corner. It was a cozy spot. We ordered from the owner, a Syrian who spoke very fluent Spanish and English. I ordered falafel--absolutely delectible and filling-- and ate it on the run to make the bus on time.

I was sad to leave Granada, a very walkable city with deep Islamic roots, exotic smells of herbs and spices, and a lovely climate. I will return -- algún día si Alá quiere.

Valencia: Tradition and Modernity

We arrived here from Barcelona on June 19, but I haven´t been able to blog for awhile. I´m falling behind, but eventually I´ll catch up. I was last here in June, 2005. Our first stop was the museum complex of arts and sciences, an ultra-modern collection of buildings which has the 21st Century written all over it. We had no time to visit, only to take some photos and use the restrooms. The day was bright and sunny, unlike the weather i Barcelona which was cloudy with intermitent rain. A blue sky made for a lovely contrast next to the gleaming white buildings

We then proceeded to the center of town to get a brief orientation. While Valencia has strived to attract more tourism through its futuristic museum complex, there´s a lot of history here which includes a healthy dose of Moorish cultural influence as exhibited through some of the architecture and food. We didn´t have much time, so we had to prioritize. Denise, her family and I decided to go to the spectacular cathedral one of the many places which claims to hold the Holy Grail. It is indeed a towering structure. I felt so insignificant yet privileged to experience it. I saw a plethora of priceless artifacts and an altar of gold with beautiful paintings in the Renaissance style which depicted the life of Christ. The chapel´s azure ceiling with gold leaf caught my attention. We nade our way through the immense cathedral with the assistance of an audio tour which provided informative explanations. We finally entered the room of the Holy Grail.. The prized artifact was in the middle of an immense wall of intricately carved wooden panels which seemed to dwarf it.

After the cathedral visit, we proceded to the market which unfortunately was closed. We made a pit stop at McDonald´s to use the restrooms and get ice cream. I never frequent fast food joints as much as I have on this trip. They have come in handy. The hour to rendevous with our group came, so we headed for our bus. Our hotel, a Holiday Inn Express, was far from town and I felt it wasn´t worth it to come back. I really wanted to experience more of this delighful place. but the taxi ride would cost over $40 round trip. I needed to recharge my batteries anyway, so for once I turned in early after our dinner at a shopping mall within walking distance from our hotel. The meal was surprisingly good! Tomorrow it was on to Granada.

No bull in Pamplona. Glad to Return to Barcelona!

Pamplona, a lovely town in the Navarre province is famous for the running of the bulls in July during the Fiestas de San Fermin. Here, brave and yes, perhaps even foolhardy young men, run through the streets ahead of them while they try desperately to avoid getting hitting hit. It´s a tranquil and pleasant enough place; however, during the bull run, the town swells with thousands of people, both spectators and runners, many of whom revel in the partying and thrill-seeking this event provides. It began to rain when our guide Gary took us to the street where the event takes place. There are no bulls here until another three weeks. I tried to imagine what the atmosphere might be like during the San Fermin celebration--the fierce bulls, the runners trying to dodge them, the bystanders screaming wildly, the utter chaos of it all.

Barcelona

We had some free time here, and then it was onward to Barcelona, a jewel of a city on the Mediterranean. It was going to be a long ride --about 700 kilometers. Most of us relaxed, slept and/or watched some DVD´S Gary brought. We made a couple of stops along the way, and we finally arrived around 8 pm. Much to our disappointment, our hotel was 17 kilometers from the city in an industrial zone. Luckily, there was a bus we could catch around the corner from the hotel. I couldn´t bear the thought of turning in early just because we were a bit far from the action. They don´t call me la callejera for nothing! Some of us decided to check out the city and hit the streets. About 10 pm Sonia, Richard, Valerie, Sandra, Shanelle, Steve and I caught the bus to Plaza Espana, then took the metro to Plaza Cataluyna where we would begin our walk down the world famous boulevard Las Ramblas. There were lots of folks still out and about, but since it was Sunday, the scene was more sedate. Also the Barcelona soccer team had just lost to Real Madrid, so people were not in a mood for celebration. As one bartender remarked later in the evening ¨Estamos de luto. (We´re in mourning)

We walked down Las Ramblas to the port which now sported an expansive boardwalk with some chic bars and restaurants. We hoped to have a drink by the water at one of them, but they were all closing up. Back on Las Ramblas we found a quiet place and ordered drinks and tapas. Richard and I split a bottle of vino tinto. I suggested we try a local wine because the region of Cataluyna produces some of the best in Spain. Our waiter brought us a bottle of Los Coroneos which was similar to a shiraz. We both thought it was an excellent choice. At about 130 am we decided to catch el buho (the owl bus) home and returned to Plaza Catalunya. Much to our surprise the driver took a convoluted route home and we didn´t get back until after 3 am. All in all though, I spent a very enjoyable evening with great company.

I first visited Barcelona in 1986 during my maiden trip to Europe and fell in love with it. I spent four magical days here, and was so happy to return. As I have walked the streets today and visited familiar sites, a flood of happy memories emerges from my mind.

More to come on Barcelona

Burgos, Bilbao, San Sebastian -- It just keeps getting better!

Burgos is the birth and burial place of El Cid and home of the famous cathedral whose construction began in 1221. I was really expecting an austere town with arid surroundings. To my surprise it was verdant, complete with the Rio Duero flowing through it. Unfortunately it rained heavily which caught me off guard since I didn´t bring my raincoat. Our guide Carlota met us when we arrived and took us to La Cartuja, a Cartesian monestary on the outskirts of town. In fact, it was recently the subject of a documentary film called The Long Silence which illuistrates the life of the monks there who live their lives in silence as they go about their daily rituals. I heard about this film before the trip, but didn´t pay it any mind because there is no soundtrack. Now that I have visited the monastery, I will definitely see it when the DVD becomes available. I purchased a lovely rosary which has beads made from rose petals -- more than 3,000 for each necklace; the fragrance is absolutely intoxicating. Carlota took us through the monastery´s chapel with its immense golden altar. Carlota told us Columbus brought the gold from Latin America. It is truly a magnificent piece of work because of the intricate figures it contains of Christ and his disciples. After the monestary, we proceeded to the cathedral. I wondered, how could the inside of this church be any more spectacular than the monestary´s chapel? I was indeed mistaken. The cathedral was over the top!! The altar was even larger, and there were more treasures throughout the building. Carlota took us through room after room and carefully explained the contents, including the tomb of El Cid, one of the heroes of the Reconquest. Burgos part of one of the oriinal Christian kingdoms

The outside of the church is no less than spectacular with its gótico florecido style and ornate facade.

More to come on Burgos

Bilbao, Bilbao -- Como te has camibiao!!

Bilbao, a port further to the north in the Basque country has a new look. It has shed its industrial ambience for one that beckons tourism and culture. This was my first visit, and I must admit I was stunned by the city´s beauty. A lovely river walkway meanders throughout the center of the city. On both sides, old yet handsome stone buildings stand tall and stately. As recently as ten years ago, the city held little attraction for tourists and natives alike. The municipal government deserves much credit in doing a yeoman´s job in urban planning to make the city more pedestrian friendly and livable. An abundance of greenery and parks and a major facelift of the old city - el casco viejo - helped to make that a reality. San Antonio´s city council should take some cues from Bilbao.

More to come !

San Sebastian beginning to look like French Rivera

This lovely city on the Cantabrian Sea, has blown me away. It is indeed a jewel with its pristine beaches, old world style and even its own film festival which could one day rival the hoopla at Cannes. One the way to town, we had a brief discussion of liberal Spain in our text, and then met our guide Eduardo when we arrived. Upon meeting him, I pegged him as a superestrella of a guide. He was knowledgeable, charming, engaging and absolutely hilarious. He took us on a three hour walking tour of his beautifull city telling us amusing anectdotes all along the way while offering a list of do´s and don´ts during our brief stay. He has a lovely accent when speaking English, too. After our tour, we asked to stay longer here since our hotel was so far away, so instead of meeting at 5 :30 pm to return, we´re met up at 7:30 pm, our request was granted. Before Denise and I could get our students together for our internet blogging session, they had scattered. Several also did not know the bus would be leaving two hours later.

I decided to go off on my own to see the Royal Summer Palace Eduardo talked about, but unfortunately it was not open. I walked back towards the old city to call home since I hadn´t phoned for several days -- then I would be able to relax. As I strolled onto Calle Porto, I looked for a locutorio, where I could call the States, and I found one. Then suddenly, I heard people singing joyfully in the streets just a block up. I went to see what it was all about. I saw dozens of folks with song lyrics in their hands; they sang beautifully in key. When I asked about the singing, a woman told me this occurs the third Saturday of the month. Although they sang in their native Basque, I saw that everyone knew this from memory. It was evident the song was part of a common heritage and it sounded like a protest hymn. Briefly, it has to do with the Basque separation from the rest of Spain as they have always wanted since the beginning of Spain´s history. I reflected upon the spontaneity of this moment

I went to the locutorio to call home then checked out the Bar Aralar two doors down. I saw throngs of patrons eating, drinking and chattering, but what really caught my eye were the pinchos or appetizers Eduardo talked about. He highly recommended them and told us about the etiquette in ordering them. Bartenders put out dozens of trays filled with these delectible treats. I first ordered a locally brewed beer, Pagoa which had a wheaty nutlike taste -- muy sabrosa! I had a few sips, then decided to order some appetizers while keeping in mind how Eduardo told us to order. Ask the bartender for a plate; pick some out; show the plate to him and then pay. The selection was mesmerizing -- at least 20 different kinds, so colorful and adroitly stacked on the large serving plates. How I wished I could have sampled them all! My eyes were bigger than my stomach. I ordered pastry stuffed with salmon, a miniature baguette with tortilla española and sauteed green pepper, artichokes en vinaigrette, and roasted red pepper stuffed with tuna. I thought...voy a repetir la cerveza; esa me gusta. So I ordered another; then I saw the pastel de verduras and showed the bartender. The cost for the two beers and five pinchos was 15 euros or about $21 US ,but the eating experience, as those Mastercard advertisements state.....priceless and also inolvidable!

More to come on San Sebastian!