Adriatica: Dubrovnik II

Saturday, June 20
    Our only full day in Dubrovnik started, and we grabbed some bread to sustain us.  The old town was absolutely deluged by tour groups, many of whom arrived on the huge ferries docked at the port.  We walked around for a while, seeing the sights we are interested in, and then got somewhat.  We couldn't stand the crowds anymore, so we took a ferry boat to a nearby island/nature is her.  We walked around the island for while until we found some nice rocks to swim off of.  We spent the afternoon chilling on the rocks and in the water, enjoying the clear blue water, big waves, and warm sun.  We took the boat back a few hours later and immediately headed towards Dubrovnik's main attraction.  It was a great walk that offered amazing views of the sea, city, port, and nearby islands.  After that we got some dinner, despite a long wait.  Just as we were finishing up, though, the dusk skies turned black and it began to rain huge, hard rain drops that quickly made the city's white marble lanes and stares canals.  We went from awning to awning until we got to an Internet café, where we killed some time.  we were not dressed for the rain at all, but we think ourselves for finding room so much easier to get to than the first.  We rushed back home after some ice cream (according to our observations, no Italian or Croatian may be seen in public without an ice cream cone at any time.)

Adriatica: Sarajevo to Dubrovnik

    Friday, June 19
    The next morning we went back into the center for one last look around.  We went a little bit outside of where we had been to two or a traditional 18th century Ottoman house that had some cool woodwork furniture and nice courtyards.
We only had a few hours, as we had to catch up noon bus.  We got to the bus station with a few minutes to spare, which we spent crazily buying up everything we wanted a new stand, in order to get rid of our last KM (Bosnia was also unique in that almost everywhere, you could just as easily spend Euros or Croatian kunas as you could KM.)
    The bus ride was long, but went through some beautiful land and made a rest stop at a place that had full sheep and goats being turned on skewers powered by a stream.  Which was interesting.


We arrived in Dubrovnik at around 9 PM, which meant that we'd have to find a room on our own.  We didn't want to be thousand stairs away from the old town again, so we eventually found a room much closer, on more level terrain.  At that late hour all we could find was a room with a single bed, but we took it as it was much better than nothing.

Adriatica: Sarajevo

Sarajevo

Thursday June 18
We got up bright and early to catch the train to Sarajevo.  We weren't able to convince the lady selling tickets that we were students, despite having myriad cards, but we did make it onto the morning train and found a car occupied by one other lady.  Billie promptly fell asleep, while I tried to stay awake to and see the views, which are supposed to be some of the best in the region.  We followed the river north, passing through gorges and mountains.  It was indeed an enjoyable ride.  We had set up a place to stay already, so the lady was waiting for us at the train station.  She walked us to the room, 10 or so minutes away, on the fourth floor of an old (elevator free) apartment building.  She talked us into hiring her friend as a driver to take us to the tunnel museum, which we did.  He was to pick us up a few hours later, which gave us time to wander around and grab some incredible fresh pita from a little bakery.  We drove to the tunnel museum, where we were deposited.  It was a private home who's owner had offered to build a tunnel under the airport, connecting besieged Sarajevo with the outside world, beyond the range of the Serbian forces in the mountains surrounding the city.

the house where Bosnians were able to access the outside world during the Serbian siege.

There was a 10 minute video compilation of buildings, people, cars, ambulances, and anything and everything else in the city being mercilessly rained down on with bullets; it was hard to imagine what it must have been like to fear leaving your own home for months at a time.  We then went down into a portion of the tunnel.  Moist and low-ceilinged, with uneven ground to walk on, in its original form almost a kilometer long, it must have been a very arduous trip back and forth through the tunnel. The video showed an old lady who waited at the end of the tunnel, all day every day, with a huge tank of water and a little tin cup to offer everyone upon emerging.  There was also a collection of awards, commendations, and medals from a wide range countries, agencies, and celebrities, for the tunnel's creators and hosts.

short in height, long in length, impossibly important -- the Sarajevo tunnel

After the tunnel museum we were dropped off in the city's center.  we didn't know where, exactly, so we popped into a travel agency and found out. Central Sarajevo is an old Ottoman market that is hard to navigate, so we were getting frustrated as we tried to find the city's various sites.

the central market area

We finally got to our first destination, the city's Sephardic Synagogue it was a big old stone building, with a great museum and a wonderful host/guard, who told us all about Sarajevo's Jews, with a story that mirrored our travels (to an extent). The Spanish Jews were pushed out of Spain during the Inquisition and many settled in Sarajevo, where they were treated better by the Ottomans. The Museum also mentioned Ladino, the Spanish version of Yiddish (instead of Hebrew and German, Hebrew and Spanish) and even headed some pictures and banners of "Lira," the community Spanish-Jewish band of Sarajevo.  They also had some of the stories of Jews and those who helped them during the Holocaust.

We went to a "Mexican"place for lunch, then walked over to the bridge where Gavilo Princip shot Archduke Ferdinand, starting WWII. 

the return of the assassin!

Near the bridge was a fancy mosque we took a peek in.  A 30-year-old or so man ask us if we'd like to go in, and we asked how much it would cost.  "Only a few minutes of your time," was his reply.  We were rich in that regard, so he took us inside (after we removed our shoes and Billie had put on us are.)  He talked to us for at least an hour, in excellent English, about the history of Muslims in Sarajevo, the war, the differences between religions, his own life and his transformation from a nonbeliever to a believer, and all sorts of other things.

the orator's mosque

He said that his family had had power and money under communism, but he had found more success and happiness than ever when she started practicing religion.  he also said that the media's portrayal of Islam being a male-dominated religion were wrong -- women have all of the same rights, except for one.  If a man tells a woman of his (spouse, sister, daughter, etc.) something, she must okay.  He said that this only came up where we, but it is quite a difference.  He left us with a few pages of Koran translated into English, and we headed off. 

    We stopped at a bookstore, where we decided to buy a guidebook for the Western Balkans.  Although we had only a week or so left, it made everything else a lot easier.  We walked on, stopping at one of Sarajevo's "red roses."  during the war, much of the country, including Sarajevo, was mined.  Where one exploded in Sarajevo, the resulting crater was filled in with red cement, to mark the location.  There weren't many left, but the fact that ones still existed in heavily trafficked areas give an idea of how dangerous and real the war was to Sarajevo's civilian citizens.

    We found a nice café with some seats available in the courtyard and had a drink.  It was interesting to see the social scene -- girls and covered heads and shoulders holding hands with less religious girls, talking to a wide variety of people.  It was getting late, so we started to walk back after deciding on a place to eat near our room.  It was an Asian fusion place; not the best ever but filled us up.  We had the place almost to ourselves and took our time enjoying the food.  A short walk later and we were back home.

Adriatica: Mostar

Mostar, Hercegovina, and its famous Old Bridge

Wednesday June 17
We got an expensive ride from Zlatan's cousin to the airport, got our bus tickets, and set off for Mostar, Hercegovina.  The bus was a nice 3 hr ride back up the coast, across the border (actually across 3 borders -- into BiH, back into Croatia, and then finally into BiH for good.)  We found a room right across from the bus station with a lovely woman named Lena, put our stuff down, and walked into the city.  The war had hit Mostar hard.

the remnants of the war

During the war the city's famous, long-standing bridge, a bridge built so well that centuries after it had been built by hand, it was still strong enough to support Nazi tanks.  The bridge was so important to Mostar that was so important to the city that people cried when it finally fell, saying that they'd lost an old friend.  Using the original methods the bridge had been rebuilt, so we were able to see the amazing structure in the same way people had for centuries beforehand.  And just as Rick Steves had promised, there were guys in bathing suits posing on the bridge and passing a hat.  Once they had reached the desired amount, one stripped down to a speedo, climbed up onto the bridge's wall, doused himself with the river's cold water to prepare himself, looked down, took a deep breath, and jumped the 35+ feet into the fast moving, freezing cold Neretva river below.





We moved on, exploring the Turkish-style street shops.  There was also an empty lot surrounded by a fence decorated with Jewish stars, the site of a synagogue being rebuilt by the community to thank the area's Jews for their care for both sides during the war. 

the area where the synagogue will be built

The Neretva River connects East and West -- in this case Orthodox Christians (Serbia) and Muslims (Bosniaks)  While each religion mainly stays to their side of the river, we never felt any tension or in any danger.  We had some lovely meals next to the streams that feed into the Neretva, and were granted access to one of the mosque's courtyards and minarets for some outstanding views.

Adriatica: Dubrovnik

 the City Walls by night...

and by day

Tuesday June 16
We took a final look at Korcula, and then hopped onto the big car ferry to Dubrovnik.  It was an uneventful 3 hr ride through the narrow straits between the mainland and the long stretches of islands along the coast -- beautiful blue water and a nice breeze, along countless pine-covered rocky islands.  We arrived in Dubrovnik and were immediately attacked by the room dealers.  We went with the Rock Palace Dubrovnik, a "10 minute walk" from the center.  We drive there, and realize that it is a 10 minute walk  because it is straight down a steep hill.  Which means that coming back up will be a 25 minute, sweaty and curse-filled voyage.  We got situated and argued with Zlatan, the guy who's room it was, to give us some towels.  We head down the hill to get some dinner.  The city looked great at night, it was easy to see why many consider it the "Jewel of the Adriatic."  The pasta wasn't the best I'd ever had, but it was a nice place and a good introduction to the city. 

the Bulls are big in Croatia, points to whoever can guess why.

An introduction was all we'd get, because we were only using Dubrovnik as a waypoint to get to Bosnia & Hercegovina, having ditched the rent-a-car idea.  We hiked back up the mountain, and knocked on Zlatan's door to use the internet, as he'd promised us we could.  Zlatan was in his mid-40s, and his wife and toddler son came in and out while Billie used the computer and we all talked.  We talked about music (he was in a band for years and is a huge fan of American rock and roll, hence the name and theme of his house), politics, his conspiracy theories and fears of joining the EU (he believes that eventually there will be just one government controlled by one person for the entire world) and he even offered me some of Croatia's famous brandy, Rakija, even though he was a recovering alcoholic.

Adriatica: Korcula

 the view from our room -- not bad eh?

The catamaran ride from Hvar was pretty quick, only an hour or so, and we disembarked and were set upon by the room-renting rabble.  One seemed good, so we got into his van (he assured us that it was only a four minute walk, 'five uphill' but with bags it was easier to make the circuitous, 10 minute drive.  He showed us two complete apartments, and we chose the one that looked better -- full kitchen, full bathroom, huge bed, AC, satellite TV, and a balcony with an incredible view of the tiny peninsula.  For only around 19E a person per night it was a great deal.  We'd be staying for two nights, so we set our stuff down and went into town.  Korcula's a small place, so we made our way through it relatively quickly, and then started to look for dinner options.  We found a place a little off of the beaten track that was a little cheaper, and I had a great steak and wine.  We got some ice cream, ascended the hill, and went to bed.

Monday June 15
We got some breakfast at the supermarket and gave the town a closer look. 

As promised, it looked a lot like Venice, which is no surprise since it was under Venetian rule for centuries.  We took a bus to Lumbardo, where we walked for 15 minutes through vineyards until we reached the beach.  The beach was crowded and slightly dirty.  However, it was sandy, which meant no more issues with stepping on jagged rocks or prickly plantimals.  We swam and hung out all afternoon, then took the bus back to Korcula.  We got some groceries at the supermarket and made some good pasta.  Ice cream, of course, came next, and then bedtime.

delicious and hard to clean up

Adriatica: Hvar

Abandoned somethingorother in Hvar

Saturday June 13
We arrived in Hvar and took a look around.  On first, and final as well, impression, Hvar was disgustingly picturesque.  We were accosted by the room-renters, and took one with a crazy redheaded woman who found it necessary to continually slap and pinch our cheeks.  We paid up and then went to choose a beach.

 This is proof that we chose a beach, as mentioned in the sentence above.

Hvar's beaches were generally rocky and reefy, but the water was, as usual, incredibly blue and a good temperature.  Ferries would go back and forth creating some waves, but nothing too disruptive.  Than the big Krilo catamaran came to make a drop-off from Split. 

 

the Krilo catamaran, searching for prey

The wake slowly spread through the water, violently tossed us around in the water, and easily hopped over the rocks where we'd put our stuff -- shoes, shirts, towels, footwear, etc. -- and pulled it all into the sea.  Some quick-thinking search-and-rescue work from a sunbather we were able to recover it all, soaking wet, but there was no permanent damage and somehow the cameras and passports had stayed dry.  We swam for a while longer, enjoying the beautiful water and scenery, and then went back and got changed for dinner.  After dinner we walked around the bay, stopping when we see a group of people partying, dressed in all white.  As we get closer, the hava nagilah begins to reach our ears -- it's a Jewish wedding.  They go through all of the classics, and we sit and listen and watch for a while, with a few dozen other spectators, and then get some ice cream and go to bed.

Sunday June 14
The next morning we get some fruit for breakfast, and decided to hike up to the mountain above Hvar, to see the fortress and walls.  We realized we had no real interest in the fortress, so we took a side-path a good way up, stopped at a cool old one-room church, and enjoyed the towering views over the island, bay, and archipelago. 

 the view from above

We then, surprisingly, decided to go swimming again, this time on the other side of the harbor, about a 15 minute walk away.  After picking and choosing our spot, we settle on another rocky/corally locale, but one that isn't too crowded and is flat enough to put our stuff down.  I'd made the fashion choice to cop some goggles at the supermarket, so I put those on and dove in.  We swam for a while, but on one attempt to get out of the water I stepped on some sort of spiky black animal/plant that left some nasty little prickers in my foot and toes, a creature who's sole purpose was to ruin my day.  We stopped at a restaurant to get some food and the waiter advised me to pee on it, and then poke at it with a needle.  Thanks but no thanks my friend.  I hobbled back to our room, got our bags, and got onto the Krilo ferry to  Korcula.

Adriatica: Split

Friday June 12
We got some breakfast, and headed straight to the bus station to get the 3.5 hr bus to Split.  We got onto a bus that was leaving when we arrived, and after a few unscheduled stops and pauses, we'd made it to hustling bustling Split.  We were met by an army of room-offerers, one of whom was good enough to convince us.  We walked 10 minutes or so through the old town to get to her apartment.  We put our stuff down, had a little discussion about changing the schedule, and set out to explore Split, and look into getting a rental car to take us to Bosnia & Herzegovina.  We had no luck on the latter, but Split was sunny and interesting -- Diocletian's palace, a humongous structure built by the Romans, was integrated into the city itself in a way that I'd never seen before.  The palaces walls, rooms, and hallways had been slowly adapted to meet the needs of each generation, which made for some cool contrasts.

Split also held countless Australians, as did the rest of Croatia.  We walked around for a few hours, enjoying the open-air markets and people watching, got dinner at one of the restaurants we'd read about, and then took an evening stroll along the pier.

Saturday June 13
We woke up, and reached the conclusion that although it was big, Split didn't have that much to offer.  So we decided to leave that day.  We left the key in the mailbox, took our bags and did a final dip through the old city -- a tour of the palace, a final check of rental car agencies, and so on.  The map had a little Jewish star on it, so we pursued the star until we came to a small alley with a door with a mezuzah.  We rang the bell and were shown in by a older gentleman with the most quintessential Eastern-European/Yiddish accented English.  We went through some doors and up some stairs, and entered into a small synagogue. 

 the man himself

There were a pair of women there talking with the gentleman -- Uruguayan women whose parents had fled Europe before WWII.  He told us about Croatia's Jewish history in a very engaging and personal way, spiced with a few choice quotes:

• on the US's role in WWII: "Did you know that the US turned back a full boat of Jews that had escaped from Germany?  Sent them back!  Now with the economy how it is, I bet they wish they'd let them stay!"

• regarding the 1999 war in Yugoslavia: "They were so busy killing each other that they forgot to kill us!"

Highly educational and entertaining.  We gave them a little tzedakah and then dipped out, taking the catamaran to the island of Hvar.

Adriatica: Zadar

An old ass building in Zadar

Wednesday, June 10

We left Plitvice at 1, which gave us just enough time to get some lunch and step on the gas to get to the Zadar airport (one gate) in time to drop the car off. That went well, although I hadn't counted on the Zadar airport being so disconnected from Zadar. The next bus from the airport to the city was 3 hrs away, and so we bit the bullet and took a cab into town. It wasn't cheap, but it doesn't make sense to spend the time, energy, and money to get to Croatia and then not see the sites when you have the opportunity, regardless. We got dropped off in the center, found a travel agency, and booked a room on the end of the old town that juts out into the sea. Our hostess was a very friendly, very hairy woman who showed us our room, balcony, bathroom, etc. We put our stuff down and went to explore the city. We had been given a recommendation to try the ice cream at Donat, so we found it and had a scoop or two. It was incredible -- creamy, smooth, and really tasty.

Amazing, amazing ice cream. Donat. Remember the name.

We took our ice cream and walked along the boardwalk, scoping out the various boats offering tours of the nearby archipelago. However nothing really jumped out at us, so we kept walking. We made a loop through the old town and ended up at the sea organ, a pretty cool little feature of the city. It's basically a set of long steps leading down into the sea, under which are carved some holes or pipes or something that naturally make sound when the waves lap up against the steps. It was sort of cool to see the waves come in at different strengths and heights and hear the resulting changes in sound.

In Croatia when the day is just about over, the sun goes down

Thursday June 11

We woke up and got some breakfast, and walked around for a while. Zadar was cool but didn't have that much to offer, so we checked out the Jadrolinja ferry schedule to find out where we could get to for a little day trip. There were frequent ferries to the nearby island of Preko, so we hopped on one, found a few beaches, and swam in the incredibly blue water all afternoon.

Preko

We got a little food at a nice seaside cafe with big lounge chairs on the water, and were served by a clumsy Croatian waiter who'd been living in Mallorca, playing drums in a hard rock band. He claimed that a few nights earlier there had been a well-known band playing in Zadar, and he'd been in attendance, and that after the performance, which the crowd found underwhelming, he himself took the stage and "brought the house down." We took the ferry back, got some dinner, and went to a late night showing of "Angels & Demons," which costs 2E -- the right price.

At the movie we sat near a young Indian/Croatian couple that had been looking at the same rooms as us a week or so earlier, in Rovinj. Small world, apparently.

Adriatica: Plitvice Pictures

Adriatica: Plitvice National Park

Plitvice National Park

Tuesday June 9th
We decided to stick to the coast, which would be a longer drive but much more scenic, and were rewarded with some great views of the coast and mountains, some cool little cities, interesting little bays, and so on. We arrived at the national park, and looked for a place to stay. One little forest road had a lot of rooms available, so we went down it for a while. Eventually it split, and we decided to turn back and go to one of the ones we'd already seen.

the view from the road

I tried to make a 3 point turn on the road, which was bordered just by a ditch into the forest filled with shrubbery. I will say that I misjudged it, and tried to cheap out on the backing up part, so when I went forward I was too close to the edge of the road, and before I knew it the front left quarter of the car was in the ditch/bushes, and at a relatively serious angle -- the things in the backseat sorta fell up against the back of our front seats because of the angle. I tried to back up but the front wheel drive wouldn't grab onto anything. I felt a bit sick to my stomach, since I didn't want to have to call a tow truck and definitely didn't want to have to pay for a new car if this one slipped away into the ditch. I put on the emergency brake extra strong and got out to assess the situation. That's when I saw that the back right tire was about a foot off the ground, due to the car's angle. Not a good feeling. I also realized that if I didn't get the right foot's brake-to-gas move correct, the car would roll forward even more. I tried a few times to back up, but the front right tire (the only one with driving traction) just spun in the gravel. I tried putting all of our bags in the back right of the car to get the weight distributed better, but it didn't make much difference.
With the bags in the back right, and with the assistance of Billie sitting on the trunk to the right, we were able to get enough weight off of the front left of the car to squeal back to safety. The transmission didn't smell too good, but we were at our destination and had a long hike planned for the next morning, so by the time we got back in the car, 15 or so hours later, it was ok. We found a good room, got some dinner, and went to bed in advance of the vigorous hiking we'd have to do the next morning.

We were too nervous and frazzled to take pictures of the 3-wheel motion, and for the rest of the night, and trip, I was too scared to pull too close to anything besides pavement, as evidenced above.

Wednesday June 10
We walked across the highway to the Plitvice's main entrance, and headed through the gates a few moments after the park opened, at 8.30. We took care to get in ahead of the four massive buses full of Japanese tourists. However, we stopped to take some pictures right at the beginning, which allowed them to pass us and spread out along the pass to make an overtake impossible. They had an amazing collective ability to go really slowly through the boring parts, which meant we could weave our way through and try to pass them, only to get to the really good parts, in front of the groups, just in time for them to speed up and push us past the good parts.
In terms of the park itself, words can't really do it justice, and pictures may not either. The water was an freakishly Technicolor blue, a hue that you wouldn't believe was possible in nature, and was so clear that you could see to the bottom at basically any depth. There were incredible waterfalls, some amazing rock formations, interesting caves and paths, and big-ass birds too.

Adriatica: Rovinj and Pula

Room with a view

Monday June 8
We got to the train station, and took the long train to Trieste. The bus station and train station are right next to each other, so we got our tickets for Rovinj (our first stop in Croatia), got some lunch (mozzarella, tomato, and bread -- usually good, divine in Italy.) The bus came, we hopped on, and an hour or so later we were crossing into Slovenia. An hour or so after that, it was time to leave the Schengen border-free zone as we got to the Croatian border. We showed our passports, but immediately realized that since we hadn't been on a tourist visa, but instead a student visa, we might not be able to leave (since the visas had expired.) For some reason, my visa card was set to expire in August, but Billie's had expired in May, so the border control guy told us that we'd have to show our cards, and that we may have some trouble on re-entry to the EU. OK, sir. We eventually got to Rovinj, walked down to a travel agency, and got booked in a huge room with a huge bed up a huge flight of steep stairs. We set our stuff, and headed out to explore the small old city as the sun started to go down. A town that, since 1750, was part of the Republic of Venice, the Austrian empire, Italy, Croatia, Yugoslavia, and then Yugoslavia again, it is a very Italian Croatian town (or a Croatian Italian town, if you like) which meant that everyone was bilingual and the food was great.

the sun goes down on Rovinj

Tuesday June 9th

We spent the day walking around Rovinj, enjoying the small town and the ocean. There was a lively little fish and vegetable market, with kids playing soccer on a marble square near a playground. We stopped at a place called Da Sergio Pizza Italiana, where we had two of the most incredible pizzas we'd ever had. The cheese, the sauce, the toppings -- they were all amazing.

Da Sergio Pizza, in Rovinj, Croatia -- amazing

The waiter was an interesting dude too -- maybe 19 or 20, telling us all about the countries we'd be going to, his opinion of them (he liked them all except Albania, who he compared to Iraq or Iran) and more. Unfortunately we had to catch a bus, so we couldn't go for a third huge pizza. We took the bus down the coast to Pula, where we needed to get from the bus station to the airport to pick up our rent a car. Unfortunately we found that there was no bus from the station to the airport, so we started looking into a taxi. I asked the bus driver how much it might cost, and he said around 100 kuna -- 12 or 13 Euros. We got to our bags, and then the driver came over and said that if we could wait 30 minutes, he himself could drive us in his car for half that price -- he needed the money and had time. Sounded good to us, so we plopped down and waited. Pula is famous for having a nearly complete Roman amphitheater, so I hustled over there, took a quick glimpse, and came back, and then we got into his rickety old car for the 15 minute drive out to the airport. Our car, a four-door Fiat, was ready and waiting, and although we didn't have a GPS, which we thought we'd really need, we were given a big map of Croatia, which indeed helped us. We pulled out of the airport, onto the new "Ypsilon" highway that connects the peninsula that Rovinj and Pula are on to the mainland, and headed towards Plitvice, the famous natural park that guidebooks describe as a combination of the Grand Canyon and Niagra Falls.

Adriatica: Leaving Huercal-Overa and Milan

stompin on a bull's testicles.

Saturday June 6
I packed all of my bags as full as they'd get, laboriously dragged them to the bus station, and got onto the overnight bus to Barcelona. It was sad to see Huercal fade into the distance, but I had a great time, met some great people, and am happy with how the year went for sure.
The next morning the bus pulled into the station, and I took a city bus to my friend Lluis', in a suburb called Sant Just Desevren. It was great to see Lluis again, for the first time in a few years, and he made me feel incredibly welcome. We met playing on a soccer team while he was at Brandeis for a semester, and he is a really good player. He currently plays for his local club team, so they had a game that I was able to go watch -- they won 3-0, with Lluis playing the first half at center mid and the second half came out and talked to me. Then I went to the train station to meet Billie, who'd taken the train, and we had some dinner and then took the bus back to Lluis'. He and some friends were watching the American TV show "Supernatural" to practice their English, so we watched that for a while, then went to bed. The cab came early the next morning, and we made it to the airport, and made it to Milan by the early afternoon.

Sunday June 7
We were picked up at Milan's Malpensa airport by Francesco and Marcella, the couple that Billie will be helping work on English for July. They were also amazingly welcoming and warm, and they made me really jealous of Billie. They drove us back to their apartment in the suburbs, we put our stuff down, and Marcella made us some great pasta, with some nice steaks for the men (Francesco and I.) We then drove back into the city to get our train tickets to Trieste for the next day. After we'd gotten the tickets, we walked around the central area -- Piazza del Duomo, Galleria Vittorio Emanuele (the fanciest mall in the world, with the flagship stores for Gucci, Versace, etc.) We got some gelato, stepped on the ceramic bull's testicles (for good luck), and generally enjoyed ourselves. Then they took us to a great restaurant for dinner near their house, and although the food was a little slow, it was great when it arrived. It was made better by the fact that it was served by the most stereotypical Italian waiter they had -- bushy white eyebrows, balding, little spectacles, crazy hand gestures and motions.) We capped the evening off (I did, at least) by challenging Francesco to a game of FIFA 2009 on his XBox 360, on a huge flatscreen with some Bang&Olfusen 2.1 speakers (Francesco works for Microsoft, so he gets the hookup on Zunes, XBoxs, etc. Not a bad set up, making me that much more jealous of Billie.) He whupped my ass twice.

The fanciest mall in the world, complete with a combination McDonalds-Jewish Studies Center-fancy windowed dome and arty stuff

The end of the school year, pt IV

The last week was a mix of old and new. I said goodbye to all of my teachers at school, got some email addresses and whatnot in case we want to keep in touch. We said goodbye to our Spanish teacher Juanni, who had been very warm and helpful not only in terms of learning Spanish, but helping us adjust to life in Spain, answering random questions, and always having a smile. We did our best to clean up the apartment, although as I type there are two pros in there, thanks to the recommendation of our real estate guy. I packed all my stuff up, but ended up shipping some stuff home. It was hella expensive, though, so it better be all waiting for me when I get back. I grabbed a drink with Luci, the English coordinator at my school, and Melissa, the other American that works there. It was a nice meal, we shared some laughs and memories, and said our goodbyes. Then I went to the final dinner for another American, Jonathan, that ended up with us going from bar to bar to Plaza Mayor until 4am. Then Jessica, another American, said her goodbyes, and then it was just Billie, Alyssa, and myself (and Melissa, she's staying until July, but she doesn't really chill with us, she's basically an adopted Spaniard after 3 years here); Tristan had left earlier in the week (after I almost deleted his priceless pictures with his classes, the only tangible memories he'd have of them. Crisis barely averted).
Billie's school was having a culture week, so I went with her one day when they were making a huge paella. It was pretty good, aside from all of the seafood and the intense mosquitoes, but the highlight was meeting the Moroccan students at her school. Her school is just a few moments away from a "residencia," which is where the government places the juvenile illegal immigrants that arrive in Spain and are caught. They were very warm and friendly, and invited us to see the residencia. I had never been to anything like that -- part orphanage, part college dorm, part mosque -- but it was very interesting. Now, these are kids who have had it rough. Many didn't go to school at all in Morocco and were illiterate in both Arabic and Spanish, many had very difficult journeys getting to Spain (one kid swam like a half mile to sneak onto a Spain-bound ship through an open window), and all of them have no parents here and can't see them again until they turn 18. But with that said, they had it pretty good here. They live three to a room, each with their own bed, dresser, closet, etc. They have a pool, big flastscreen TV, playstation, computers, soccer/basketball/tennis/handball court, full-time cooks and cleaners, teachers that come in to tutor them, a mini-mosque for their daily prayers, they get an allowance, and they live within walking distance of school. They were really excited to show us around, proudly pointing to their names on the doors, showing us the bathrooms, introducing us to the people cleaning the bedrooms, etc. They were exceptionally polite and warm, and really seemed to be excited about their lives in Spain. They were realistic about the fact that they missed their families and hoped to get good jobs so they could bring their families to Spain as well, but they still were average adolescent kids -- flirting with the girls, playing soccer, talking behind teachers' backs, etc. It was definitley cool to see and I wish I'd seen it sooner, maybe I coulda helped out there a few times a week or something. Then that night was "Sports Night," which meant that there were soccer games all night long between students, parents, and teachers. They set up a Moroccans vs. Spaniards game for the students, which the Moroccans won handily, and then I stepped on for the parents, teachers, and friends vs. students game. It started off as 5v5 (small concrete court), but in their eagerness to beat the old folks the kids soon had 8-10 players. We tried to even the numbers up but it eventually decended into a farce, with dozens of players making it impossible to get the ball and have a second to think. Jesus, the second-division ref/gym teacher, was our ride home, and he left as the game fell apart. We said our goodbyes to him, and then went home.



The last week in Huercal-Overa is a sad one, but also happy. I'm sad I have to leave the people I became friends with, from the Bolivians I play soccer with Sunday mornings to the teachers at school to Pape and the Senegalese people who were so friendly and warm when I'd come over to the co-teachers of the other Americans who we went out with. But mostly I'll miss the kids, especially because most of them are so young that unless I come back next year, they probably won't remember me. It's weird to think that if I see them again they'll be, to them, a lot older, and look different, be able to speak and write a lot better, etc. But I'm happy because I met a lot of cool people, my Spanish improved a lot, I lived in a small town for the first time, went to a lot of cool places, saw some good soccer played and went to some new stadiums, big and small, and lived to tell (blog) about it all. I'm also happy cuz now we get to go to Croatia, where I've been wanting to go for a long time, and then Barcelona, which will be a not-bad place to spend July. But every day takes me closer to getting home, which is where I want to be. There are a lot of things that I love about Spain, but it's not home -- there are still things that confuse or trouble me that are unfortunately just part of the culture, that I'd have to learn to deal with. I don't mind; I wouldn't have come if it was going to be the same, but it will be really nice to know just where everything stands, to be able to express myself perfectly without hesitation, to not have to worry about how much random things are going to cost, etc. And to see my family and friends again will be awesome. Can't wait for 4.40PM CST on July 28th, 2009, when I touch down in Chicago, Illinois, USA. I still have to plan how I'm going to get home -- should I rush home so I can be there, finally? Or should I take my time, stop at Superdawg, or the loop, or visit the fam in Oak Park, or the other Western Burbs, or what? All I know is whatever I end up doing, I'll be relieved to be home.

The end of the school year, pt III

Sadly, the year was drawing to a close. At school we had the first annual Women's Equality Week, which meant something fun every day, for all genders. The two main days were Sports & Games Day and then a Dancing Day. Sports & Games day consisted of all sorts of games for the kids -- hopskotch, jumprope, "Diana" (sort of like a one-way shuffleboard, or darts on the ground) and a throwing-at-targets game reminiscent of Pro Day at Northwestern, except with more talent on display. I started off watching the kids do the Diana, sliding rocks towards a target painted on the ground, but it got a little boring since the kids just stood there and waited for me to bring them the rocks. I moved on to jump rope, which was a lot more fun. There were tons of small ropes, enough for each kid, and there was also a much bigger rope that the teachers could use to have the kids jump in group. The older kids were sort of able to do the individual ropes, but the younger kids got progressivly worse, which meant progressivly more entertaining. The 5 and some of the 4 year olds would kinda be able to understand the concept, but almost none of them could actually get the rope up over their head, under their feet, and in a position to do it again, with any sort of consistency. The rest of the 4 year olds, and 3 year olds, couldn't even figure out what was supposed to be happening, so they'd just hold the rope and jump. But the problem was that they were thinking they were doing something very complicated -- holding a rope AND jumping at the same time -- which meant they couldn't do either very well; the ropes would slip out of one hand or end up tied around an arm, and only maybe 15% of the jumps involved two feet simeltaneously leaving the ground. But they were really happy just to sort of stand up on their toes while shaking the rope, so whatever works.

thats me behind the tree in blue, showing young Israel and Cristian Fuentes what's really good with jumping rope

Then the teacher and I would hold the long rope and slowly sway it just over the ground (or even dragging on the ground,) so the kids could try to jump over it, like it was a small, moving creek or something. This also proved challenging, since by the time they'd made the decision to jump, the rope had gone back in the other direction, and they'd have to wait again. Counting down didn't help them at all, since they would hear us say 3, 2, 1, and then realize that since we weren't counting they should jump, and then figure out how to get both feet off the ground AND land on the other side of the rope -- it was quite the process. Almost all of the boys would fall down or roll dramatically after making it across, and many of them thought that taking long running starts would help. Some of the kids just couldn't get it no matter what, so we'd just put the rope down and they'd step over it, and even this was a bit of an obstacle for some of them. The mere idea of getting over something, even something as small as a rope lying on the ground, proved difficult to realize. I was able to get some great pictures of the kids in action though, so that was good.

Then later that week, a dance leader came to do some dances with the whole school. This meant that the little kids would have to make their way the three blocks to the big school, a complicated process involving lots of stopping and reorganizing, kids holding onto the shirts of the kids in front of them to figure out where to go, screams of delight whenever the group passed anyone, old or small, and so on. They made it, though, and joined the older kids on the playground. The older kids either knew or were related to a lot of the younger kids, so there were some happy reunions, some unhappy reunions, some confusing moments of mistaken identities, etc.

me getting ready to show the 3 year olds how to step

We finally got everyone lined up and the dance guy came. He was a long-haired dude, tank top and cargo shorts, with a strong headband and an interesting face. He hit play on his discman, and the sweet sound of mid-90s uptempo techno turned up way too loud rocked the playground. He started with some basic side to side, raising your hands moves, and got into some hip shaking, some back and forth, rocking, etc. The older kids were able to keep up but the younger ones were woefully out of beat, behind, and generally unable to keep up. However they seemed to be having the most fun, trying to match the guy in front, and their attempts to follow were pretty entertaining. The female teachers didn't hesitate at all, but the guys were more hesitant. Everyone was having a great time, though, especially young Ronaldino. He's a chubby 4 year old Romanian kid who watches way too much wrestling and consequently tries to fight me every time he sees me, although before he punches or kicks he looks to both sides to enjoy the thousands and thousands of fans who have come to see him wrestle, and usually gives them a wave or a gesture.

Ronaldiño and Cosmin, the world's most professional wrestling 4 year olds.

Then he slowly advances on me, making intimidating gestures, before lobbing a kick that takes about two minutes to get from the floor up to my shin. So I usually grab his foot mid-air, which takes us to the next stage of the bout, where he looks around in shock and terror at the pain I am going to inflict. I usually raise it up higher and higher, until its about at his shoulder level, at which point he falls down. Then he lies on the ground for a while, every so often trying to do some sort of leg sweep or other move. Anyway, his teacher pointed out that he behaves poorly, doesn't really enjoy doing the work, doesn't try very hard, and isn't in any way a good student, but he loves dancing. And sure enough, R onaldino was up front, belly jiggling, having the time of his life. It was cool to see.

One night that week we were invited to dinner by Pape. Pape is a Senagalese guy I met at a dinner party we were having at the place where we take our Spanish classes, who said he wanted to learn English. Like most of the non-Moroccan Africans in town, Pape works at the various markets in the area, selling purses, watches, belts, etc. He lives with 4 or 5 other Senegalese people, and every time I came over to help Pape they'd offer me tons of food, drink, put on music they thought I'd like, constantly ask about Billie, etc. I'd had some of the Senegalese food he'd made before, Chebo'uyap (spicy rice with chicken) and it was good, so I figured this would be a good chance to get Billie to come meet them and try some Senagalese fare. The week before, I'd been sitting on a chair, when suddenly I saw something move on the couch. It was the tiniest baby I'd seen in quite some time. It was his neighbors baby Mohamed, who was only 3 weeks old at the time (now he's twice as old.) I made Pape promise to invite Mohamed to dinner since I knew Billie (and Julia, indirectly) would enjoy meeting him. We showed up with an origami flower made by Alyssa as a gift.

Pape, me, Rose, Billie, and Mohommed

People came through all night to say hi to us, meet Billie, etc. Then Rose, a woman who lives with them, brought out an absolutely massive plate of food that looked like enough to feed the whole town. We got started, though, and pretty soon the 8 of us or whatever had gotten through it. We spent some more time chatting, and then went back home with full bellies. Pape is a great guy, and one that I'll be missin' -- hopefully he can make it to America when he's rich (which he will be, according to him) and we can hang out and I can repay the hospitality he showed me.

The end of the school year, pt II

We got lucky a few days after getting back from Granada -- Jonathan had his friend Paco's car, and he was going to the beach and had extra room. Even though we're only like a half hour away, since we don't have a car I'd never made it to the beaches near here. We all hopped in, with Jonathan behind the wheel since he'd been to all of the beaches, and made our way towards Almeria. We were headed towards Cabo de Gata, a nature reserve near Almeria that had a lot of beaches in it. We got off the highway, made our way through the small local streets, and eventually pulled onto a rough gravel road that wound between huge sand dunes and cactus-laden fields. We stayed on the road for a while, checking out a few beach options, until we pulled into one that looked good. We got out and spent the rest of the day enjoying the sun, discussing our various lives (Emily and Jonathan both worked on the Hill in Washington DC and also had gone to college only a few miles apart, in Virginia, so they had a lot to discuss) and generally having a good day off (Yeah we'd skipped work. In America this might be a big deal but here, it would have been a big deal from our employers' perspectives if we hadn't skipped our non-essential work on a beautiful day to go to the beach. It's the best part of the Andalucian psyche and lifestyle.) We had to get the car back to Paco by the late afternoon, so we left Cabo de Gata and went to another beach. The drive was really beautiful, on long curvy seaside roads, and interesting -- there were towns and towns full of half-built, abandoned hotels, condos, and the other marks of a housing boom-turned-bust. One mountain had a huge hotel built on the side of it overlooking the sea, except the hotel was completely unadorned, empty, and full of bushes and weeds on all of the balconies and in what would have been the lobby. There were also tunnels that the Moors had built back in the day, that were put back into use for the Spanish Civil war last century. We were going along the highway when Jonathan suddenly turned down a ramp on the side that I hadn't even seen, which took us at a pretty severe angle downward. We followed it for only a little bit, around a mountain and away from the highway, and he parked us at what looked like a big rock. The rock had a hole in it, thought, and he led us through to a cool cliff overlooking a rocky, isolated beach. Two lesbians and their dog were down there, all three of them nude (there are a lot of nude beaches in this part of the world, apparently.) They looked surprised to see us, so we went back through the cave and through some wild plantlife until we arrived at another tiny beach that Jonathan had seen before. We hung out there for a while, swam around and climbed on the rocks, took pictures of the incredibly clear water, observed the wildlife (in this case, human) and then headed back. We had to fill up the car and give it a wash, but, considering the day it had offered us, it was a small price to pay. We had a big paella dinner all together courtesy of Jonathan, and then came back and gingerly took sunburned showers. It was a great, quintesential Andalucian vacation day.

The end of the school year, pt I

the senderismo crew

I took so long to get all of Semana Santa up onto the blog that I fell woefully behind in terms of what was acutally happening in my life. In a desperate attempt to catch up, I'll just try to hit up the various points of interest that happened since we got back from Portugal in the end of April, a month and a half ago. I'll start with Senderismo, which we did the weekend after we got back. Senderismo is basically a hike, through whatever land surrounds the town. In our case, it's desert/dried riverbeds, which we had obviously seen a ton of, but had never actually spent time exploring. It is organized by the town's athletic facilities, and led by a man named Guillermo who is not only a geologist but also an apparently legendary desert/mountain runner. He also works in the same school as Jonathan and Alyssa, and takes English classes with Tristan. Even though they had senderismo every few weeks, Billie and I had never had a chance to go, but they seemed like a lot of fun. However, once we'd paid we were horrified to find out that the fleeces that come with signing up had run out.
Overcoming this obstacle, we woke up bright and early on Sunday morning (along with Alyssa, Jessica, Tristan, and Tristan's girlfriend, Linh) got all set for a morning walking through prickly desert bushes under the hot Andalucian sun, and made our way over to the movie theatre, where the bus left from. We drove for about 15 minutes, heading deeper and deeper into the campos (rural fields) until we turned off onto a gravel path, where the bus slowed to a halt. We disembarked, stretched, and then the 35 or so of us began heading down the path. We were all wearing athletic gear (right down to my soccer socks, which I'd naively thought would protect my ankles and shins from scrapes), but Guillermo was sporting a plaid button down (or button up, depending on your opinion of gravity) shirt, corduroys, and a ridiculous porkpie hat, all accesorized by a beard, potbelly, cigar, and hippo-sized white dog. After about 10 minutes walking, Guillermo stopped us all to tell us something (in Spanish) about the history of the rocks or something. We all were able to follow along pretty well (relatively, that is -- I wouldn't understand an archeological term no matter what language it was in) but nevertheless, Guillermo looked around until his eyes landed on the big target, Tristan (Tristan's a 6'5" lighter skinned blonde guy in a land full of 5'10" dark haired, dark eyed, olive skinned people, so he is where a lot of peoples' eyes seemed to land) In the halting English we've all known to understand and love, from various Spaniards, he said, "Tristan! I am talking about the rocks! They are very old!" Tristan got a big grin on his face and said slowly, like he was talking to a child with low self-esteem, "I know! You're doing a great job!" The Spaniards thought it was pretty funny, and so did we. Tristan is a guy who's motto seems to be somewhere between "Don't worry, be happy," and "Live and let live," so he always seems to give people the benefit of the doubt, is always in a positive mood, and is an all-around great guy to be roommates with (and basketball teammates, not so great to play against him if you try to take it to the cup.)
We walked all morning, stopping to eat the sandwiches we'd packed every three hours or so. We went from seeing nothing but sand and rocks to lush bursts of green where rivers had recently run, went up steep cliffs, drank from old-school buckets in wells, picked (a lot of, the rest of the year's worth of) fresh rosemary, saw a snake, almost died falling down a cliff, went from the deep ravines to walking along the crest of the mountains, smelled the patented Huercal pig shit odor, and much more. It was apparently the last Senderismo of the season, so to celebrate there was a huge meal waiting for us at the destination, and better yet, the bus was waiting for us too. The meal was good, there was free beer, there was extra food we were able to take home, and we got on the bus just in time to beat the rain. It was a lot of fun, we met some cool people, and finally got a chance to explore in-depth the type of land we'd been calling home for the better part of a year.

In the week before Senderismo, the Americans of Huercal-Overa had a special guest -- Jonathan's 80+ year old grandma. She is an acclaimed food and wine critic, and she was being flown to Valencia for a tasting. Jonathan scooped her up in a rental car and brought her down to Huercal to spend the night. She spoke not a word of Spanish, yet somehow she almost immediately became the most popular person in the town (with her grandson a close second, as the grandapple did not fall far from the tree.) We went to Marquesina, a popular restaurant with a bullfighting theme, and she wowed the waiters with her fancy bullfighting-themed scarf. She wowed us with her general sharpness, quickness to make a joke, interesting tales of wine tastings past, digital know-how (Billie's facebook friends with her) and more, and she wowed the Spaniards we were with with her immediate interest in learning to dance flamenco at a local bar/dance spot, and the fact that she was interested in staying out later than any of the other Americans, and many Spaniards as well. She was only in town for one night, but she made quite an impression.

The second weekend of May brought visitors from the US on Spring Break. Alyssa's friend Lauren, who had been working as an au pair in Paris, stayed with us for a while, and then Billie's friend from Lake George Emily came. Emily was flying into Granada, so we made the most of our power-in-numbers and rented a car to go to Granada, so that Lauren could see Granada, we could pick up Emily, and so that we could get out of Huercal-Overa -- there's only so much (1.47 hours worth, to be exact) one can do in Huercal-Overa itself. Alyssa had told one of her professors she was making the trip, and he noted that he had a house there that was only being used by his son at the moment, who was going to school in Granada, and that we were welcome to stay there if we needed to. We hopped in the car, dropped the windows, and a few hours later we had made it. We didn't quite know where we wanted to go, per se, so I just parked us in a big city garage and we walked. Emily and Billie in Granada

We found Emily, made plans to meet up later, and headed our seperate ways. I went with Emily and Billie to their hostel, which had an incredible view of Granada's famous Alhambra, and we hung out there until we got hungry. Granada's one of Spain's tapas capitals, and famous for offering a real tapa with any drink, not just the usual bowl of nuts that one gets with a beer. So we got drinks -- a beer for me, tinto de verano for the ladies (red wine mixed with lemon or orange Fanta) and were soon brought the tapas. Unfortunately we got the mushrooms, which Billie and Emily gobbled up. We chatted some more for a while, then moved onto the next bar, where we got some more drinks and more tapas (this time bikinis -- basically ham and cheese sandwiches) and then onto the next, an asian place that gave us noodles and rice with our drinks. I was sort of getting full of the drinks, and wanted just the tapas, but considering that a tapa cost 1.60E, and a drink (with the same tapa included) cost 1.90E, it was hard to resist. After getting a few rounds at the Asian place, which had great noodles, we got a call from Alyssa that they'd met up with Pedro, the professor's son, and were going to be heading out to his house soon. We met up with them at the plaza in front of Granada's huge, old Cathedral, where we met Pedro and some of his friends. He was an energetic, interesting feller, and his friends were generally one or the other as well. They were all physics students, and they were all really friendly and I quickly struck up a conversation with one of them about soccer, learning languages, etc. We went to a bar near the cathedral, where we hung out for a while, and then I walked Billie and Emily back to their hostel, through the windy, hilly back streets of the Albaycin, the old neighborhood opposite the Alhambra. I hustled back down to the bar, since the trip up had taken longer than I'd thought, but they were still there, having a good time. It was probably 1 or 1.30 at this point, so Lauren, Alyssa, and I were pretty tired. We asked when Pedro thought we would be leaving, and he said "Really soon! Let's just stop at one more bar, so I can say hi to a friend!" We walked for about 15 minutes, found the bar, and a few of Pedro's friends stopped off their to have some drinks. We kept moving, and Pedro promised just one final bar, 30 minutes, max. So we made our way to a hardcore punk rock club, with old punk music blasting from the speakers. It was not too crowded yet, since it was only 2ish, so we reluctantly got drinks and waited it out for 45 minutes or so, until we were ready to go. We found the car, hopped in, and, after a few wrong-ways down one way streets (I wasn't familiar with the city, especially at night, and Pedro, the local, doesn't drive or even have a license, so he didn't see the big deal down any paved pathway, regardless of direction of traffic, if it was a street or sidewalk, etc.) we made it to his house. I'd been expecting a small apartment, or maybe a little house, but this was the real deal. There was a pool in the back (it wasn't filled, but still), a huge kitchen, and best of all, 5 or 6 empty bedrooms. I found one, and fell straight asleep.
The next day I was on my own -- Billie and Emily went to see the Alhambra (which I'd already seen with my family) and Lauren and Alyssa went shopping, and then to some Arabic baths to get massages. I explored the Albaycin for a while, and then made my way up the mountain towards the Gypsy neighborhood of Sacromonte. It was cool walking around a new part of the city, although to be honest it wasn't much different than the other old parts of the city. Granada also has a huge Moroccan community, and for a few blocks in Granada, it really does feel like you're in Morocco -- small stone paths lined with people selling their wares, mint tea being doled out left and right, and Arabic drifting in and out of conversations. After we all reconvened, we made plans to meet up later, and then Billie, Emily, and I went to a flamenco show in Sacromonte. It wasn't as good as the other ones I'd seen, and we got horrible seats. After that we rushed back down to make sure Lauren and Alyssa didn't drive back without us, and we all headed to Pedro's house (Billie and Emily had been able to cancel the second night of their hostel reservation), and went to bed. We woke up the next morning and got right on the road, so we could get the rental car back in time. It was a fun trip, a cheap trip (free sleeping!) and a good final visit to Granada.

Back to the Future...

I'm way behind on the blog. I just got back from a little trip and start work here in Barcelona tomorrow, which I'll be doing until the end of July. I have a lot of blogging saved up, though, so hopefully I can release it in manageable bits.

Semana Santa, pt VI - Sevilla and back home

flamenco at the Casa de la Memoria

The next day we arrived at the bus station just in time to catch the bus from Lisbon to Sevilla. It was a long ride that ate up most of the day, but since we'd figured out where we'd stay in Sevilla ahead of time we didn't have to worry about that. We planned to stay that night, and then go back to Huercal-Overa. However, to buy tickets to Huercal meant going to a different bus station, on the other side of town. We caught the bus, taking up more than our fair share of space with our huge backpacks on the crowded city bus, and went into the station. The line at the ticket counter was long, so we went for the automated machine that invitingly stood alone, waiting to help a traveller in need of a bus ticket.

I wish I'd brought a sledgehammer. The machine ate my money, and, in typical Spanish fashion, the guy behind the counter, after I'd waited in line for like 15 minutes to tell him that the machine had ate my money (time that I put to good use, trying to think of how to say that in Spanish -- can you literally say "it ate my money" or is that only an English-thing? "It robbed me of my money"? "It's broken with my money"?) He told me to check again, it must have printed the ticket or a receipt or something. I checked, and of course there was nothing. So I waited in line again, and when I got to the front, he told me that the machine is run by a different company, and that he couldn't help. I pointed out that his nametag had the exact same logo and brand name as the machine (ALSA, the Spanish national bus company -- it was as if a Greyhound bus attendant had told me that he knew nothing about the Greyhoud ticket machine next to him). He said he'd call someone to look at the machine, and that I could wait. How long would it take? He had no idea -- probably a few hours. So I waited for an hour or so, angrily punching and rocking the machine. I went back up, and asked him again how long the guy would take to come. At this point he told me that he wasn't sure if the repair would be made that day at all, but was 110% certain that he would fix it before my bus was to leave, the next night. He was confused why I was so mad that the machine had eaten my 25E when I still would be able to catch my bus. Long story short, I filled out an official complaint form, checked again repeatedly that day and the next, and tried asking the other workers what they knew. Still haven't heard back from them.
After that nonsense, we went to Sevilla's famous Plaza de Espana. It's a big plaza surrounded by a long semi-circle shaped building, with tiled benches depicting the each province. We made a sandwich in front of Almeria's, noticing the somehow appropriate bird shit near the spot representing Huercal-Overa.


That night we went to a Flamenco bar we'd read about. Apparently we weren't the only ones that had read about it -- it was packed to the gills. We muscled our way to some benches in the back, and were treated to a surly but passionate performance by a pair of guitarists and a large woman dancing fiercely. She had to hiss at some people to keep quiet, which was an ultimately fruitless effort. We decided to go to the Casa de la Memoria the next night, which I'd discovered with my parents and found to be excellent.

The next day, we went to the Albaycin, a former mosque that was expanded and converted into not only beautiful, expansive, lush gardens in Sevilla's city center, but also the palace where the royal family stays while in Sevilla. There was some cool Moorish architecture, with the trademark fountains, intricately-carved ceilings, and complex tilework.


We walked around for a while, took some pictures, and then headed out into the gardens. We ran across some French gradeschool children acting foolishly, but other than that, it was a cool way to spend some time. We also looked in the ponds and saw some nasty looking fish bumping into eachother, even though the pond was huge. They must have been stupid. We walked around El Corte Ingles for a while, Spain's incredibly complete department store (they sell everything, almost literally. Electronics? Imported vegetables? Cars? Travel packages? Interior decorations? Tennis racket restringing? They have it all, and then some. Sevilla's feria was beginning, which is probably the most Spanish celebration in the most Spanish city in Spain -- the home of bullfights, tapas, and flamenco. For those that don't know, feria is basically a week-long party used to raise funds for the processions held during Holy Week -- each group in the procesion has a tent, in which they play music, sell drinks, and host parties. The tents are all together in a feria-ground, so that the party can go on non-stop with no reason to stop.) So Corte Ingles had a full Feria section, complete with the traditional polka-dotted dresses for the ladies, bullfighting capes for the gents, and plastic horns for the kids to annoy everyone with.

the Feria section of El Corte Ingles

We grabbed some dinner and then went to the Casa de la Memoria for the flamenco show. As usual, it was sold-out (with us included, we'd bought in advance) and awesome. The singer had won the young male flamenco singer of the year award or something, and the guitarist was similarly heralded. The dancer was also really good, foot-stompin' faster'n an angry hillbilly with ants in his pants and rocks in his socks. We left the show, grabbed our stuff, and headed for the bus station. The overnight bus wasn't going straight to Huercal-Overa, but instead took us to Puerto Lumbreras, a small city 40 minutes or so away from HO, where we waited at 6am for another bus. It arrived right on time and we clambered on, as the only people on the bus besides the driver and his son, and soon enough, we were back in Huercal-Overa, ready to begin the home stretch. It had been a long and tiring trip, and I was ready to be back and not living out of a suitcase, but it was a lot of fun, I saw a lot of cool things, did a lot of cool things, went to a lot of new places, met some cool people, and overall had a great time.

Semana Santa, pt V - Salema, Sagres, Lagos, and Lisbon

ADDENDUM - I forgot to mention what Emily and I did before the trip to Sintra. I had read about a huge flea market in Lisbon, and I definitley didn't want to miss it. We decided to walk, which proved a horrible idea -- the maps were not big enough to be useful, and even if they had been, only had one out of every dozen or so streets marked, which made finding the huge outdoor market impossible. After an hour of wandering up and down the city's steep hills, we asked a few people for directions and were finally enlightened. The market was just a bunch of people who'd set their items on tarps on the street, over a few city blocks behind a big church. They were offering everything from new adidas' to used adult-themed magazines, broken watches to new glassware, dead batteries and live animals. I looked at some shoes, checked out some records, and eventually made a purchase -- a pair of red shoelaces, for 50 eurocents. We reunited after we'd both seen what we wanted to see, and met back up with Jula and Billie, who'd made sure that breakfast was safe for consumption.


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The next morning we started out with the one and only thing to do in Salema itself -- hit the beach. Salema's beach was a quarter-mile or so stretch of sand on Portugal's southern coast, with soft sand in some parts, and larger rocks in others. The Hall sisters explored the beach while I explored the contents of my iPod, and after an hour or so, we'd all had our fill. We hopped in the Pumpkin and drove to Sagres. Sagres is continental Europe's southeastern tip, and was the location where Henry the Navigator had a famous school for seamen. For a long time, people believed that beyond Sagres' horizon lay the end of the world. I was ready to believe that Sagres itself was beyond the end of the world, as it was in a desolate and untouristed corner of the country, with just a small gravel road leading up to the simple fort. We walked around a while, took some pictures, and saw what there was to see -- namely a group of rocks laid out in the shape of a spoked wheel, which apparently once taught people something or other about ships or whatever. It was a cool place to see, though, because it was easy to both empathize with and laugh at those who thought that it was the end of the world. The winds come roaring up from the sea, over the cliffs, and really buffet you around, and the birds sort of swoop through the gusts in a portentous fashion. After we left Sagres, we grabbed some lunch/free internet, and then headed to a beach that Rick Steves had recommended. Getting there took some fun twists and turns through the hills, and when we got there I was half-sad that we didn't get to keep driving. The book said that unless you grew up in Tahiti, the beach would blow you away (in terms of impressiveness, not wind) and indeed, it was a pretty cool beach. It was basically a small arc of sand carved out of steep cliffs facing west, and since it was facing west the wind and waves were enormous. It was hard to capture accurately in pictures, but I was able to grab a quick panorama:


The sun was also shining through the clouds dramatically:



We left the beach, and drove to another on a whim. This beach was on the southern (calmer) side, but was close enough to the corner that it was perfect for surfing. We watched the surfers for a while, and then continued on. There was a cool looking old stone building, so we pulled over and explored (it was a government-owned hotel or something, they seemed closed or out of business). We were basically killing time until the sunset, which people gather for on the cape just across the bay from Sagres. People congregate here because then they can claim that on whichever particular day they came, they were the last people in Europe to see the sun. We made our way to the cape, distinguished by a nice lighthouse, and battered down the hatches to withstand the extreme wind. The wind really was strong -- the Hall sisters chose to spend much of the sunset in the safety of a small orange Japanese vehicle. On this particular evening the sun did indeed sucesfully set, and so we hopped back into the Nissan and went to Salema.



The next day meant more beaches. We headed towards Lagos, the region's main city and tourist destination. Unfortunately, the city was a) a bland and generic string of condos, plain beaches, and places serving English breakfast and fish n chips, and b) Monday, which meant that everything that might have been of interest was closed. Even the people at the tourism office seemed to be disenchanted. We left the city and took ourselves to some more beaches, although these were in an area with more geological formations in the water, as opposed to the beaches we'd seen, which were just cliff -> sand -> water. Older Portuguese people would park their rowboats on the beach, offering cheap tours of the little caves, coves, and covered crevices in the area but we didn't partake. It seemed pretty cool though.




There were a few of these beaches, so we spent the day going from beach to beach, enjoying the scenery and the sun. We headed back to Salema, got our things ready for an early morning departure, and had some dinner. It was the end of our time in southern Portugal, and I'm glad we were able to explore it. Having a car was both easy and incredibly useful, and even though it can be expensive, it really wasn't that bad among five people, and made life a lot easier. The next morning we packed it to the gills with our stuff, drove back up through the cork fields, returned the car, and grabbed a taxi back into Lisbon's center. We found our hostel and began to hit up the things we'd missed the first time around. There wasn't much on that list, so after spending the morning just wandering, we headed for a museum that supposedly contained a crazy collection of artifacts and art works owned by a Armenian prince/explorer who for some reason had a soft spot for Lisbon, and set up a museum with all of his stuff. Unfortunately, the location's gardens were so enchanting and intoxicating that we literally could not find the museum's entrance, even with signs. So we went to the store and bought some food. Julia and Emily were going back to the US the next day, so we went back so they could pack their things up. Billie and I spent the rest of the day in Lisbon, although we had sort of run out of things to see/do. We went back to the Brazilian steakhouse (awesome yet again) and tried to check out a church that apparently was still standing on the outside, but due to a huge earthquake that had destroyed much of Lisbon in the 1700s, was roofless and destroyed on the inside, so much so that there was now an open-air, grass-covered lawn inside of the church, with random pillars and parts of chapels dotting the grass. I was able to get a peek in, but they were closing just as we arrived. We wandered for a little more, and then went back to the hostel so we could plan how we'd get back to Huercal-Overa.

Semana Santa, pt IV - Lisbon

Lisbon has a free-standing elevator in the middle of the city. It's crazy. Imagine walking down the street and seeing an elevator shaft rising out from the middle of a block, with a walkway from the top to actual solid land.

We got into Lisbon, caught a subway, and found the hostel, with Billie's sisters waiting. We put our things down and walked a block or two into the center. I was immediately offered a variety of marijuanical products from a series of shifty characters -- a phenomena that stayed strong for my time in Lisbon. I ignored them or turned them down, and we explored the area. Lisbon's main center is a small grid of shops and restaurants that is overlooked by a large archway, up against the ocean. This area is the lowest part of town, with buildings lining the hills that rise up. Unfortunately the ocean was obscured by a large construction project. With hunger in our stomachs, we headed for the one place we knew that everyone could find something to eat -- a food court. I quickly followed by nose to the place I had been dreaming about since leaving Boston almost a year before -- a Brazilian steakhouse. This one had two options -- fill up your plate as high as you can for 9E, or get the meat brought to your table for 11E. I figured that since we were having dinner, and the plates looked pretty big, I'd go for the former. I ladled myself token amounts of rice, beans, and fries, and then weighed the rest of the plate down with the freshly grilled meats -- garlic beef, small chicken wings, sausages, sirloins, and more. I went back to Mr. Meat (pause) repeatedly, until it felt I'd need a wheelbarrow and a gyroscope to get my heaping plate back to the table without spilling. I did just that, and sat down and had one of the most satisfying meals I've had in Europe thus far. After we'd eaten and met back up, we headed up into the side-hills, which contained, among other things, a castle. We paid the entrance fee (free for students suckas) and made our way in. There wasn't much of note, a few old walls, some artifacts, trees, etc. but the fee was mainly for the view, which looks out over the city and onto the ocean.

view from the castle

After the castle, we grabbed some food and then did some more exploring. We found a little open-air storefront that was having a wine tasting, so we took advantage and did some sampling. It was getting late, so we trudged back down to the hostel and went to bed.

The next day we set off bright and early for a tram ride to Belem. Belem is a neighborhood on the outskirts of Lisbon, known as being the seeing-off point for the countless caravel ships that set sail under the Portuguese flag starting in the 15th century. We started off at the monument to sailors, built to look like the hull of a giant ship sailing out to sea. The first main attraction was the Tower of Belem, an impressive white tower used to keep watch over the port and catch the first glimpses of the returning voyages. After waiting in the long line, we got in, which was just as well since it had begun to rain. The Tower has a small museum inside, but the best part was the tower itself. There was only one tiny spiral staircase up, and one spiral staircase down. The real problem was that the staircases were one and the same, making going either up or down a slow and treacherous process, especially with all of the mud and rain being ground into the stairs. From the tower there were great views, and then at the bottom there was a balcony type of thing that stuck out into the ocean. It was cornered by little huts, which made good cover from the rain. After we left the Tower of Belem we walked over to the nearby church, which was built for (and with the money made by) the ships. Next to the church were the cloisters, which could be accessed only by waiting in a long line. So some of us waited, while others looked in the church, and then we switched. We also had to try the famous pastries of Belem, Pastis de Belem. They were like tiny little pies with a custardy/puddingy filling, baked and topped with cinnamon. They were really good, but probably not worth the block-long lines that we saw there later. Finally we made it into the cloisters. I didn't (and still don't really) know what cloisters were, but this was basically a square of grass surrounded by two floors of pale yellow, intricately carved stone balconies. There were some rooms with paintings, and on the second floor one could look over and into the church. It rained on and off throughout the afternoon, but other than that it was a cool way to spend some time.

the cloisters from within

After having waited in the long line, we decided it made sense to spend some time there just hanging out by the grass. We spent the afternoon there, then caught the tram back.
The next morning we took the train to Sintra. 40 minutes or so away, Sintra is the location where the Portuguese monarchy relaxed, a small town filled with palaces, mansions, and churches. We only had a few hours, so we decided to focus on the Quinta da Regaleira, a crazy house/garden built into the forest. The town is built around a long winding road that goes up through the heavily-forested hills, which Quinta da Regaleira was near the top of. Walking uphill it took us around a half hour to get there. We paid our student fees and made our way in. It was pretty incredible -- it was basically a kid's fantasy house built to scale. The house was what we explored first, as it seemed the most sensible and would offer a gradual introduction into the world of scenographer-architect Luigi Manini, who'd designed the house and garden. We walked through the many rooms, enjoying the cool views of the rest of Sintra as well as the wild architecture, hidden doors, and countless balconies. After that we headed into the garden itself. A "garden" it is not, but among a garden, a national park, and a rainforest, it was slightly more similar to the garden than the other two, so there you have it. But it was huge, multi-leveled, and filled with random buildings, churches, and fountains, so it was more than the typical house's flora and fauna. We walked among the bushes and flowers, and the drizzle sort of gave it all a rainforesty feel. The garden's map said that there were even a few hidden tunnels, so we tried to find them. Entering one cave behind a big fountain, we saw (barely) that the back of it was dimly lit with some Christmas-type lights on the floor. Leading the way, I saw that the lights were one of the hidden paths. It went for about 100 feet, barely lit, and the risk of bumping my head on the jagged rock above was high. We made it through, and had been deposited in one of the most surreal places I've ever been. It was the damp, moss covered bottom of a three or four story spiral staircase made of stone built into the hill's wet earth. We had traveled horizontally while the world above us, a hill, had gone up a few stories vertically.



We climbed up, and to get out at the top, of course, there was a hidden door that looked like (was) a huge slab of the cave's rock. We made our escape, and walked around for a little more. There was a cool algae-covered pond that had stone steps allowing you to cross into another cave. I didn't make the crossing but Billie did:


Unfortunately we were getting hungry, so we headed out of the park and back down the street. We found an interesting restaurant -- Italian/Indian/Portuguese, and had a great meal. I talked to the manager who told me that their restaurant's unique mix came from the fact that they were Indians, who liked Italian food, living in Portugal. After the lunch we decided that we wouldn't have time to see anything else, so we got back to the train station and caught the train back into Lisbon. We had to get back relatively early because "we" had big plans to get to southern Portugal that day -- we'd have to pack all our bags up, check out of the hostel, get a taxi to the airport, smuggle a rent-a-car out, and then succesfully navigate from the airport to a tiny town closer to Africa than Lisbon. I got us a good taxi, we threw our stuff in, and a few minutes later we had arrived at the airport. It took a few logistical tricks to get us into a car -- we'd had a reservation but hadn't arrived on a flight -- a geometrical trick or two to get four people and four big bags into the orange Nissan Micro we had, which we called the Pumpkin due to its round appearance and ability to fit comfortably in a space no bigger than a hula hoop, and some skullduggerous tricks to let me drive it out of the lot, even though Emily was the only registered driver on the bill. We fired up the ol' GPS, and headed across Europe's second longest bridge, a 1.5 mile suspension bridge. All was going according to plan until Julia announced that one could raise or lower the windows via the metal switch on the door. This wasn't very surprising, since most modern cars allow you to raise, and also lower, the windows, often with electric assistance. However, in her excitement at hearing this amazing discovery, Emily grabbed for the nearest door-located item and gleefully tugged, her eyes wild with anticipation. Unfortunately, in doing this she ignored all human experience about which button puts the windows up/down and which handle opens the door, and all of a sudden we were driving at 75mph in a tight lane over a huge river in a foreign country in a pumpkin with the passenger's door sticking out like a one-winged bird. She immediately alerted us that she was too scared to close it. Unfortunately we were still on the second-longest bridge in Europe so we couldn't quite pull over and get it taken care of. After we got it closed she refrained from enjoying the breeze, either via window or door, for the rest of the drive. It was a pretty straightforward drive, and only took a few hours. Central Portugal is pretty empty, save for the cork trees that account for 2/3 of the world's cork production. The trees are the most tree-like trees I'd ever seen. That is, if you think of a "tree," or ask a child to draw a "tree," it comes out looking like a cork tree:



It eventually got dark, and we found ourselves winding through some tiny one-way streets in random towns to get to our destination, Salema. A tiny town on the country's Southern coast, it was recommended by Rick Steve's, Billie's favorite guidebook writer. We arrived in the one-street town, parked, and talked to the old couple who had our room (no hotels in a place like this, just private rooms rented out.) We found a restaurant that was still open, grabbed some food, and went to bed.