Day 145 Valencia

I was starting to get a cold during the last few days of Granada and it hit me hard in Valencia. Maybe it was the cold or the mediocre hostel or the gloomy weather or something else, but the city failed to exert any charm on me. I stayed one night and was happy to leave. I did wander over to the impressive new arts and sciences buildings, although, I had no interest whatsoever in going inside.

I am sorry to have had such a lousy experience in Spain’s third largest and reputedly pleasant city. I think it was only a bad set of circumstances so I won’t hold a grudge. It did feel good to get on a train out of town though.

One interesting thing about traveling is the occurrence of chemistry. In some places, as in Granada, the perfect mixture of elements comes together: Friends, atmosphere, good lodging, good weather, great food, and positive attitude. At those times things cannot get any better. When those things are missing in various degrees it totally changes the feel of places. This explains why some people love the places that others can’t leave fast enough. It is part chance and part attitude. I guess that is life in a nutshell.

Barcelona here I come.

Day 142 Granada

Granada is a lovely place that has a very comfortable feel. I was lucky to get in through an affirmative action program for non-dreadlocked people. Inexplicably, the second most popular hairstyle is the mullet, often with dreads in the back. I felt like a minority with conservatively short hair.

The hills around the city are filled with cave dwellings that originally created by Gypsies and now are predominately occupied by hippies. I think the long-term exposure to the hemp masters rubbed off on the general population. It still doesn't explain the mullet thing though.

The city is dominated by the huge and beautiful Alhambra, perched on a hilltop in its midst. There is a saying here that says, “If you die without seeing the Alhambra, you have not lived.” I can only imagine what it was like when it was occupied. According to the guidebook, when the last Moorish ruler, Boabdil, was finally pushed out by overwhelming forces, he looked back longingly at his beloved Alhambra and his mother told him, “You do well to weep as a woman for what you could not defend as a man.” Dang Mom, that’s a little harsh, don’tcha think? I feel for the guy, the place is spectacular.

I stayed in the Oasis, the best hostel of my travels, right in the center of town. It was a combination of a really fun group of people, free wi-fi, a cool bar, cheap delicious dinners, and nice facilities. Throw in lots of tapas, kebabs, beer, poker, intimate flamenco, many funny conversations, inebriated chess matches, and a hilarious Argentinean and it equals the best time I have had in a long time. Tapas come free with drinks in Granada and make a tasty and cheap way to eat at noon or 7:00 or midnight or much later. As good as tapas are, I still recommend the juicy, 3am kebab to finish off the evening. My friends included Patrício from Argentina, Sam from Scotland, Gid from the UK, Bianca from Australia, a bunch of Americans, Herberto the indecisive, and what’s his name from NY.

I had a very good time in Granada.

Day 140 Tanger, Morocco

It did not help that right before I took the ferry to Tanger that I talked to several people who were returning after being robbed there. Nor did all of the online warnings of daylight violence and thievery help. I was understandably wary stepping off the ferry and into the masses of this very foreign land.

The first thing I expected to happen occurred before I was even through the customs checkpoint. I was approached by a guide who tried very hard to get me to stay at the most expensive hotel in town and take his choice of taxi to get there. He tried his best: flattery, cajoling, and outright lying. He was an official licensed guide so I pried him off as nicely as I could.

The second thing I expected to happen didn’t happen. Where were the hoards of the unwashed youth clinging to my legs pleading for money? One young boy asked for money as I passed, but his heart wasn’t in it; it was more of an offhand comment than a request. I was left alone except for a few, standard, city beggars.

The third thing I expected to happen was that an unofficial guide would hound me in the medina (a bewildering maze of a market). That did happen. No matter how I tried to lose him, he was persistent. No words would make him leave my shadow. He offered mostly worthless bits of information as I wandered, trying very hard to get me into his choice of shops. I wasn’t playing that game but he didn’t care—on my way out of the medina he demanded 50 euro for his services. I laughed and laughed and kept walking. He stayed with me and started acting angry. I knew that it was against the law for him to be an unofficial guide and walked straight out into the open city. The further out of the medina I got, the more nervous he got. He did tell me maybe one or two interesting details about the market so I offered him 10 diram (about USD$1) to get rid of him. He took it, swore at me, and turned tail.

Later, sitting in a café, I started talking a Moroccan architectural designer named Youssef. We quickly became friends as he showed me around the city and I helped him with English and he helped me remember my French schooling. We had coffee and hit a little locals only place for some delicious, traditional pea soup, olives, and skewered lamb kebabs. And in classic Moroccan hospitality he refused to let me pay wherever we went. I insisted that he meet me later so I could return the favor in the form of an alcoholic beverage. We went to a few different places and had a really good time. I look forward to looking Youssef up when I return to Morocco.

The initially unnerving things about Tanger is that there are many young boys and men that are standing around watching you. They watched you closely as you pass making you feel like they are measuring you up to see if you are worth robbing. After a few days and spending time with Youssef I figured out that most are merely curious and enjoy people watching and that standing around is a social activity. With this cultural realization, the city took on a whole different feel. I felt much more relaxed. But not too relaxed.

I can’t wait to return to Morocco so I can see the interior cities. Tanger is a border town and much like Tijuana, Mexico is not representative of the rest of the country. Now it is back to Spain to head toward Granada.

Day 138 Gibraltar

I left Cadiz with the intention of staying at the “delightfully relaxed” town of Tarifa (online recommendation) and then taking the ferry over to Morocco. I got to Tarifa, looked around, found out that one person’s “delightfully relaxed” is my “dreadfully boring” and that the ferry is only for EU passengers, so I got back on the bus for the ferry in Algeciras. On the way I changed my mind and thought I would just go to Gibraltar and take the ferry from there. I stopped in La Linea on the border with Gib because the guide book said it was cheaper and very close. It is good to be flexible.

Hostal Paris, or so the sign said. It was in need of a few more adjectives, but I was too tired to care. The clerk, feeling confident with the rapidly advancing night, put the squeeze on me for more dough. He said that they had no more single rooms and that I would have to fork out for a double. He could have been holding a knife; the effect would have been the same.

It was time to start playing the game:

A double cost too much for me.
He had no choice but to charge me full price.
I would have to find somewhere else.
He might be able to give me a break.
I did not really want to stay here anyway.
He could cut it more.
I needed a few nights and can’t afford much.
He could not do any better.
I started to walk away saying I could only pay one euro more a night.
He said he would sacrifice his future economic well being and let me stay out of generosity.
I said I was very grateful.
I got my key and a bigger room.

In my two days there I only heard two other people in the echoing tile hallways, the place was jammed alright.

I hit the streets for a kebab and the game went on: I ordered a beer and a super kebab—can’t go wrong there, yet I knew I was in trouble when the open bottle of Budweiser hit the table and everyone else had the local swill. When I went to pay he said it was ten euro. Wait a minute. Six for the kebab and three for the fancy imported beer equals ten? He insisted it did and only relented after I did the math for him three times in as many languages. Amazingly, he had the nerve to claim that he did not have one euro in change! He spent a few minutes “looking” and when I did not leave, made a loud, dramatic plea to the customers for change. I left with my euro.

You know right away that Gibraltar is a different kind of place; the only available land for landing planes also happens to be the only land route in. The road goes right through the middle of the airport runway, giving you a weird feeling of being exposed as you walk across the tarmac.

The county is a one big rock stuck out in the sea and was used by the Moors, Spanish, and British. The British did the most tunneling, digging 33 miles of tunnels all the way around and through, creating enough space to shelter 30,000 people. They threw the debris in the sea and ended up with the flat dry land on which the city is built. The culture ended up being a weird mix of half Spanish and half British with Moorish influences.

I took the minibus tour of the rock (cheaper than the tram and a whole lot less walking up and down hills). The first stop was to gaze at the mysterious dark shape of Africa looming across the straight. Second up, or down really, was the natural caves. They are riddled with stalagmites and have enough room for an amphitheater that is used for music performances. And then there were the apes. The only population of non-human primates in Europe lives way up on the rock. Their life consists of begging, eating, sleeping, and biting the occasional stupid tourist. Even though they may be very cute, they are still wild animals. I strayed too close to a group of three young apes and became a human jungle gym and to my great pleasure managed to avoid being smeared with poo.

Last was the great siege tunnels of which you can only see a disappointing 100 yards out of the 33 miles. Cannons, mannequins, and story boards give a tease as to what is deeper without giving any real satisfaction. It was still cool though.

Now I am ready for Morocco. Unfortunately, the ferry in Gib only leaves on Fridays. So it is back to port of Algeciras for me.

Day 136 Cádiz

I liked Cadiz right away. I found a great hostel a few blocks from the bus station and the beach. It is called Casa Caracol and has no sign, just a friendly snail painted on the always locked, marine blue door. A gentle knock opened the door to the warm embrace of an eclectic mix of dreadlocked and/or beach blonde surfer dudes. They have a great combination of humility, a love of life, and generosity. It was fun talking to them and going to the beach, although I did decline their frequent offers of herbal pleasure. Most strange about the hostel is that it has the nicest and cleanest kitchen of any place I have been. And it has wonderful down comforters for the beds. And it has free wi-fi. And it is only $18/night.

Cadiz has a wonderful warm feel to it as well as I walked around the streets filled with local families walking, shopping, and playing in the streets and plazas. It feels like a cozy small town. This is really interesting since in February it has the wildest carnival in Europe. According to my guidebook, it makes New Orleans Mardi Gras look like a bible study group. That is saying something. It would be nice to hang out on the beach with the dudes for a month, but I have to move on.

On my out of town I had three deliciously filling tapas and a beer for less than $5. Gotta love that.

The one negative comment I have for Cadiz could be true for beaches anywhere; one of the dudes was running on the beach playing frisbee and got a used drug syringe stuck in his foot. That is scary.

Day 132 Cordoba Spain

The train to Cordoba was a pleasant four hour break to relax and have some quiet time after the constant din of Madrid. Too bad Cordoba was only two hours away. This is the problem with not speaking the language. I arrived in Malaga on the south coast, spent an hour an half killing time and then went the two hours back to Cordoba. It was good for a laugh at least. I don’t let things like this bother me or I would never be able to travel as I do.

Cordoba was better than I had expected for a few reasons: La Mesquita, orange trees, Arab baths, and food. La Mesquita is an enormous mosque, built on the site of a Christian church, that was convereted back into a cathedral. When you walk into the silent, dimly, yet artistically lit, forest of 850 columns and arches, you cannot help feeling that you have walked into a movie set. It feels unreal. It is truly a beautiful and serene place that goes on forever. That is, until you get to the middle. Right in the middle is a fairly standard and enormous Christian Cathedral. It is a bizarre juxtaposition and comically sad. The intent was to take back the space for Christianity. It looks like someone stuck an “I Love Jesus” sticker on a Quran.

La Mesquita’s courtyard is filled with orange trees and fountains. The sweet smell of orange permeates the space, immediately enlivening the senses as you walk under the intricate designs of the Moorish arches. Listening to the low splashes of the fountains, relaxing on the sun-warmed stone steps, and letting the oranges’ fragrance occupy my attention was a travel experience to remember. Ahhhhhh…….

It only got better at the Arab baths. It was like sneaking into a Moorish king’s palace bath. Everything is covered in intricately carved designs, candles and tiny star shaped holes in the arches and domed vaults provide light, and small pools in separate columned rooms allow for privacy. You start in the cold room for one minute. When I say cold, I mean looking-for-ice-cubes in the water cold. Then you move on to the warm room. It has the largest pool and is just warmer than body temperature. Stay as long as you like and then move on to the hot room for five minutes and return to the cold. Repeat. I went through the cycle three times before I was called for my rosemary scented oil massage. I was jello before the massage. I walked out of the baths feeling like a new man, incredibly relaxed and smelling of rosemary. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh…

Later, feeling a bit peckish, I hit a tapas place and had two that were outstanding. Rabo de Toro y Chocolate, shown, is bull’s tail and chocolate. Forget grabbing the bull by the horns, take that sucker by the tail and bite it. Served on a layer of pudding like mashed potatoes, the meat was shredded, molded into a nice round, and covered with a barely sweet chocolate, pine nuts, and some kind of small seeds. Oh, can’t forget the olive oil. It was a flavor combination I have not experienced and was intensely fascinating to eat. The other tapa was smoked quail stuffed with foie gras, accompanied with braised melon. I should not have to tell you how good that was. Ahhhhhhh…..

It is needless to say that I liked Cordoba very much. Even the former mental hospital turned hostel was nice; it had big rooms with private baths, good breakfast, and right next to La Mesquita.

Next up: Sevilla!

Day 130 Madrid

It is good be back in Spain again. I am staying at Cat's Hostel in the Heurtas district, near the museums. The hostel is high-tech with wristbands that operate the doors and even the lockers. It is geared toward the young twenties crowd with one upstairs bar and a cool cave bar downstairs that has a surprisingly good live band on the weekend, cheap beer, and too much smoke.

I have been hitting the museums, one a day to avoid burnout, and have found a very good way to improve the museum experience.

Number one: walk slowly, looking at each for a few seconds as you pass, if it speaks to you, stop. If not, keep walking. I stopped trying to find artistic merit. If it doesn't jump out at me, I keep on going. There are whole wings of museums that I breeze past, saving my energy for the good stuff (Rafael, Chagall, Renoir, Hopper).

Number two: Because major museums can be dreary with a heavy dose of artistic death, violence, and general unpleasantness, it is good to lighten the mood a little. Now this works much better with more than one person, but I still found it fun. As you walk past the boring pieces think of humorous alternate titles for the works. Really funny ones will leap out at you if you are in the right frame of mind. I found myself trying hard to suppress chuckles in the quiet echoing rooms. These two techniques got me through the three major museums in half the time and allowed me to avoid post-museum lethargy.

The Palicio Real, throne room shown above, is over-the-top impressive. It is a good example of fit-for-a-king. Apparently, if you rule a country full of poor peasants, nothing is too expensive for the royal family. I am sure they all wanted to out do the other kings and queens to show how important and powerful they were, but come on. Too much is too much. The best part of the palace was the armory--advertised as the best in the world. Now that was impressive! Not so much for the elaborately decorated armor that royals wore—if you were a king wearing armor, there was no doubt as to your status—but for the sheer barbarity and of the weapons. You immediately understood how different life was back then. Not for me, thanks.

Madrid is party central for the younger crowd and not really my kind of place. I am moving south to Cordoba soon.

I have heard many young Americans on the streets and in the hostel. On the whole, they tend to be very loud and oblivious. A few made me embarrassed to share their nationality. Hopefully they learn from their experience here.

Day 120 You Can Never Go Home Again

I am back in Portland for about 10 days. Honestly, I like Portland, but I have not been away long enough. My old life seems so boring compared to my life as a world vagabond. I am having so much fun traveling, I do not even want to think about the day to day of my old life. All the places I have seen, friends I have made (one beautiful woman in particular), and food I have eaten have been rich experiences that make it seem like I have been gone for a year. The best way to sum it up is to say that I am having more fun than should be allowed. I highly recommend it.

Unfortunately, I have to think about taxes. I got all the forms and yet I cannot get myself to do them. I'll take them with me. Since I have a choice as to where I can do them, I would rather do them in Madrid or maybe Barcelona, or even Tangiers, Morroco.

I can't wait to back on the road, or plane in this case.