madrid, day two

Today was the second half of our Madrid art tour.

We were out early again, went back to the same local joint for breakfast (the counterman remembered what we wanted, which we enjoy), and were once again at the museum before it opened. This was Reina Sofia, the national art centre and museum specializing in 19th and 20th century art, and home to Picasso's "Guernica".

Finally seeing Guernica in person was, for me, a highlight of this trip and one of the most moving art experiences I've had. I was quite overcome - in tears - both at the power and emotion conveyed in the painting, and by what it symbolizes. I felt the way I feel when people sing The Internationale; I am usually too choked up to sing, with tears streaming down my face. (I cry super-easily, so perhaps for someone else this might be shedding a tear or two.)

Just as the Spanish Civil War became a symbol for the international fight against fascism, for autonomy, for democratic ideals, for social justice - and the recognition that the struggle transcends national boundaries and identities - Guernica has come to symbolize genocide, oppression, and freedom struggles everywhere.

If you are not familiar with the painting Guernica, the Wikipedia page is a good place to start. The Picasso website's Guernica page is also good. It's hard to overemphasize this painting's importance, both politically and artistically, and I felt its full impact as an appreciator of art, a huge fan of Picasso, a socialist, and a soldier in the struggle for social justice.

Reina Sofia has one-page, laminated information guides in most rooms, and their page on this painting was excellent. There were also photos from Guernica's famous world tour, letters to and from Picasso's people and various art museums, and a famous set of photos of the work in various stages, taken by Picasso's partner at the time, Dona Marr. Having seen Goya's "The Third of May" yesterday at The Prado, it was easy to see Picasso's reference to that iconic Spanish painting in his own.

Eventually I tore myself away to see more from the permanent collection. There is a huge Dali retrospective at the Reina Sofia now (thank goodness we didn't go to Figuerres!), so the crowds were reduced, as most visitors were at the Dali show.

I have been on the lookout for Spanish Civil War history on this trip, especially in Barcelona, but have found none. This museum filled the gap. The permanent collection is very political, largely about the artist's role in revolution and resistance, and different ways art has been used in the service of politics, war, and freedom movements. It's also a good solid collection of Picasso, Miro, and Gris (all Spanish), and many other non-Spanish work of the same period. In another part of the collection, short films by people like Dali, Bunuel, and Antonin Artaud run in conjunction with paintings, models of theatre sets, magazine covers, and architectural models.

Before we left, we went back for another look at Guernica. I thought I could look more dispassionately now, but in a moment I was mesmerized again.

There is a lot to see at this museum, and I would like to go back one day. The museum itself, though, is poorly organized, with inadequate and confusing signage, and unfriendly, unhelpful staff - exactly the opposite of the Prado.

* * * *

We learned from our guidebook that the place where we found our cheap chicken dinner the other night is a Madrid institution with several locations: El Brillante. I think it's the Spanish equivalent of a diner or a New York coffee shop - a place where you can order anything, anytime of day or night, at reasonable prices. There is one on the big plaza near the metro stop for all the big museums, so we went in.

This one was decidedly more upscale than the one in Cuatro Caminos, but still totally down-to-earth. We sat at the huge counter. Allan ordered a grilled sandwich and I noticed a gambas (shrimp) special, so I ordered it and a plate of patatas bravas, fried potatoes in a spicy tomato sauce, which we had eaten in Barcelona. The shrimp comes with the shells on, including the eyes. They are delicious, but a mess to eat. The potatoes were perfect.

The restaurant appears to do a brisk business in calamari sandwiches - fried squid on a thick baguette. The special is two shrimps, a fried calamari sandwich, and a glass of beer for 7.50 euros. As I was piling my own shrimp shells on a plate, I noticed a man nearby wave away the extra plate for shells... and throw his shrimp shells on the floor. We looked around and saw that was what most people were doing. Yuck!

* * * *

After our lunch break, we walked a short way to the final side of Madrid's "golden triangle" of museums, the Thyssen Bornemisza. This is a small private collection of paintings with a huge chronological span, from medieval art through the late 20th century. Many great artists are represented, usually with more mundane works, along with many also-rans and wannabees. It's a very impressive collection for one individual or family to own, but as museums go, I was underwhelmed. I wonder if it weren't in physical proximity to The Prado and Sofia Reina, if it would be considered a great attraction.

* * * *

After a brief rest in the room, we managed to connect with our friend David, who is staying with a friend on the same street as our hotel! (David gave me a link to this hostal, so it is not entirely a coincidence.) We were hoping to have dinner with him, but that didn't work out, so we just had coffee and dessert - what Spanish people do between lunch at 2:00 and dinner at 10:00 - and walked around the neighbourhood. We told David we'd go back to his favourite spot for dinner, but pooped out and spent the evening in the room, blogging and reading.

Tomorrow we drive north for the final leg of the trip. We hope to see the aqueduct at Segovia on the way to Santillana del Mar.

madrid, day one

After our cheap pollo asado dinner, wine, and a shower, we had a new perspective on life. We woke up early the next day, had a little breakfast in a neighbourhood joint, and got to Museo Nacional del Prado - otherwise known as The Prado - before it opened. Our hotel in the Cuatros Caminos barrio is right near a big metro station where four different lines converge, and it was very easy to zip downtown.

The Prado is a big museum, not quite as huge and sprawling as the Metropolitan or the Louvre, but too big to see all of it. We had already decided to do a "greatest hits" tour, using the museum's own highlight guide - a floor plan plus thumbnail pictures of each painting with its room number. For an additional 9 euros at admission, we bought a beautiful 400-page guide. The book gives background and context to every painting and artist represented in the museum, plus a history of the museum itself, and is available in eight different languages. The English-language version is very well written. A steal at 9 euros, or free as an iPad app.

For all the museums and other sights of Madrid, admission is discounted for a variety of people: seniors, students, the "officially unemployed," large families, anyone on public assistance, and other categories I can't remember. I thought the "large families" category was interesting, especially since it's not defined.

The Prado covers European painting, with an emphasis on Spanish artists, up to the end of the 18th century. We looked at highlights from Fra Angelico, Raphael, Bosch and Durer, up through Rembrandt, Rubens, and Titian. There's an emphasis on big three Spanish painters - Velasquez, Goya, and El Greco - with Picasso and other great modern Spanish painters represented in another museum. (They were originally in the Prado, too, but the modern collection now has its own home.)

The biggest name at the Prado is Velasquez, and most famous and most recognizable work of Velasquez is "Las Meninas". The painting is almost synonymous with The Prado. Another highlight was Goya's duet, "The Second of May, 1808", and "The Third of May, 1808", which speak to the horror of war and the futility and injustice of retribution. The Third of May has been quoted in many other paintings, most notably by Picasso.

We had a good time looking up the paintings in our guide and reading a few paragraphs about each one. We had lunch in The Prado's lovely cafe, saw another 20 or so paintings after lunch, and called it a day.

We took the metro back up to the Cuatros Camino neighbourhood and did our laundry at a local lavanderia. It is all automated - you don't even put in soap - and there is no attendant present. And for a working-class neighbourhood, it's not cheap. No wonder everyone hangs their laundry on their balconies and fire escapes.

In our room, we finished booking the final portion of the trip - tours of two caves with cave paintings and a room in a nearby rural town. The night before we left for Madrid, we had already booked one night in Bilbao and our last night in an airport hotel. So now we are all set for the remainder of the trip. We're super excited about the final week, and also looking forward to going home. We miss the dogs so much!

For dinner, I decided I was in danger of leaving Spain without having eaten one authentic, non-fast-food paella. Madrid is not a paella town, but we're not going to Valencia, home of paella, and there are supposed to be a few good places in Madrid. We chose one based on online reviews, and went back downtown. The food was good, and different than what I expected, but it turned out to be a very skippable experience. The restaurant was quite expensive and obviously caters to tourists. We did see a bit of central Madrid, with its crazily excessive architecture. Some of these buildings make the Victorians look like minimalists.

For those interested in the food itself, the rice used in the paella was not yellow saffron rice; it was wetter and chewier. Most of the paellas come with various combinations of seafood, there is one "traditional Valencia" with rabbit, chicken, and vegetables, one with chorizo, and one vegetarian. We asked if we could have a seafood paella with chorizo, and the waiter told us we didn't want to do that, it was disgusting. He made all kinds of faces and a thumbs-down! While we were enjoying our seafood paella, he brought us a small plate of chorizos, and suggested we try the paella with and without the chorizos. When he came back for the report, I told him the chorizo was delicious, but on its own. But I lied! Chorizo was great with the seafood.

The best paella and other Spanish rice-and-seafood dishes I have ever had were in a place in New York called The Spain, a restaurant I went to with my family as a child, and later re-discovered as an adult, and have turned many people onto. If the paella we had last night was typical (and it is said to be), then the food I've eaten in New York has a Latin American influence. And I have to say I prefer it.

As we staggered home on the metro, Madrid was just picking up. The nightlife here is infamous for starting at 10:00 and going til the wee hours. Unlike us!

in which i officially become a librarian

We interrupt this travelogue to bring you an important announcement. I got my first librarian job!!

This is a part-time, temporary position in the children's department of the Central Library, where I was a page for 14 months. I am thrilled.

But wait, there's more!

I also interviewed in a competition for eight part-time positions, not librarians, but great experience doing reference and programming. I was one of the top scorers and was offered my choice of four of these positions, including two that are permanent.

So what does this mean? It means I can be a part-time librarian until March 2014, and if I don't have a full-time librarian position by that time, I have a permanent, part-time position doing reference and programming at the Central Library. I chose the "Reader's Den" department, for the opportunity to work with teens and do readers' advisory both youth and adults.

And here's what I didn't tell you. A few months ago, I interviewed for a permanent, full-time librarian job at one of Mississauga's branch libraries. It was my first librarian interview, and I bombed. Really crapped out. Then I had a combined 90 minutes of feedback with three different managers. I learned so much. I re-did my resume. I re-thought my entire approach.

I was still very disappointed. Permanent full-time librarian spots don't come up that often, and I had a chance, and I blew it. I've been totally beating myself up about it. But at my next opportunity, I landed the job.

You know what else I learned from that feedback? These managers, who are all young and in the midst of very successful librarian careers, all told me about positions they didn't get, interviews that they blew. One of them told me about repeatedly failing to get a senior librarian position, even though she was the acting senior librarian in the department, the incumbent in the position. She is one of the most successful young librarians in the system. Her candor made me feel much better.

As it happens, she was on the interview team for these eight reference/programming spots. I sensed she was impressed and happy to see me do well after her feedback.

So! I am a librarian! The new position starts June 3.

We now return to our regularly scheduled program, Laura and Allan Go To Spain.

random notes from madrid

If I get a decent sleep one night, I'm not allowed to have one the next. Apparently it's a new law: no sleeping two nights in a row. So since I'm awake at 5:00 a.m. again, here is the latest round of notes I've been collecting in my notebook.

* * * *

When you drive on the highways in Spain, you see these giant billboards of a black bull. There are no words on them, just a huge shape of a bull. There's one on the cover of our Lonely Planet guidebook: here. I thought there was only one of these and it was famous. Turns out they are many of them.

Googling "giant bull billboards in Spain", I learned that these actually started out as advertisements, but are now a public-domain symbol of Spain. This Wikipedia page explains how the government of Spain banned all highway billboards (wow!), but how a court decision kept these wordless symbols on the road. I also found this: Catalan separatists want them gone.

On the road from Cordoba to Madrid, we also saw the same type of giant billboard of a man wearing a sombrero and toreador jacket with a guitar, and a giant Don Quixote and Sancho Panza on their horse and burro. These are not nearly as googleable as the giant bulls.

* * * *

We have seen several huge wind farms. The mountain and hill ridges are often lined with giant wind turbines. I couldn't help but think of Don Quixote's windmills. La molina is used as a symbol everywhere - on wine labels, for example.

We've also seen at least one huge concentration of solar power panels.

* * * *

Another thing I've seen, on the outskirts of every city so far: unbelievably dense concentrations of high-rise housing. The buildings are grim concrete masses, grouped very close together, and so many of them, in huge numbers. We saw this outside Paris, Barcelona, and Madrid, and on a smaller scale outside Cordoba. I think it must be public (social) housing. A lot of it, very ugly, and very isolated - well out of the life of the city, surrounded by highways. On the one hand, at least it exists. On the other... very sad.

* * * *

In Madrid, as in Barcelona, we are staying at a hotel called a "hostal". I haven't figured out the difference between a budget hotel and a hostal. Here in Madrid, the room is as very comfortable and clean, and small, but not tiny. Every room in the hotel has a private bathroom, there's wireless internet throughout, and a parking garage. So what makes it a hostal and not a hotel? Perhaps the absence of a bar or restaurant? The Wikipedia page for "hostal" is not very helpful.

* * * *

There are Irish pubs all over Spain, calling themselves "authentic Irish pubs," and advertising not only Guinness, but Murphy's. (Allan always points them out to me, because I love Murphy's.) In Barcelona, I thought the pubs might cater to a large ex-pat community, but we've seen them in every city so far. No idea why.

* * * *

A double room - una habatacion doble - is two single beds. One shared bed is una habatacion matrimonio. In addition to that amusing idiom, there is one long pillow that runs across the whole bed! It's annoying. Just because people share a bed doesn't mean they have the same pillow needs.

* * * *

Throughout our trip, when I ask for information or conduct a little transaction, there is a similar pattern. The person seems aloof or unfriendly (but who knows, they may be being polite according to their cultural norms). I speak in my slow, halting Spanish - using the more formal usted, and I smile - and they quickly become more helpful, often switching to English, or at least simplifying their Spanish, and by the time we are finished, they seem very helpful, warm, and friendly. I've gotten used to this.

And I observe how the tourists (usually Brits or Australians) who speak only English and make no attempt to say one word in Spanish never see this friendliness. In general I am often horrified by the way tourists treat hotel and restaurant staff. Allan says this is getting to me too much, both in person and online when I am checking out hotel reviews on Trip Advisor. One line in a hotel review summed it up for me: "To all you people complaining that the hotel staff doesn't speak English: LEARN SOME BASIC SPANISH. You're in Spain. Don't you expect people to learn some English before they come to the UK????"

* * * *

We fly home one week from today. Still to come: great paintings in Madrid, a Roman aqueduct in Segovia, cave paintings (I hope) in the north, the Bilbao Guggenheim, the Guernica peace museum, and hopefully some great Basque cuisine.

zuheros to madrid / madrid, night one

This post has two parts: the clerk and the lost.

The clerk.

I had a good night's sleep and woke up at the leisurely hour of 8:00. We had breakfast at the hotel and packed up, ready to hit the road to Madrid. And wouldn't you know it, the desk clerk handed me a bill for one dinner and two nights. I politely explained that I had called to cancel one night, and was told that was fine. Desk clerk said I called too late, I had to be charged for two nights. Naturally, I repeated my position.

We went back and forth for a while. He alternated between rapid-fire Spanish - to which I would reply, "No comprende, despacio, por favor" - and English. I alternated between English and my crappy Spanish. He would tell me I had cancelled too late, and I would tell him that I spoke to someone and that person said it was fine, I could cancel, no problem.

I was careful to be firm but not angry, to not lose my temper. I held in abeyance the "I'll pay for one night or we'll leave and pay for nothing" card. I repeated my position and he repeated his. I asked him, "Who would pay for a night at a hotel that they didn't use, when they called to cancel? Would you pay for a night at a hotel that you didn't use?" I reminded him there were three other couples at the hotel. They were not even half full. It's not as if they turned away potential customers because of my reservation.

Desk Clerk, throughout, was making exaggerated facial expressions of bewilderment and dismay, shrugging his shoulders and lifting his hands dramatically, in a pantomime of helplessness. This annoyed the bejesus out of me. At one point, I said, "It doesn't matter how many faces you make, we're not paying for a night of a hotel that we cancelled." Allan touched my arm and indicated that was not called for, so I didn't repeat it. Honestly, other than that, I was restrained. But please note, he looked like a bad soap opera actor.

This went on for quite some time. Another guest was waiting to speak to him, and I was aware that the hotel was at a disadvantage. They don't want a scene.

Eventually Desk Clerk "threatened" to call his partner. We encouraged him to do so. He made a phone call, at first speaking clearly so I could hear, then dropping his voice to a murmur, and eventually hanging up.

Desk Clerk cleared his throat and said, "My partner says that you had to tell the agency that you booked with, so the hotel is not charged a commission." I said, "Yes, he told me that. So I called hotels.com, and they said they would contact the hotel." Allan reminded Desk Clerk that the issue was now between hotels.com and the hotel.

More wrangling ensued. I was considering playing the pay-nothing card, wondering if he would use the call-the-police card. And then it happened.

He started to sniffle. Repeatedly. He began to prepare a new bill and print it out, all the while sniffling loudly and prominently. I thought, what's with the sniffles? An allergy? An odor? And then - I can hardly believe this as I type - he daintily but ostentatiously dabbed beneath his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. I thought, do my eyes deceive me? Is he pretending to cry??

I checked the new bill, and waited while Allan used his credit card, all the while staring at the Suddenly Weepy Desk Clerk. I thought, what on earth is going on???

Had this man gotten off the phone with his partner and said something like, "As it turns out, my partner didn't update me on your phone call. I will print a new bill," I would have thanked him, told him we had a lovely stay, and said a proper goodbye. But this... this was too crazy. I waited til Allan paid and got a receipt, then turned and walked out.

After Allan and I negotiated our way through the narrow streets and down the hill to the highway, I asked Allan, "What was with the pretend crying??" Then this story gets even crazier, because Allan thinks Suddenly Weepy Desk Clerk was really crying!! Apparently after I walked out, SWDC was so choked up he couldn't speak, wordlessly pushing the receipt at Allan and hiding his face in shame!

So what's going on here? A cultural trope I'm not familiar with, or a wacko in the wrong line of work? Allan and I have talked it to death, and laughed uproariously, but we cannot crack the mystery. I liken it to the over-emoting of bullfighting, or to football stars mugging for camera. Allan thinks if this was acting, SWDC has earned an Academy Award.

I know that many more people are reading this blog than are commenting. Some of you may remember our trip to Newfoundland and Unintentionally Hilarious Tour Guide. That generated a lot of fun comments. What do you all think of Suddenly Weepy Desk Clerk? Was he pantomiming hurt - "You wound me, Madam!" - or did I actually reduce a grown man to tears, merely by holding my ground? Any and all thoughts welcome!

The lost.

The drive from Zuheros to Madrid took about four hours, easy highway driving, and mostly the same lovely rolling hills of farmland, punctuated by the occasional olive oil factory. We hit the outskirts of Madrid and continued to follow our Google Map directions, with Allan doing a super job of changing lanes in complicated traffic streams. Still no problem.

Then we exited the highway, and suddenly nothing made any sense. Our Google Map directions didn't correspond to the street signs, and the street signs were often impossible to see, and if we made a mistake it was uncorrectable until we got to the next roundabout, and suddenly the street went down a tunnel and had no signs for several blocks so we didn't even know if we passed the street. And we were lost.

Poor Allan. He's driving a stick shift in city traffic, lost, again. We reminded ourselves it was daylight and all we had to do was find the right street, that this wasn't Grenada all over again. We reminded ourselves we knew this could happen, and we still prefer to drive rather than taking trains and buses. I kicked myself for not buying a map of Madrid earlier in the trip. (Allan says that we never would have thought to do so, since all we had to was make it from highway to hotel, then we'd be on the metro.)

I wanted Allan to stop the car, so I could ask for directions, but even that wasn't so easy, because stopping would mean blocking traffic. Finally an opportunity presented itself, Allan pulled over, and I went into a farmacia. To my amazement, my halting Spanish drew blank stares. It was as if I wasn't speaking Spanish at all. A woman understood I needed the neighbourhood Cuatro Caminos, and told me to take the subway. I explained that we were driving, and she called over a man, who then spoke so quickly I couldn't understand a word. I asked him to slow down. The man said to the woman, "Ella no entiende": she doesn't understand. I said, "Si, puedo comprender, pero no hablo espanol bien." He gave me rudimentary directions, indicating that we were very far away, but when we saw a certain street, we would be in Cuatro Caminos.

It worked. We made one or two mistakes that were able to correct at roundabouts, but for the most part we drove from that farmacia to our hotel. We hit Madrid at around 4:00. We got to the hotel at 6:30. Ay Dios mio!

I had been planning and hoping to do one of the three great Madrid museums tonight, but The Lost ate up too much time and stress. Now we have the greatest hits of three museums, plus laundry, plus David, in two days.

Cuatro Caminos

We're staying in a working-class, down-to-earth residential neighbourhood. Our friend David says it reminds him of his native Kensington in Toronto, and it reminds me very much of our old Washington Heights in New York. We found a neighbourhood joint for dinner and somehow had a pollo asado dinner for two - chicken, potatoes, salad, bread and a full litre of house wine - for 10 euros. Ten euros! For two! We weren't trying to be cheap, but we were happy to eat a hearty meal for a pittance.

So far Madrid is shaking my confidence. We haven't had any major language problems on this trip, or on any trip in a Spanish-speaking country. In Peru, no one spoke any English and we were always fine. Here, I can't understand anybody. Everybody speaks so fast! Is this what strangers feel like in New York?

Ah well, we're only in Madrid for a few days. Great art - and a lavanderia - awaits.

ronda to cordoba / cordoba / zuheros

We left Ronda very early: we had to ring a bell at the desk and get the hotel manager out of bed to settle our bill. Poor guy shuffled out in his slippers, completely confused. We had to remind him we needed our parking validated, then remind him we needed to pay! Funny.

I had been up late blogging the night before, then woke up crazy early - a theme on this trip. I spent the wee hours of the morning getting directions and booking a hotel in Madrid, before it was even a halfway decent hour to wake up Allan.

As you might imagine, as we left Ronda, our main goal was to go around the mountains rather than over them. I navigate with a combination of Google Map directions, our own map, and a careful reading of the options at each roundabout and intersection. This seems to be the only way. The Google Map directions never completely correspond with reality. (Was that the fork where you bear left? Is this unmarked calle the street we need? And so on.) We seemed to be driving through the valley, but every time the road took a slight incline I was worried! Finally we could see that the mountains were safely in the distance, and could breathe easy.

We stopped at a gas station so I could get coffee (from a machine, with something like 8 possible choices of espresso, double espresso, cafe con leche, etc., but no tea), then later saw a big roadside cafe-restaurant with plenty of cars outside, and pulled in. It was La Meson de Diego! Having been to La Tala tapas a few nights ago, this was perfect. We took a picture of the sign on our way out.

Inside, it was lively and noisy, a bit of a shock! The place was hopping. We couldn't figure out if people were still partying from the night before or were up early for breakfast. Given that everyone eats dinner at 10:00 or 11:00 p.m., could they possibly be having breakfast at 8:30 or 9:00? Even groups of 20-somethings? But it seemed very late to be ending Saturday night. There were men ordering wine and beer! This mystery went unsolved.

The only thing available for breakfast in this area is coffee or tea and tostados (a long piece of baguette, toasted) and your choice of whatever on that. You can get butter and jam, or aciete (olive oil) or tomate (crushed tomatoes that you dip the bread into), or the ubiquitous jamon. There was no menu, we just had to guess what might be available.

Shortly after our breakfast stop, we connected with one of the larger roads, which soon brought us to the highway, and we were on our way to Cordoba. Getting into Coroba, everything was very clearly marked, and we easily found a parking lot right near the historic district.

* * * *

One reason we left Ronda so early is that one of the things we wanted to see in Cordoba - an old synagogue - was only open in the morning. So we set out to find this right away. We were walking through beautiful, empty, narrow streets, whitewashed buildings on both sides, flowers spilling out of window boxes. Then we'd turn a corner and there would suddenly be an enormous crowd of people! This happened a few times before I realized that this was the reason we couldn't find a hotel room in Cordoba - a patio flower festival. It was an open house festival - people had maps with house numbers and were touring patios - the interior courtyards in Spanish houses - with spectacular flowers. The old streets are rabbit warrens, and although we asked several people where la sinogoga was, we couldn't find it.

We saw two older policemen who were wandering around, presumably doing security for this house festival. One started to describe where to walk, then asked his partner, Do you mind if I take the señora to la sinagoga? (In Spanish, of course.) And he walked us there! He asked if I spoke French - it seems to be a very common second language here, many people have asked us that when trying to communicate. Our police friend was frustrated because he wanted to tell me about Cordoba. So I said, "Esta bien, puedo comprender" (That's ok, I can understand), and he was off to the races. Cordoba has the best food in Andalucia, Cordoba is the most beautiful historic town in all of Spain, Cordoba is where the beautiful horses come from and the spectacular riders who are unparalleled in the world... It was very funny. We passed the Alcazar, a fortress that apparently was Party Central for The Inquisition. Our friend said, "You know 'The Inquisition'"? I found that kind of amusing. Uh yeah, I've heard of that. I said, "Si, yo soy judia".

He walked us through the whole lower historic district into the main touristy area, chattering in rapid-fire Spanish the entire time. We thanked him and shook his hand. As it turns out, La Sinagoga is only a small room that you can see in a few minutes. It's one of only three surviving medieval synagogues in Spain and the only one in the region of Andalucia. The only section is a small room with shards of Hebrew writing on the wall. It's near the Plaza de Maimonides, named for the famous Jewish scholar who was born in Cordoba in 1135. When Cordoba was under Islamic rule, there was a thriving Jewish community, but the Catholics put an end to that.

The main attraction in Cordoba is La Mezquita, called the Great Mosque of Cordoba, or the Cathedral of Cordoba, or the Mosque-Cathedral of Cordoba. Tellingly, all the tourist information in the town itself reads: "the Cathedral (the former mosque)". (Incidentally, I'm spelling the word Cordoba incorrectly, without the accent mark over the first o. It's pronounced Cordoba, not Cordoba.)

We entered the courtyard filled with orange trees, where people were milling about. The Mezquita was closed, but we saw guards directing people to queue up at a side entrance, so we waited there, too. After a while, a wedding party emerged, many men and at least one woman in military dress, and the other women decked out in wedding-party clothes. When they had all exited, everyone rushed in - and ran to sit down in a chapel! We had been waiting in line for a mass! Guards were directing everyone to seats and saying, "No photo, no video" - in case tourists were trying to use the mass to get back-door admission to the site. What a hoot. I didn't want to sentado for the mass, so they made us leave.

So we went back to waiting in the patio area. On Sunday La Mezquita is only open to the public in the morning, then after 3:00 in the afternoon. There are a few other little things to see in town, including a small archeology museum, but the narrow streets are choked with people, it's very difficult to find anything and very easy to get lost, and we had the feeling it could take an hour to find something that would then take 10 minutes to see. After we waited a while, I suggested we go get something to eat.

* * * *

There are zillions of touristy eating places among the zillions of schlock souvenir stores, so we went off the main drag and found a tiny place with a handful of tables and a few men standing at the bar. There were no free tables, but an older man offered to drink his wine at the bar so we could sit down. He did this like it was no big deal, like he wasn't supposed to be sitting anyway.

We ordered a bunch of tapas and wine, and while we were eating, people started piling into the restaurant, speaking Spanish very loudly and jockeying for an inch of space at the bar. We thought it was crowded when we walked in! There were one or two other tables with tourists, but mostly the place was packed with locals.

These places are all lovely - very small, usually painted a dark blue or purple, with mosaic plates on the wall, posters of bullfighting or flamenco events, with tiny tables and little stools to sit on. Usually one person is behind the bar and one friendly server runs around like a maniac. We had olives, really good chorizos, little medallions of grilled beef in sizzling garlic oil, and garlickly potatoes that we couldn't even finish. Plus wine, of course. And I immediately wanted to go sleep. It all caught up with me and I was ready for bed. But it was time to see the Mezquita.

* * * *

The Mezquita was an ancient mosque that was taken over by the Catholics, who built a church right in the middle of the mosque, converting the minaret to a bell tower and plopping a cathedral nave at one end. Our guidebook pointedly mentions that the site was originally Christian, and that the Catholic takeover was re-establishing the church, but that is a bit disingenuous. There was a foundation of an early Christian church on the site, but that church was no longer in use when the mosque was built.

The famous and most defining feature of the building is the red-and-white terracotta arches - all 856 of them - a forest of arches that echo each other through the cavernous space (see here). But in smack in the middle of this beautiful space is a hulking altar complete with gory crucifixions, clumsy paintings of saints, and all manner of Catholic iconography. Around the perimeter of the space there are dozens of small chapels, all very gaudy and inelegant, in my opinion.

Besides the beautiful arches, the highlight of the space is the mihrab, a prayer niche facing Mecca, dating from the 10th century, with all or most of the Islamic decoration intact. Like what we saw at the Alhambra, there is stonework so intricate that it almost looks like lace, and elegant Arabic script used decoratively. Islam, like orthodox Judaism, takes seriously the "thou shalt have no graven image" commandment, so there are no representations of saints, no biblical scenes, no people - just words, shapes, and designs. In this space, the contrast could not be more obvious - every time you see people (saints, biblical characters), you know you're in the church.

I find it significant that all the official information refers to La Mezquita as a cathedral only. Spanish Muslims have repeatedly petitioned the Vatican to be allowed to worship again in the building, but the Church refuses. Some people act as if The Mezquita is a monument to coexistence, as if the mosque and the church share a space. But clearly, it is anything but. To me it feels like a desecration, and it's very sad. The space is beautiful, though, and very interesting.

* * * *

We drove out of Cordoba, back to the same sort of country we had seen in the morning - vast areas of rolling hills planted with orchards, as far as you can see, with a mountain range in the far distance. Every once in a while, you see a town nestled in a valley between two hills, or on a hilltop - white buildings with red roofs. We passed by several of these towns until we found our turnoff, and followed some windy roads up, up, up onto one of the hills, to the little village of Zuheros.

Zuheros' striking feature is a castle - actually a piece of a castle, all that's left of an Moorish stronghold from the 10th century, rebuilt by the Christians in the 14th - built directly into the rock. Behind it is a tiny white town, including several restaurants with views and at least one hotel. We drove up into the town on impossible narrow streets - much to Allan's dismay - and found the hotel. The desk person spoke so beautifully slowly in Spanish that I could understand every word. I wish everyone did that!

We walked around the little town a bit, mostly looking at the incredible view. It's obvious why a castle was built there. Now it overlooks mostly farmland and a few towns. In the near distance below, we could see goats being herded.

We had dinner at the hotel's restaurant. I was looking forward to a non-tapas dinner; as it turned out, this went in the complete opposite direction. For starters, Allan ordered a "selection of local goat's cheeses," that turned out to be a meal's worth of cheese, generous portions of six different varieties. I ordered a "local salad" - a composed salad of oranges, tuna, figs, salt cod, and some other strange things - that was also a meal. Then our main courses arrived: the sea bass I ordered turned out to be an entire fish, and I could eat only a few bites. It was kind of amusing, although I wish I could have taken it with me to eat as leftovers. Alas, no fridge or cooler.

The restaurant starts serving dinner at 8:00, and I think we got there at 8:45 or so. But of course, because at 3:00 or 4:00 everyone is eating tapas or having coffee and pastries. So by the time dinner ends, we're both tired and I'm completely collapsing from lack of sleep. Tomorrow is a driving, relaxing, and taking care of business-y things day.

random notes from ronda

We have seen many happy, well-cared-for dogs on this trip, dogs of all shapes and sizes, all obviously loved. We have seen no street dogs. There are some feral cats living in the Alhambra. That is always sad to see. But the street dogs that have broken our hearts in Mexico and Peru and elsewhere do not seem to be in Spain, at least not where we have been.

* * * *

On the drive from Barcelona to Granada, I realized that we brought no music with us. We never even thought of it. I blipped through radio stations, even though I knew it would be useless. Radio sounds exactly the same, regardless of language. Top-40 hits, classic rock, sports talk, the scourge of "lite FM" - all of it sounds exactly the same. On one station, I heard the words "Yustin Beiber". I looked at Allan. "Did I just hear the name Justin Beiber?" Yes, he heard it, too. There is no escape. (Non-Canadians: you have no idea.)

* * * *

Everyone says hola here. That may seem ridiculously obvious, as "hola" means "hello," and we are in Spain. But in Latin America, you rarely hear the word. People say "Buenas dias" in the morning and "Buenas noches" in the evening. Kids say "Que tal", like "hey" or "what's up". Hola, in my experience, is how you answer the phone. But so far in Spain, everyone says "Hola," very brightly and clearly. "Buen dia" - without the s - is used occasionally, but sounds more formal and less friendly.

* * * *

The coffee is not very strong here. I don't know how Latin America learned to make such rich and delicious coffee, but it wasn't from Spain. I get a cafe con leche in the morning, and it barely registers on my caffeine scale. I need at least two of them to scratch the surface, but I'm definitely lowering my threshold, getting by with less.

* * * *

More Arabic on the highway signs on route from Granada! There is a ferry from Tarifa to Tangier, Morocco, and the highway signs in that direction are in Spanish and Arabic. The Alhambra and upcoming Cordoba have me dreaming of Morocco.

* * * *

We hear good things about Tala and Diego. They seem to be having a good time with Essie, and not driving her too crazy. The Red Sox have remembered how to win. Allan's writing partner is doing interviews and keeping him posted. Thanks for reading my blather.

grenada to ronda / ronda

We changed our plans, then changed them again. Originally, we had pencilled in a drive to the very southern tip of Spain, where on a clear day you can see Morocco, and where there is a supposedly wonderfully intact set of Roman ruins, Baelo Claudio.

From the start, I was skeptical that we could do this and still do everything else on our wish-list. I think Allan had forgotten how everything takes longer than you think it's going to, and how sleeping in a different town every night can mean not seeing anything very well. In Granada, it was time to firm up the flexible spots in our itinerary.

We love seeing Roman ruins. But we've seen a fair number of them. On our big trip in 1993 - we spent a month in France and Italy - we drove through Provence and saw a huge number of amazing Roman ruins. And of course, we've been to Rome. On the other hand, this current trip includes something we've never seen and may never see again: neolithic cave paintings. I have wanted to see cave paintings since I first read about the caves in Lescaux and Altamira (now both closed to the public). As soon as the Bilbao Guggenheim opened, and I saw its proximity to caves where there are paintings, I started thinking about going to Spain.

So cave paintings are a major incentive for this trip, and we have planned them for the very end. I was concerned that if we went to Baelo Claudia, we would never make it up to Basque Country in the north, and we'd end up seeing more Roman ruins, but no caves.

So we reconfigured the remaining part of the trip for less time in the south and more time in the north. Our plans for today were to drive to Ronda, walk around the town, then continue on to Zuheros, about an hour away from Cordoba - not spend the night in Ronda, but stay two nights in Zuheros.

* * * *

We woke up in Grenada to the sound of cannon fire, or maybe kettle drums, or maybe fireworks. It was 8:00 a.m. and we have no idea what that was about.

After breakfast, we bought a few things at a small supermarket across from the hotel, then went to a tiny panderia (bakery) - so tiny that customers queue up in the street, because only one customer at a time can fit in the shop. We bought a wonderful fresh baguette, two pastries, and two cookies for 2.50 euros.

The lovely woman at our hotel, plus a gentleman who helped direct Allan out of our tiny parking spot, both assured us it was much easier to get out of town than it was to get in. Armed with great directions, we nervously hit the road, but had no problem finding the highway. We did stop once for directions, just to confirm. A man said "...go to the left," while motioning right. I said, "A la derecha?" ("To the right?") And he said, "Si, derecha" which tells you something about miscommunication! But we found the highway easily and soon I was navigating us to Ronda.

* * * *

We stopped once to eat some of our ham, cheese, and bread, but otherwise were driving through beautiful, hilly orchards, with steep mountains in the distance. We could have taken fairly fast roads all the way to Ronda, but against my better judgement, we decided to use a tiny adjoining "cut-through" road. I knew that would be very slow and take us through mountains, and Allan said he also knew that, but... let's just say I don't think he understood how tiny and how slow that road would be. Or where he'd be driving. Allan is afraid of heights. Let it not be said I didn't warn him.

The road to Ronda turned out to be one of the more dramatic drives we've ever done, on par with the Big Sur coast in California or the Almalfi coast of Italy. (The latter we did by bus and Allan couldn't look out the window.) First we wound our way through two tiny "white towns" - the typical towns of Spain, with white-washed buildings and red-tiled roofs - called Andarle and El Burgos, then there were no towns.

The road was barely wide enough for one car. When a car approached from the other direction, Allan stopped and we held our breath. We went up and up and up, into the mountains, with a very steep drop-off on my side, and so close to the side of the road that I didn't want to look down. On all sides of us, there were dramatic rock outcroppings, and in the valleys there were pastures, with the occasional hacienda and pick-up truck visible. It looked a lot like scenery I've seen in the western US, with the same huge sky and dramatic peaks.

At one point, we found ourselves behind a herd of goats. A man and two dogs were working them down the road, then off the road and down the cliffs to the right. I scrambled for the camera and we drove slowly behind them until all the animals were safely off the road. I waved and yelled to the shepherd.

Another time we saw a nice dog sitting in the road. Allan looked very upset and was determined to continue driving. We have rescued some strays while traveling, and other times staggered away, heartbroken, from dogs we could not help. I thought we could at least take this dog to a town. I made Allan stop and ran back to the dog, but when I found it, I realized it was fine, just a country dog out for the day. She wasn't skinny, her coat looked good, and the last thing we want to do is abscond with somebody's dog. So I ran back to the car and tried to assure Allan, and we continued on.

This drive went on for hours, real white-knuckle driving, no more than 20 or 30 kms/hour. At the highest point, we stopped at a lookout with some information about the Seirra de las Nieves range. After that, the drop-off was on the driver's side, not ideal for our man behind the wheel! I'm pretty sure Allan was forcing himself not to look out his window.

When I noticed that it was 3:00 and the road was just beginning to flatten out towards Ronda, I suggested we spend the night there. Zuheros has to be three hours away. Did we really want to do that tonight?

* * * *

We entered Ronda from the ordinary, non-historic part of town and put the car in an underground parking lot. We very quickly saw the train station and a hotel right across the street, and figured, what the hell, let's give it a go. At the Hotel Analucia, the man said he had a vacancy... for 35 euros. Allan thought I heard wrong but no, it was 35 euros. I asked to see the room. It's a simple, clean room with a spotless bathroom, and a closet nearly as big as our hotel room in Paris. The hotel has a parking deal with the lot where our car is already parked, so overnight parking will cost 6 euros. Wifi is free and in all the rooms. Wow.

Next we had to change our reservation in Zuheros. I couldn't get it done through Hotels.com, so I called the hotel directly. They were very accommodating, allowing us to cancel one night on such short notice, but they said they did need to receive something from whatever internet site we booked with, or else they would be charged a commission for an unused room.

Trying to work with Hotels.com was awful. One, their phone number - which says, "A free call from anywhere, 24/7!" - is only free within the United States. Two, their number is listed as 1-800-CA-HOTELS, with no actual number given beside it. Does anyone have a phone with letters on it anymore?? There are millions of people traveling today who have never even seen a rotary phone with letters! After waiting on hold, and being transferred, the person who actually helped me wanted to keep me on hold while he called the hotel in Zuheros. I don't think so.

So that was awful, but we got it done, then headed off into Ronda.

* * * *

We walked through the commercial area of town, a pedestrian-only mall, past a bullfighting ring, and down to the edge of town. Literally, the edge. There is a wall, beyond which the town drops off a cliff. You can see towns in the valley, then huge mountains in the distance. From the cliffs on this side of town, you can walk around a walkway to a bridge.

The bridge passes over a dramatic gorge, a huge steep drop, with giant stone finger-like projections on all sides, on top of which the town seems to be growing. On the other side of the bridge is the old, historic part of town, with narrow cobblestone streets, white houses with red roofs and wrought-iron gates, and a zillion schlocky touristy stores. Tacky, but beneath that, beautiful.

In between the two sides of town, upstream from the bridge, you can see the gorge, the rushing water, people walking up and down a scenic walkway, and in the distance, farms. It is very dramatic, very beautiful. From the old-city side, looking back on the bridge, you see the full height and impressive arches of the bridge. Allan couldn't get too close to the rail, so I took all the photos. Some view of Ronda, the gorge, and the bridge are here.

This town is supposedly a magnet for fans of Ernest Hemingway. Ronda's Wikipedia page mentions something about a bit of For Whom The Bell Tolls being based on Ronda. I re-read that novel only a month or so ago (I loved it), and I don't remember anything remotely like this town being in it.There are also pictures of Charlie Chaplin in several places, but I don't know why.

After our walk, we were ready for dinner, but it was still too early. The whole town appeared to be having coffee, ice cream, and dessert. Hundreds of families with children, older folks in groups, teenagers on dates, absolutely everyone, were gathered in dozens of cafes, gelaterias, and confiterias. After all, it was "only" 7:00 p.m.!

We reluctantly stopped for coffee and tea, at a cafe selling all manner of baked goodies and "bombs" (bonbons). When I ordered Allan's "the con leche", they made the tea with steamed milk, instead of water. That was new for us. We used the time to further reconfigure the rest of the trip. We're both concerned that things may take a long time in the north - that it may take time to get there or to find a cave tour. As I've said, it's a focal point of the trip, and we don't want it to be cut short. So we actually cut a day out of our planned three days in Madrid.

I only wanted to do one thing in Madrid: see painting at the three big museums. We are also meeting up with our friend David Heap! But I'm not particularly interested in running around Madrid seeing El Escorial and other famous sites, given the time and priorities of this trip. (Of course I'd see any city for any reason, and I'm sure Madrid has many things to recommend it, but in context of this trip: art only.) So now I will have two full days to see the greatest highlights from all three museums. It should work.

After planning over coffee, we found a simple place for dinner. We were clearly the "early bird special" at 7:30. We are both a bit tired of tapas. (Who knew such a thing could happen?) I want to have some great paella somewhere, but this is not paella country. The menus here favour game, stews (including bull-tail stew), and grilled fish. I had a version of huevos rancheros - scrambled eggs with potatoes and chorizos - and Allan had fried calmari that looked like fishsticks. We also had some kind of yummy white bean soup that was made with sausage. We drank vino verano and I had yet more coffee, and the bill barely scraped 20 euros.

This doesn't seem to be a big foodie area. Basque Country, in the north, is supposed to have some of the best food in Spain (or anywhere). I don't know if we'll find any, or perhaps it's impossible to miss. But somewhere, somewhere on this trip, will I get a big bowl of really good paella?

Our little hotel was super easy to find, because it's across from the train station. We were happy to see it again; it has been a long day. I called my mother, who was thrilled to hear from me. I called her two or three times on our long drive from Barcelona to Granada, but she wasn't in, and I knew she'd be massively disappointed to miss my call. She is reading this blog, and she has been to Ronda, among many other places in Spain. It was great to hear her voice!

granada

The previous night, when we finally found the hotel, I asked about tickets to the Alhambra. We had read in the guidebook that only a certain number of tickets are issued for every entrance time, and going up there without tickets is not advised. As it turns out, every hotel in town has a certain number of tickets they can sell to guests. The hotel's computer showed how many tickets were available for each hour. We purposely booked late in the day, both to avoid massive crowds and to give ourselves a break. Our friend at the desk also gave us detailed instructions on how to collect our tickets - very necessary.

We had breakfast at the hotel's little cafe area. There's only wireless internet in the lobby and cafe, not in the rooms (often the case in this country, we see from listings), so we took my netbook and spent some time trying to book a hotel room in Cordoba, our next stop. There was nothing. Absolutely no rooms available, except in very high-end places, well beyond our budget and our desires. Completely stumped, we asked at our hotel desk and learned there is a huge festival in Cordoba this weekend and all through next week.

We decided we'd rather stay in another town and drive into Cordoba than spend a lot of money for an expensive room that we don't even want. We found some towns to try, but we had already spent more time at the computer than we wanted, and we quit for the time being. I realized we hadn't eaten anything but bread or cookies in way too long, so we found a place in the neighbourhood to have a nice lunch.

The area where we're staying is beautiful (as long as you're not driving!) - narrow winding cobblestone streets, white-washed buildings with red roofs climbing hills, many streets with steps, for foot-traffic only. There are a few touristy places but mostly it's a local neighbourhood. After a time, we took a local bus to the Alhambra. It's only 10 minutes by bus or taxi, but all uphill - steep hills that afford beautiful views.

At the Alhambra, we had to queue up to present our documents in order to get our tickets. Many tourists were incensed that, even though they had booked ahead, they still had to wait. From our experience on this trip, I will say that the stereotype of "the ugly American" is alive and well in France, Italy, Germany, Australia, Japan, and the UK. We have seen almost no Americans, but have seen a lot of ugly-acting tourists.

In any case, the wait was very brief, but the system at La Alhambra is a bit bizarre. To get your tickets, you must present your passport, plus a letter that the hotel prints out verifying that they booked for you, plus the credit card you used to pay for the tickets. I understand using the credit card, but why the passport and why the hotel letter? They scrutinized and double-checked everything before issuing the tickets, and they check the tickets with scanners at several access points along the way. No idea what's up with that.

The Alhambra sits on a large hill with commanding views of the valleys below, and consists of several different buildings. The Generalife (pronounced "hen-er-ahl-lee-fay") was like a hangout and pleasure spot for the ruling Islamic dynasty. It has beautiful views and nice gardens. I'm not much for gardens, and these were added in the 20th century anyway, so it was a bit underwhelming in my opinion. The views of the valleys - all the houses with the red-tiled rooves, churches and cathedrals - was really nice.

We walked around and saw the grounds until it was time for our admittance to the Nasrid Palace. That's the main attraction, and the area for which you buy your tickets. This is an elaborately decorated Islamic palace. I love the Islamic decorative style - the repetition of interlocking geometric designs - and this was the first time I had seen any in person, outside of a museum. As you walk through the palace, the decoration in the rooms become increasingly elaborate, patterns forming horizontal bands around the room - tile on the bottom, stonework above, inlaid woodwork on the ceilings. Much of it is very intricate, surrounding you on all sides and above, creating an almost dizzying effect. There's a courtyard with a fountain that's very famous, and some other courtyards with orange trees - currently loaded with oranges.

Much of the decoration is restored to its original splendor, after first being allowed to fall into disrepair, then "re-discovered" by the American writer Washington Irving, and subsequently being badly restored by clumsy 19th century efforts. The intricate stonework is incredible. I find the repetition of the geometric shapes so satisfying. It feels related to my love of cubism and many modernists. Walking through the Nasrid Palace in the Alhambra, I started thinking, hmmm, we should go to Istambul... The Alhambra's wikipedia page has a good overview and some key photographs of the royal complex.

After the palace, we walked through and around the giant fortress that sits on the highest point of the hill. It's impressive in its size and sheer mass. The Alhambra site also contains the Palacio de Carlos V (Palace of Charles V), built in the 1490s, celebrating Catholic Spain's takeover of the site. It's an imperial monstrosity, completely incongruous with the graceful beauty of the rest of the architecture. It does make its point, though.

All in all, the whole site is very impressive and totally unique in my own experience. It's also a UNESCO World Heritage site, our third or maybe fourth of the trip. We both enjoyed it a lot. And one bonus of our long driving day - our feet were well rested! This helped make the day even more enjoyable.

The weather was changeable all day, alternating between bright blue skies and cold drizzle. (It's supposed to be much warmer this time of year, usually around 19 or 20 C, but now around 15 C. Fine with me!) From the fortress, we could see very dark storm clouds rolling in. We had just finished our walk and entered the gift shop when it started to pour. Excellent timing! We waited out the storm in the gift shop, then jumped in a cab for a quick ride to the hotel. Allan is collecting bookmarks at most of our stops. I love the idea of these inexpensive little mementos that will follow him around in his books.

Back at the hotel, we did more hotel research, finally booking a room in a town called Zuheros, about an hour outside Cordoba. It sounds like a little rural spot.

Looking for a place for dinner, we noticed a joint a few doors down called... La Tala! Yay! A restaurant named after my little girl. Of course we had to go there. As I asked for a table, the host said, "Ah, you want to watch the football?" Sure, why not?! Allan and I have a fine tradition of watching local sporting events in pubs and cafes. In Ireland, I fell in love with rugby. I'm not much for football (soccer), but that's hardly the point. Real Madrid was playing Atletico Madrid, I gather a Goliath vs David match-up. A huge group in matching t-shirts ("Bienvenido al lado oscuro" - Darth Vader meets soccer?) was getting ready to watch the game together.

Our guidebook tells us that Granada is one of the few places that keeps the old Spanish tradition of serving a free tapa with a drink. At La Tala, you choose your free tapa or pincho (spelled in Spanish here, not the basque pintxo) from a long list. They didn't have sangria, but served something called vino verano - summer wine - which tasted like sangria without the fruit. With our second drink, another round of free tapa. We also ordered some tapas, which you are strongly encouraged to do, but with every drink came more freebies. There was actually too much food! We had: marinated mussels - big meaty mussels marinated like herring or sardines, served dry, and you put them on bread or toasts, potato croquettes, mini hamburgers, and some serrano ham. The score was tied 1-1 when we left, but back in our room we saw ATM score for the 2-1 win.

Next we are off for the town of Ronda. We've tweaked our itinerary event, which I'll explain in my next post. Thank you for reading!

barcelona to granada

We are relaxing recuperating in our room in the Hotel Molinas in Granada, in the south of Spain. File this day under all's well that ends well.

Our last night in Barcelona, we had a tapas dinner at El Bixto, where we had gone two nights earlier. We got caught in the pouring rain on the way home, the first bad weather we've seen on the whole trip.

In the morning we took the metro to pick up our rental car, then braved a minor nightmare making it back to the hotel, what with poorly signed roundabouts, one-way streets, no parking, and Allan re-learning how to drive a stick shift. (It now seems amusing to call this a nightmare, given the major driving nightmare that would bookend the day.) We packed up the car and I navigated us out of Barcelona and onto the highway. I don't drive a stick shift, so on any of our European trips, all the driving falls to Allan.

Barcelona to Grenada is about 860 kilometres (535 miles). It's the longest drive of the trip, the only one of this kind of distance. Once we were on the highway, it was very easy going. There were vistas of the Mediterranean, rolling farmland, some foothills and mountain tunnels. Easy, pleasant driving. But, I think, a lot for one person. So as the day wears on, Allan is getting tired. We are both ready to get into town.

We had a bit of a surprise when the toll road turned out to be 30 euros! We stopped at a rest stop for lunch, serving all manner of freshly prepared food, and picked up some cookies and chips... which turned out to be dinner.

The last few hours of the drive wound through dramatic country. First we drove through thousands of acres of vineyards, an area of Spain that produces standard table wine, and lots of it. Eventually this gave way to orchards on both sides of the highway, more orchards than I have ever seen, including in California. We were driving through a valley, and the orchards went up steep hills, into the foothills of mountains. It seemed like every bit of land that was not completely mountainous rock was planted, including on dramatic steep hillsides. The orchards didn't stop until the mountain went straight up. We were both amazed at such steeply hilly country being completely planted. I don't know what was growing, although we also passed a processing plant of some type and the air was rich with the smell of olives.

By the time we reached Granada it was growing dark. There's a huge amount of suburban sprawl, which surprised us. We had no idea the area was so populous. We turned off the highway, following directions to the hotel... which quickly did not correspond to reality. Before we knew it, we were driving on tiny, narrow streets, pedestrians overflowing from the sidewalks, intersections not marked, and absolutely no idea where we were or what direction to go.

This is absolutely not a town to drive in - and in fact the streets in the oldest part of town are closed to traffic (except taxis and buses) until 10:00 pm - but many tourists have no choice. We were hopelessly lost. I couldn't even call the hotel, because we lacked any point of reference to tell them where we were. At one point we found ourselves on a ring road heading up into the hills, out of town, in the pitch dark.

Poor Allan was exhausted. He had already driven 9 hours, and now he's bumping down impossibly narrow streets, motorcycles cutting us off, taxis honking behind us, people walking in front of the car with no warning. It was a nightmare. I was debating whether we should just stop at any hotel and try to get a room, but it was after 10:00 pm and that can be an even more frustrating experience. We had booked our Granada room online while in Barcelona. It was a great deal, they were holding the room for us, but I was starting to wonder if we'd ever find them, and if we did, would the room still be available.

Allan spotted a large hotel with a brightly lit sign, and we pulled into their check-in/unloading area. I took a chance, called our hotel and said we were lost. A very nice young man gave me verbal directions, which I wrote down, but they were like gibberish. We needed a map.

Then I went inside, and another very nice young man saved the day. He knew the hotel we were looking for, and said it was all but impossible to find. I felt a bit vindicated when he said that folks with GPS get especially lost! He took out a map, and gave me detailed directions, both written and verbal, then went over the whole thing again. While there, I also asked if his hotel had a vacancy... it did not.

It worked. The directions were perfect and we found the hotel. The young man at the desk (who I had spoken to earlier) could not have been nicer. He showed us to our room in an adjacent building, met us at the parking garage around the corner, and booked our tickets for the Alhambra for the next day. We were so tired we could have cried.

The hotel itself is hip and stylish, the room bright and roomy - and crazy cheap. Our room in Paris was 200 euros per night, much more than we usually spend, but I wanted to stay in a nice neighbourhood, and many of the better discount hotels were fully booked. Our room in Barcelona was 80 euros a night, a terrific deal in a nice neighbourhood. And this room in Granada is 55 euros a night! And it's really nice. It will be interesting to see what transpires from now on.

On the way here, I was fascinated to see highway signs in both Spanish and Arabic. Is there still an Arabic community in southern Spain, or do Muslims make pilgrimages to see these ancient holy sites? Either way, it's wonderful. We're seeing the Alhambra late in the day, just relaxing and hanging out until then. We'll also book our next couple of nights, and maybe book ahead in Madrid.

barcelona, day five

There's been no shortage of things to do in Barcelona, we very easily filled 4-1/2 days, and we've skipped entire days of tourist destinations - Montjuic and Dali's Figuerres. This is a wonderful city, full of history, art, architecture, urban villages, great food, shopping - everything that makes a city great. Almost every sign is posted in three languages, and a huge percentage of people speak excellent English.

Today we went to La Boqueria, the main market. It is said that there has been a market on this site since the year 1210. The present one dates back to the late 19th century.

We love markets, and this one is huge and beautiful. The seafood stalls were especially amazing, offering an enormous variety of shellfish and fish. We must have seen a dozen different kinds of shrimp alone, along with giant, dark chunks of tuna, gleaming white salt cod, every manner of herring, sardine, and eel, calamari, snails, and on and on.

There were stalls selling 20 or 30 varieties of mushrooms, stalls with a dizzying array of dried fruit, cut-up fruit and batidas (fruit shakes), acres of ham. We were going to eat at one of the many food stalls, but ended up picking up tidbits as walked - empanadas, grilled shrimp piled on a wooden skewer, little dishes of calamari, spring rolls, figs.

The market runs off La Rambla, a long, crowded thoroughfare that used to be the city's main drag and is now a giant tourist trap. Time Out aptly says La Rambla exists only to separate tourists from their money, by any means possible, legal and illegal. It's extremely crowded and not very pleasant. We did negotiate it for a few blocks, to get to La Palau Guell, a mansion designed by Gaudi for the benefactors of Park Guell.

I went to this one by myself, and it's a good thing, as the 12 euro admission fee is overpriced. There are very few things to see inside. The main attraction is a roof terrace with a dozen or more chimneys covered in mosaics and topped with fanciful modernist fruit (See here.) I took a lot of pictures, and was glad I went, but it wasn't really worth 12 euros.

We then hopped back on the metro and got suitably lost trying to find the Palau Musica Catalana, the crazy modernist music hall, where we had an English-language tour booked for 3:00. We found the tour just before it started.

The construction of the Palau Musica Catalana was a point of great Catalan pride. It was paid for by public donations, featured all forms of music from classical to folk to popular, and has been (and still is) the home of the Catalan choral group, called an orfeo. It was the first choral group in Spain to admit women.

The hall is designed in a style that could be called modernisme on steriods - a dizzying array of mosaics and stained glass. But as the tour guide pointed out details, I saw a unity and a plan that I hadn't seen at first. The building was designed to let in a maximum amount of light in a very closed-in space, and features a giant, bell-shaped, stained-glass skylight. It was a good tour, worth doing if you want to see more interiors of modernist buildings.

We booked a table for dinner at El Bixto, the tiny place we enjoyed so much two nights ago, then went to pick up our laundry. It turned out the lavanderia was a very short walk from our hotel. D'oh! After dinner, perhaps we'll try again to see La Sagrada at night.

Tomorrow morning we pick up the rental car and head south to Granada. Adios, Barcelona.

PS, something I keep forgetting to say: would it kill the Red Sox to win a game while we're gone??? FFS.

barcelona, day four

After breakfast in our room with our own goodies, we went into the old city - Ciutat Vella in Catalan - to the Museu Picasso. There are Picasso museums in many cities and I'd love to see them all. He is among my very favourite artists. The Barcelona Picasso museum was planned by the man himself, a gift to the city of his birth, and focuses on his earliest work - when he was a child, and then an unknown artist developing his own styles - and on a collection of later works he left to his friend and secretary, Jaume Sabartés.

Seeing the young Pablo's work was so interesting. He was clearly very talented at a very young age, winning admission to prestigious art academies, then quickly realizing that formal art training had nothing left to teach him. He spent time copying the styles of famous painters to understand their techniques... and then he went to Paris. It was also cool to see him toying with different signatures, until he developed what would become one of the most famous signatures in art.

The best part of this collection, for me, was the small cubist section - maybe 6 or 7 wonderful cubist paintings - and Picasso's Las Meninas cycle. Picasso took Las Meninas, a very famous painting by the Spanish master Velasquez (see here), and riffed on it, creating 45 new versions, many focusing on one or two details, and none of them looking anything like the original. You can see some of them here.

This was really a marvel. However, the museum gets huge points off for not having a single reproduction of the original Velasquez painting for reference. Could it be that The Prado (the museum in Madrid where Las Meninas lives) won't let them? It was a terrible omission. But a terrific small museum.

After leaving the Picasso museum, we wandered a big more in the Barri Gotic, and found a tiny cafe for lunch. I think I now understand the difference between pintxos and tapas. Traditional tapas is a small plate of something - sausages, cheeses, fish, olives, whatever. The tall creations of combinations of food, on a piece of bread with a toothpick through the whole thing, displayed at the bar or on counters, is pintxos. But when the host or server is adding up your bill, they will say "tres tapas" for the three pintxos you ordered, using the terms interchangeably.

Pintxos look very appealing, all piled up the counter. The server will point and explain each one. You can't necessarily tell what they are, as the combinations are unusual, and some things are made into croquets or otherwise disguised. We had these: a croquette of octopus and shrimp, a piece of breaded chicken cutlet with a fried egg on top, and smoked salmon topped with brie. Plus a cafe con leche for me and a vino tinto for A.

After lunch we walked around the old area looking for Roman remains, both through our guidebook and historic markers posted around town. There is a section of Roman wall, some arches now built into the cathedral but originally part of an aqueduct, and some amazing intact columns, now hidden in an alley, but once incorporated into the meeting room of a local hiking club! A huge Roman excavation is now part of the museum of the history of Barcelona - a giant room of pieces of columns and arches and such. We didn't go in, but it looks very nice.

We also passed a small but spirited demo, in front of a bank. The demonstrators were all middle aged or older, and they looked very organized and very angry. The object of their anger: the ladrones banqueros - bank thieves.

We then walked further down into the Born district, adjacent to the Barri Gotic. It's a very old part of town that's been gentrified and upscaled. Allan wanted to see Santa Maria del Mar, a church from the 1300s. (I just peeked in, then rested on the entrance steps.) The neighbourhood is full of very upscaled tapas and pintxos bars, with huge plates of inventive pintxos piled up on the bars. We did go into this very clever and silly candy store: Happy Pills.

We walked across town to the Palau de La Musica Catalana, a crazy modernist concert hall, right near El Bixto, the wonderful place where we had dinner the other night. I took a lot of pictures of the exterior, but we had missed the last interior tour for the day.

Then it was back to the room to rest, then back to the Barri Gotic for dinner. First, we ducked into a store we had seen in our first hour here, Vaho, which sells all sorts of bags, backpacks, wallets, totes, and such, made from recycled vinyl posters that were hung in Barcelona. I absolutely loved them, and we had a mental note to come back and shop. For a cute visual story of how these "trashion" bags are made, go here.

The restaurant we picked out for dinner was - of course - not there, but the search for it took us down many tiny, narrow, out-of-the-way streets in the Barri Gotic. And by narrow, I mean pedestrian or cycle only. Historic markers said we were in the Jewish Quarter from the 12th and 13th centuries, near the central synagogue. That can only be up to the 13th century, before Jews were expelled from Spain, one way or another.

We finally gave up on our restaurant search and chose another place we had seen in the book, La Vinateria del Call. (The Call was the old Jewish quarter.) This one served traditional tapas, where you choose plates from a menu. We had a plate of incredibly delicious smoked fish (salmon, cod, herring, eel), jamon de pavo (ham made of duck), traditional catalan sausage called bull, and a potato fritata, and of course plenty of wine. Then we made a mistake: we ordered dessert paired with more wine. I only tasted the Catalan creme caramel - somewhere between creme brulee and flan - but I did drink the sweet vino de naraja (oranges). Remind me not to do that again!

After dinner, which began around 10:30 p.m., Allan whisked us to the subway and up to La Sagrada Familia, as he wanted to see it at night, lit up. (This is amusing, as I usually eat dinner very early and am getting ready for bed at 10:00 or 10:30.) When we exited the metro, part of La Sagrada was lit. Allan took a couple of pictures and... the lights turned out. Damn, too late! While we were there, a group of young men arrived by taxi, jumped out, took their picture in front of the dark church, and jumped back into the cab and sped away.

Then we had a bit of a mad race home, as the subways were about to close for the night. We took the very last train. The station master was waiting til we left to close the Tetuan station. Whew.