ROMA! ...Ok! OK! Ok! Signore!!!!

I think I over-Romed…. get it?

My feet are killing me. But it is exciting to be here. It kind of reminds me of the first time I went to L.A. I was driving around and everywhere I turned I saw a place that I knew, even though I had never been there. Ah, there is that street that Richard Gere took Julia Roberts shopping, ah Melrose Place, etc. When a city has been featured so much in movies and on TV, you kind of already know it. But then again you don’t.

It was an experience arriving on my 2 hour 30 minute flight from Seville. I’m so glad I didn’t come all the way from San Francisco. Even after such a short flight I was kind of out of it. I hadn’t slept well last night for a variety of reasons. My new alarm woke me up at 4:40 a.m., but I was already kind of awake. The noises of people talking and kids crying had been replaced by the sound of a cat in heat and someone’s alarm clock that was going off non-stop. I was going to miss my neighborhood.

I walked out into the eerily quiet and deserted streets and easily found a cab at a taxi stand nearby. There were several waiting.

Airport check-in was a breeze since I had my boarding pass printed already (but they still gave me a regular one) and passing through security had none of the yelling, stripping and hassles that it does in the States.

The flight was quick and I slept through much of it.

I got off the plane and entered the airport terminal where I was greeted by a guard with a dog who was sniffing people as they walked past. The guy motioned for me to stop, which I did, and the dog sniffed. Then the guard yelled at me – OK! OK! OK! Signore! The “signore” was not a polite kind of “sir” but more like a disgusted “man” what is wrong with you kind of tone. He wanted me to move on. I thought one “ok” would have sufficed and was a little shaken by the experience. It took me a half day reflecting on it to begin to smile about it and remember that that is what Italians are like and I should know because I’m like that sometimes. It didn’t mean anything.

And then I took the train from the airport and it started to feel like I was in Rome, with thousands of other tourists, all over-packed and struggling with very heavy, very big suitcases. I meanwhile had my very light backpack and my day pack with my laptop inside.

Getting off at Termini Station was a little intimidating because I wasn’t really sure where I was going, even though I had looked at maps and kind of figured out that when I exit the station I turn right and when I get to Piazza Independenza I turn left at the end of the piazza, but things on maps look different than they do in real life, so I wasn’t sure. Plus there were a LOT of people and the walk from the train to the exit of the station was really long.

And so I walked, looking for a street named Nicola something or other. At one point I asked a woman standing in a doorway of a shop smoking a cigarette and she assured me I was going in the right direction. But still I wasn’t sure. I thought a Piazza “Independenza” would surely have some grand statue commemorating independence that I would be able to see from where I was, but I was not seeing anything.

I crossed a street and saw a Sicilian Pasticcera (bakery) that I noted and kept walking. I still was not seeing Nicola so I made my right turn, thinking I would eventually see something. But I got worried, so as a woman came walking down the street loaded with shopping bags from the supermarket, I asked her in my best Italian. It was a good thing I asked, because I had walked too far. She directed me back to the street with the Sicilian bakery and from there it was a short walk to my hotel. She was very nice and even apologized to me for giving me the wrong direction at first. I was revising my impression of Italians after the guard at the airport and the woman in the tourist information place who didn’t seem very nice.
I arrived at my hotel – the Hotel Select Garden (strange name) on Via Bachelet (strange street name which I am not sure if it is pronounced like French or Italian – since it looks French), but the people at the desk were super nice. A young woman and an older man greeted me. I think the older guy is the owner.

I said “ho una camera pre-notata”, which is one thing I learned in my Italian class in Buenos Aires. Wow, I actually learned something useful. The woman was impressed by my Italian. I told her it was my “primera volta” in Roma – she said oh, it is your “prima volta”? Ok, so I was mixing Spanish and Italian, but she got the point, and I think also learned that my Italian was not as good as she first thought. But she pulled out a map and proceeded to show me where we were located and circled all of the things on the map that she thought I should see – the Colosseum, the Pantheon, the Vatican, etc., and she recommended Trastevere, a neighborhood across the river, for me to go at night because there are a lot of young people hanging out (I thought of pointing out that I wasn’t young, but decided not to). She was great, and so was the guy who eventually checked me in and the woman who showed me my room. I was glad I upgraded to a Rick Steve’s son’s recommended hotel rather than the Hotel Salus, where I originally booked that got a 78% disapproval rating on Trip Advisor (I saw it, it’s just around the corner and looks dingy and not very friendly).

My room is just off a garden courtyard where they serve breakfast in the morning. It’s about the size of a walk-in closet, but I lived in Japan, so I’m used to small hotel rooms. It will mean I won’t be hanging out a lot in my room, which is good. I’m in Rome, I shouldn’t be staying in my room. The bathroom is really small and I have to back in if I want to sit on the toilet.
So, I took a shower, connected my computer, got changed and went out for a little walk.

As soon as I started walking I started seeing things I wanted to get a closer look at, and before I knew it I was walking in all directions, any time a street looked interesting or I saw a building or monument that might be worth checking out. And then sure enough, there it was rising up like some page out of a pop-up history book – the Colosseum. I headed in that direction.

The buildings looked like Rome. The paint, the shutters, the potted plants in the windows, all looked like Rome. I was sure I was in the right place. It was just like I had seen in movies. And then the faces, they all looked so familiar – like my relatives, my neighbors, people I grew up with – I recognized so many of them (except that they were often thinner and better dressed). I was feeling like I was in a very familiar place and all of the worry and stress I had after reading guidebooks and online warnings about pickpockets and scams melted away in the feeling of being in a place I already kind of knew.

As I approached the Colosseum, I saw a street that looked really interesting, so I turned. A group of school children came from another direction, all chatting noisily in Italian – as they split ways, I heard them say “ciao tutti”, as a woman came towards me holding a big bunch of flowers. It was all feeling so Italian, so Roman.

And then I came out to a main street to find I had stumbled on the Roman Forum. From there I joined the hordes of tour groups heading towards the Colosseum, like we were all off to see the latest battle between the lions and the Christians.
It started feeling like a carnival, especially when I got to the Colosseum and saw the gladiators! Yep, there were random guys dressed up in gladiator costumes (I knew from reading online that if you take a picture with them they make you pay). They looked kind of ridiculous and didn’t fit my image of what a gladiator would look like (at least not what I learned from the movies). They had scrawny legs and looked like they drank and smoked too much. One had tattoos of spiders on his legs, which I don’t think a real gladiator would have had.

I walked inside but the ticket line was too long and it was hot and crowded. I decided I could always come back either earlier in the morning or later in the day, or not.

I then headed back from where I came and saw Trajan’s column. My art history class that I slept through in college was paying off. I knew it was important because of the bas-relief story-telling that was carved on the column. I could see the story of some conquest, or perhaps many.

I continued to walk, not really sure where I was going but not worried because I knew that I would continue to stumble across familiar sights, and that I did. A sign told me that McDonald’s and the Pantheon was 500 meters. I followed it. Before entering the Pantheon I went into a Basilica next to it because it was free. I was amazed at the beauty of the place. It was the Basilica of Santa Maria somebody. It had a lovely blue painted ceiling that looked like it was painted by some famous Renaissance artist, maybe Giotto (I don’t really know). It was light, glowing, reverent, and everything that the big heavy cathedral in Sevilla was not. It felt like a church, people were praying and other people were walking around taking pictures. I lit a candle and wished for world peace. Surely if there were a God, he would grant that wish. I wasn’t praying to win the lottery or pass an exam.
And then I went to the Pantheon, which I knew also from art history books. It didn’t look like it did in the books. The big domed ceiling was amazing, with that perfect hole in it and the floor with drain holes in it to let the water flow out when the rain comes through the hole. But the pictures in the art history books never showed the mobs of tourists that literally filled the place up. There was not much empty space left after they all crowded in. I also didn’t realize how Christian the place actually was, with statues of saints and a little altar. I guess the “pan” part of it was no longer and it was now a “mono” theon (but maybe all of those saints really are gods, aren’t they?)

From there I hit all of the names – Piazza Navona, Trevi Fountain, I saw St. Peters from a bridge on the Tiber River. I was hot and all of the water I had been drinking and the one gelato I’d had were no longer providing me relief. My feet were killing me and I needed to get back to my room, shower and rest. The only problem was I was now not sure where I was. I still knew the names – Via Venetto (that was famous for something, right?), Triton fountain (I took a picture) Piazza Barbieri – made me think of Vinnie Barbarino, but I could not figure out from my map how to easily get back to my hotel. But I had my week-long metro pass I bought in the airport and there was a metro stop. I knew that both lines of the two-line metro ran to Termini Station, which was a few blocks from my hotel, so I descended into unknown territory, hand in my pocket on my wallet and clutching my bag and camera, not sure what was in store for me.

What was in store was a very crowded, hot subway train that I almost didn’t get on. But I squeezed myself on (actually once on the train it was cool) and in two stops I was at Termini Station. And then up through a maze of escalators and different floors and finally I made it back to the Sicilian bakery, which was also a cafeteria. It was time for dinner.

I had a piece of eggplant parmagiano, which like the pizza I had at lunch, was simple, but really good. I also got a “season” salad, and I guess the only thing in season was lettuce and tomatoes, and a glass of wine. It was a good simple meal that kind of left me wanting more. I guess I was really hungry. So I ordered a cannolo (single of cannoli) – which has to be one of my all-time favorite deserts.
It had to be the best cannolo I’d ever had. The shell was deep fried, crunchy and very tasty. It reminded me of the cannoli shells my godmother Jean, who was Sicilian, used to make. But the inside was to die for. It was a fluffy, light ricotta filling, unlike anything I’d ever had before. It was so good I was literally salivating and slobbering all over myself. I was kind of embarrassed at the mess I was making, but no one noticed.

My bill for this simple meal came to 19 euros – probably something like $30 USD. It was hardly a splurge at a fancy restaurant. I could see that my budget was going to possibly suffer if I didn’t watch myself in Rome.

And finally, I returned to my hotel, to my walk-in closet sized room and showered and took a little nap. It was too early to sleep all night so I went out to look for some water and possibly some other things I could stock in my room. I ended up walking near the train station where I found an Indian guy who had a cart set up on the street selling fruit, water, snacks, wine and beer. I got a large water, a bag of popcorn and a small bottle of wine. And next to him was a place selling gelato. I really want rice and cinnamon gelato, but I am not sure if it exists or I am dreaming it up. I couldn’t see the flavors because a gaggle of giggling German girls were standing in front of the display case, so I bought a ticket for a medium gelato and decided I would get whatever they had. I didn’t need it. It was my second gelato today, but I got it, and I enjoyed it. Hazelnut and chocolate. I stood outside and ate it and watched the assortment of tourists and ethnic men who seemed to live there, one Arab/African (not sure) guy in particular was walking up and down the sidewalk bothering women in a very disgusting way. He actually followed one woman to a taxi and even stood there when she got in the cab. I felt sorry for her to have to put up with such obvious rude/sleazy/inappropriate behavior – if a gay man looked at him in the way he was treating these women, he would probably feel it would be a good enough excuse to kill the guy, and yet these women had to simply keep walking to get away from this creep. And the worst part was then he acted like they were the ones who were being rude. Two young women were sitting outside of the gelateria eating their ice cream and minding their own business and he walked up to them and stood right in their faces and made some comment about their sandals or something. They first shook their heads no but when he persisted, they moved away, and then he played the victim saying “oh, ok, be like that”. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but decided that he might be a little crazy and it was probably better if I stayed out of it.

And that was my first day in Rome.

Construction

Seville seems to be having a building boom. I don't know why that is, but frankly, I'm getting tired of it.

When I got here on September 1, there was a construction site behind the building across the street. One house seems to be being reconstructed. The sound of jackhammers and drills woke me up on my first morning here, and since then I've been sleeping with ear plugs and the windows closed. I learned to deal. Then a few weeks ago the building down the street right next to mine was knocked down and since then there have been a collections of heavy machines digging out the rubble, flattening the dirt and today pouring concrete. And then last week the building right out my window hosted some guys poking around who today returned with saws and were sawing metal. The smell and the noise made me close my windows and turn on the a/c even though it was a nice day. I'm glad I will be gone for 6 days. When I get back, hopefully the noisiest part of all of the construction will be done. Either that, or I'll find that Ralph finally got his permit to re-do the outside of my building and I'll be seeing workmen hanging on the side of my building.

I only have a little time left, and the noise today made me get on my bike and search out an internet cafe to print my boarding pass for tomorrow, something I needed to do.

First I went to Corte Ingles to try one last time to find a money belt. I actually got a pouch that hangs around my neck at Santa Justa Train Station when I went to Cordoba. They didn't have money belts though. The hanging thing is fine, I actually have one that I brought that is leather - this one is nylon and I thought it would be more comfortable if I decide to wear it beyond the day of travel, but I really wanted something that won't make an obvious bulge in my shirt and would be inside my pants where no one will be putting their hands (if things continue they way they have been....)

Well, I found the same hanging pouch thing at Corte Ingles. I then tried on a pair of shorts that I thought were my size, but they were too tight, everywhere. I didn't bother to try a bigger size because they were really so much like the shorts that everyone seemed to be wearing in Granada - all the tourists I mean - it was like a mass memo went out across the European Union telling everyone to wear three-quarter length shorts and a certain type of sandals with a big camera around their neck and a backpack all to scream "I'M A TOURIST" in case anyone wasn't sure. I'm going to try to blend in as much as I possibly can in Rome.

So from there, I took a ride through the city on the streets and came across an internet cafe that is not too far from here. There was an Asian guy talking loudly on his cell phone. I think he was Chinese, but I didn't recognize the language he was speaking. It was not like Mandarin or Cantonese, so who knows where he was from. But he continued speaking on the phone when I entered. When I told him I wanted to print, he pointed to a computer. But when I actually tried to print, the computer was not connected to the printer. His wife came out and she didn't speak much Spanish so she couldn't help me. She called him back out to the front (he had moved to a room in the back to continue his conversation) - out he came, on the cell phone, talking loudly still and inserted a USB drive and copied my boarding pass to it and took it to the printer.

But woops, I had mistakenly printed the boarding pass from Rome to Seville, so I had to do it all over again. Still on his phone, he gave me the USB drive and I copied the boarding pass on to it. When he went to print he told me (phone still on his ear) that it was the same. I explained the difference and he printed it, I paid him, while he continued talking and I left.

I have to add this to my list of pet peeves - when you go into a store and the person who is "working" there is talking on their cell phone or having a conversation with someone else in the store. If I didn't want to have a hassle free trip tomorrow and get through all of the procedures as quickly as possible, I would have just left. Hopefully having my boarding pass will speed things up, because I don't plan on getting there too early.

Now, I have to go back because I made a reservation for the Vatican (skip the lines, reserve online) for Friday. I'm not meeting the Pope or anything, just going to check out the incredible wealth the Catholic Church possesses that enables it to have its very own country with Swiss guards. I want to see the Sistine Chapel, maybe the Pieta, St. Peter's and use the bathroom. If it isn't too disgustingly crowded, I might linger, but I'm already resenting the 32 Euros I had to lay out to get in (which is why I am going to use the bathroom and maybe steal a roll of toilet paper).

And now, for the 2nd night there is something pitifully resembling rain. It is like droplets, nothing, even though the sky is dark, dark, and I heard thunder. I really wish we would get a monsoon type downpour and wash some of the dust away, but I'm leaving anyway, so what do I care?

Getting Ready to Leave

One more day before I take off for Rome. I'm looking forward to the trip, if only because it will be another change and keep me from getting too bored here, which is certainly a possibility.

It's nice being back in my apartment and being able to cook again. But there are also downsides. I've been here about a month now and I am really tired of some things - the heat, which does not seem to be abating, the prostitutes, who seem to be multiplying (I've started seeing some who look like my aunts - i.e., really old, lately), and the gritty, grimy neighborhood I live in. Funny though but those downsides are also things I kind of like about where I am living when I consider the options - i.e., being in the nicer, cleaner old part of town with all of the other tourists.

And then there are the neighbors, who are kind of loud - lots of crying kids, and this morning I woke up, opened the window to see a city worker pouring some white stuff alongside our building. I've noticed this funky smell especially when it rains and what he was pouring had that smell. I think it is some kind of pesticide. I had to close my windows again it was so strong.

So, yes, I am ready for a break.

I took my bike to the rental place today to get more air in the tires. It made a huge difference. After lunch, I went to Aire de Seville - the Arab Baths. I didn't sign up for a massage - only to use the baths, which was 20 Euros. It was crowded today and like last time, there were a few couples who thought it was okay to make out in the baths. Why do they have to shove their sex lives down my throat??!!

I went primarily for the steam room which has lots of eucalyptus and menthol and I thought would be good for pushing out the final remnants of my cold. After that, I sat in the jacuzzi a while and then moved to the big bath in my favorite room - it has reddish walls and a beautiful wooden ceiling, all lit by candles and a few spot lights with a big Arab style lantern hanging over the bath with candles in it. There is also a cold bath and a hotter bath. I did the hotter one but couldn't bear the cold one.

Then I went downstairs to sit in the salt bath for a while. That was where the make-out session was happening (it was also happening there last time - is there something about salt water that makes people want to make out?)

Then I repeated my steps, back to the steam, the jacuzzi, the big bath and finally I decided I'd had enough. I thought it would be nice to go to the locker room and have it to myself, since there were so many people there, and when they ring the bell to tell us our time is up, everyone goes to the locker room at the same time. I had spent an hour and paid for an hour and a half, but I was satisfied.

After that I went to my favorite tapas place. After trying several places, I have decided that this is definitely my favorite. I even got the name - it is called Casa Placido Bar - it's on a little alley set back from the main street that runs up from the Giralda. It is my favorite because it has tapas, where other places have raciones or media-raciones, and the spinach with garbanzos there are the best I've had anywhere. I also like the location and the service is great.

I really liked the carrillada - I have no idea what it is. I have a hunch it might be venison, but I could be wrong. It might just be beef, but it does taste a little gamey. But today I decided to try two new things. I ordered lomo con campinones (pork with mushrooms) and pinchito de pollo. I wasn't sure what that was, which is why I ordered the pork, which I knew would be good. I was right. The pork was good. The pinchito de pollo was a kebab sort of thing with chicken. It was good, a little chewy, but nice. I had two glasses of sangria. The waiter was really nice. He was even nice to a table of Americans who didn't speak any Spanish and made him translate the whole menu. I will go back!

From there I decided to try a new bike path I found that took me through Nervion, a kind of suburban area where the mall I discovered last week is. It was a nice ride - a different view of Seville.

Then it looked like it was going to rain, so I rode towards home. As I approached the Alameda de Hercules, it started to sprinkle. People popped open umbrellas. I brought my bike inside and went back out again to pick up some things from the store. It had stopped raining but people were still walking with umbrellas. It had been like a two second sprinkle. Not enough unfortunately to wash away the white chemical that was poured alongside my building this morning.

And that was it. I ended up having a very interesting chat with an Argentine friend on Facebook. I've known him for a while, not from Argentina, I met him elsewhere. I didn't know that his family had to leave Argentina in the 70's because his father was a journalist and they lived in exile in Spain for 6 or 7 years. He really opened up to me and told me what it was like being in Argentina when the military took over and also having to live in exile. Ironically his family arrived here in Spain just after Franco died and Spain was making the transition to democracy, albeit a rocky transition with a coup attempt that almost derailed the process. And our chat started after I posted something on Facebook about some nut putting up a poll asking if Obama should be killed.

As Americans we are lucky that we have not suffered the kind of destability that most other countries have endured. What has kept us fairly comfortable has been the strength of our democratic institution, no matter how corrupted it is by big business and lobbyists. Unfortunately, with the economic meltdown and the epidemic of right-wing nutjobs who seem to be awared their own cable "news" platforms based on how insane they are, things are getting pretty scary. I know enough about the paths that other countries have taken from stability to instability and what I see happening in the United States really scares me. That people think an appropriate response to a president you disagree with (because some idiot on Fox News tells you lies about him) is to ask if he should be killed reminds me of the kind of thinking I know of from Argentina as it spiraled into a period of insanity that left 30,000 mostly innocent Argentines dead after being disappeared and tortured, and left countless others to flee in order to survive.

It is ironic that I am here in Spain where a civil war tore the country apart and left thousands dead, where a dictator who ruled for over 40 years (and to my knowledge was not condemned by the US in the same way Castro has been) appointed a king as his successor and that king actually made democracy possible. And now Spain has legalized same-sex marriage, has universal health care, an excellent public transportation system and has been a leader in human rights and seeking justice for crimes against humanity committed by government "leaders". Does America need to go through the darkness that Spain went through, or that Argentina or South Africa have gone through in order to regain the ideals the country was founded on? I hope not. But as I said to my friend when we were chatting tonight, if I see my country going in the wrong direction, I won't hesitate to leave it. I do not want to be there when people are rounded up, accused and prosecuted for simply having different political beliefs, because I would definitely be one of them.

Back in Seville

This picture is not Seville, but after spending the morning reading about tourist scams, I thought I would post it. It's from the entrance to the Mezquita in Cordoba. A familiar sight I have seen outside the Cathedrals here in Seville and in Granada and outside the Mezquita in Cordoba. Friendly women offering a spring of rosemary as a "gift" who then grab your palm and give an unsolicited palm reading. I watched this particular deal go down. The woman in the center stood there and smiled and laughed as the gypsy woman told her all kinds of good things (they must have been good because she was smiling). The gypsy touched the woman's shoulder several times, tenderly. To the right is another woman who actually approached the gypsy with her palm out and asked for a palm reading. Ok, I hope I am not this dumb when I go to Rome.

What was always interesting to me in these transactions was the moment when the women demanded money. The whole scene changed from a tender, warm "gift" to a look of embarrassed regret for trusting another human being. In this case, the woman asked her husband who refused to have his palm read for some money. He pulled out a few coins and gave them to the gypsy, who indignantly showed them to her "partner".

This brings me back to Seville.

I arrived "home" on the train about 2:30 p.m. The number 32 bus was stopped outside of the train station because a line of people kept asking the driver questions - "How do I get to the airport?" and things like that. Good for me because that was the bus I wanted. Within a few minutes, I was walking down Feria Street back home.

I decided to stop at a local bar/cafe for lunch because I had no food. It's just down the street and it is recommended in Lonely Planet. It's called La Ilustre Victima - a strange name for a place if I do say so. The Illustrious Victim? What does that mean? Maybe it's a literary reference.

Anyway, I grabbed the last available table outside and even though the waitress saw me sit down she ignored me for quite a while. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to go in and order, but I waited. There were about 7 other tables outside and surely someone would come out to take care of them.

Finally a waiter came out. He asked if he could help me. I asked him for the menu. I never understand why this isn't automatic. He brought the menu and I ordered a water.

He came back to take my order and for some reason did not understand my Spanish. I've been traveling and speaking Spanish for a while now and this is the first time someone didn't understand me. Maybe he is not Spanish? Anyway, he eventually got my order which was a plate with bean cous cous and pork filet.

As he walked by again, I ordered a beer.

I sat and looked at my grimy neighborhood. The cobblestone streets that are in need of a good washing. The older blonde prostitute who walks around in her high heels on the cobblestones looking like she has had too much coffee (as opposed to the three African women who stand leisurely around just looking bored). Dogs walked by and peed on the walls. Finally my lunch arrived. I was really hungry and gobbled it down as it was really good - especially the cous cous which had garbanzos on top and carmelized onions and raisins.

I wanted more, so as the waitress walked by and grabbed my empty plate, I asked her what they had for desert. She turned away from me as if she hadn't heard me and went to the next table and grabbed the guy's empty plate. I was thinking maybe I should ask again louder - but how could she not have heard me? She then picked up the menu on his table and opened it to the desert section and put it on my table, without saying a word.

Could it be that these people just hate what they are doing for a living? Or is this what happens when service is not tied to tips?

The waiter walked by and I ordered a "baklawa de cacahuates" - peanut baklava. He said, 'eh?' I repeated myself and pointed to the words on the menu. Has my Spanish deteriorated that much?

It was a good lunch, but not a very pleasant experience. Maybe I'm making service more important than it should be. Eating out is about the food, right?

I came home to my little retreat here in Seville and after going to Corte Ingles to pick up some foodstuffs, I spent the rest of the day just chilling.

It's now Sunday morning and I can hear the three African prostitutes chatting and laughing outside my window. Across the street the little African boy and girl are yelling. The other little African family, a woman with two cute little boys and a smaller girl have already gone out - she yelling at them, and they crying.

Yep, I am "home".

Granada - Loving It!

Ok, I am a little bummed because when I was working out my plans for this trip, I was going to spend more time in Granada. Then it got too complicated and I settled on a month and a half in Sevilla before heading up north to Madrid and Barcelona. Now I kind of regret that decision. I really love Granada.

I liked it from the moment I arrived and the taxi driver was actually nice. He asked me if it was my first time in Granada. I told him it was my first time in Spain. He pointed out things on the way, like the bull ring, and told me to drink beer.

I like the weather. It´s cooler than Seville, even though it is still nice and warm and sunny during the day.

But the thing I love the most is there is so much here. I am sure I am only scratching the surface.

Yesterday, I didn't know where I was or where I was going, but I had fun exploring the area around my hotel, the cathedral, etc. I wanted to walk to the Albacyin, the old neighborhood where the muslims lived before they were expelled, but I couldn't find it. Still I had fun.

Last night, when I got back to my hotel room, I opened my Lonely Planet and my maps and by reading and looking at the map, I was able to get my bearings and saw that I was walking in a completely different direction than I wanted to go.

So, this morning, I got up, had churros and chocolate for breakfast (because that is what people do) and then went to the cathedral to get on the Turibus. I don't know what it is called, but it was Turibus in Mexico and I liked that name. It's a double decker bus that goes around the city past all of the major sights. I thought it would be a good way for me to see where I wanted to go and also I had a reservation for the Alhambra at 6:30 and I thought it would be a good way to get up the hill.

So around we went, past churches, up the hill to the Alhambra, past the bull ring and the house where Federico Garcia Lorca hung out before he was shot by the nationalists during the Civil War and finally back again to the cathedral. The entire trip took an hour and a half.

From there, I decided to head up to the Albacyin. It was a nice walk along a little river with the Alhambra hanging on a cliff on the other side. I caught a little bus that took me up to the top where I got off and made my way back down again. It was fascinating and beautiful and magical and also kind of sad. It is hard for me to visit places like this and not think about the cultures that flourised there before. I was thinking about the time when Muslims, Jews and Christians all got along and then for whatever reason, it all changed, and the Christians regained power and they expelled or forced people to convert or killed them. And now, look where we are. Christians fighting Muslims with Jews as surrogates and everyone hating everyone else. What a mess.

Anyway, I loved the Albacyin. I stopped for lunch and then went back to my hotel for a siesta.

After my siesta I decided to head up to the Alhambra. Even though my ticket to enter the Nazaries Palace was for 6:30, there were other things I could see and kill time with. I stopped first for some tapas and sangria, and about 4:30, got back on the Turibus to head up the hill.

I thought I was so cool because I made my reservation for 6:30 and I thought I would have the whole place to myself. Indeed it seemed that way. When I arrived there was no line to get pre-reserved tickets, I just whizzed up to the machine, inserted my credit card that I made the reservation with and out came my ticket.

I headed first to the Generalife, a big garden that has some meaning that I am not sure of and don't really care. I was just killing time with all of the Spanish stuff that was added later on after the Muslims were expelled until I could see what is billed as the most beautiful Arab palace in the world!

I saw some castle, some church, some other building, the gardens, and finally it was almost time for me to enter. There were a bunch of people hanging around in the big courtyard near the entrance to the Nazaries Palace, and when the call was made for people with 6:30 entrance tickets, suddenly the ground shook as everyone stood up and like a stampede, went and got in line.

I knew the line moved really slowly and didn't want to stand. My strategy was to get at the rear and let everyone filter through so that I would have the place pretty much to myself.

Well, I did get at the end of the line but I didn't have the place pretty much to myself. There were still quite a few people, including several really annoying kids who were just bored and cranky and making a lot of noise.

In spite of the crowds, which would have been ten times worse had I been there in the morning with the tour groups and the guides speaking several languages, the place was incredible. I thought maybe the Alcazar in Seville might be more beautiful since it was built after the Alhambra and artists were brought from Granada to help build it, but the Alhambra really is the most beautiful Arab palace in the world (at least from the two I have seen). It was also good being there as the sun was moving down in the sky and pink clouds began to appear as thousands of sparrows flew around in all directions and made a cacophony of sound. I took so many pictures my memory card and my extra memory cards were full. I need to think what I will do in Rome if I am going to be so shutter happy and not be able to upload photos to the web and delete them from my memory card.

Well, anyway, I was very satisfied and really happy with my Granada trip.

I left the Alhambra, almost alone, and headed down the hill through a beautiful park until I reached Plaza Nueva, which is where the Albacyin begins.

Earlier in the day I was wandering some back streets that go up from Plaza Nueva and I found several Morrocan and Lebonese restaurants. I decided I needed a switch from tapas, especially since many of the tapas I have had have been really high on the salt content.

I went to a little place that is recommended by Lonely Planet (I know because they have it on their sign outside) and had an "arab salad", which I think was kind of like tabouli without the bulgher wheat (I don't know how to spell that) and I had chicken cous cous. There was a little American family there - very fat dad, mom, son and son's girlfriend. I imagined that son and gf were studying in Spain and mom and dad came for a visit. The parents were drilling the kids about school and career goals. It was kind of funny.

After dinner, I crossed Grand Via, the big boulevard that separates "Muslim Granada" from the "Christian" part (that's what the recording on the turibus said. The difference is apparent. Winding, cobblestoned streets filled with all kinds of merchants, whitewashed houses, and lots of activity, give way to grand old stone structures (many of them seem to be deserted), graffiti and a grid patterned city layout. I like staying in this part of town, but find the upper part much more interesting.

And so, tomorrow I'll hop on the train and return to Seville where the prostitutes will be standing in the middle of my street looking really bored.

I don't have much time left there, but what little time I do have I think I will try to make a few more day trips to some of the white villages I saw on the train and bus coming here. Seville feels like home. My bike is there, my apartment and kitchen are there, and I know my way around enough that there are probably not many new surprises for me there. Granada, while I regret not having more time here, will remain a special place for exactly that reason - I haven't been here long enough to start seeing the grime and grit and get bored with it.

At some point, I hope to come back and one day I would love to have the Alhambra to myself, even if it is only for a few minutes like I did the Alcazar.

Cordoba (and a little Granada)

It feels like I am on vacation!

I headed out this morning at about 8:45 and walked to Calle Rosalana to catch the bus to the train station. I was a little nervous since I had never taken the bus in Seville before. I was thinking of how silly that was because after all, I had taken the bus in Korea where I could hardly speak any Korean and here I was in Spain where I can manage quite well, but I still couldn't deny my feelings.

There was nothing to be afraid of. Sure, I was confused. I didn't know where to put the money, but the driver pointed to a little hole in the window surrounding him. As I started to walk away, he pointed to a ticket that was printing. I took it and sat down.

The bus was very comfortable, clean, and spacious. It was nice seeing a little of the morning commute, mostly women (I am not sure why).

The bus stopped right in front of the train station where there is also a bus that goes to the airport. Good to know. It will probably be too early when I go to Rome, but it will save me some precious Euros when I come back if I can take busses.

I boarded my train which was headed for Madrid. Again, it seemed like I was with commuters. It was a high speed train (AVE) and we had to go through security. I'm guessing this is the train that was targeted by the train bombers in Madrid. We didn't have to go through the same procedures when I went to Cadiz. Still, it was nothing compared to the yelling and strip searches that happen in US airports.

The trip was quick. We left at 9:45 and arrived at 10:26. Cordoba was the first stop.

I couldn't find a place to store my backpack in the train station like I had hoped, and when I asked, the told me there were lockers across the street in the bus terminal. So I stored my bag and then started walking. I had no idea where I was going and my guide book was in my backpack which was now locked up.

The tourist information booth in the train station was closed with one guy inside doing some repair work and a bunch of stressed out looking tourists outside.

I figured I would find signs for the Mezquita, my destination, and if I didn't, I would ask.

My sense of direction did take me in the right direction, but at a certain point, I decided I needed to ask. I saw a woman in a newspaper booth who looked like the right person to ask. She was. I was right at the point where I needed to change directions. From there it was easy.

The Mezquita-Cathedral is a gigantic mosque turned cathedral that is located inside the old walled city. I felt like I was entering a medeival village, as I passed through the wall and saw the familiar cobblestoned winding streets I knew from Seville. I still wasn't sure where I was going, but the mobs of tour groups sort of clued me in. The streets were so narrow and the groups were so big, it was kind of frustrating trying to get around, but soon a big wall appeared before us and the familiar sight of gypsies scamming people with rosemary told me I was in the right spot.

A word about gypsies. I know the correct term is "Roma" and I am about as politically correct as they come. Gypsy is a word that originated from the fact that people in Spain though the Roma came from Egypt, and supposedly it is kind of derogatory. I am using it intentionally. I'm really sorry. I know discrimation is a terrible thing and the Roma have been discriminated up there with the worst victims of bigotry - Jews, Gays, the disabled, etc., but anyone who intentionally runs scams based on people's honesty and good faith is scum in my book. These women offer free sprigs of rosemary, then do some bullshit palm reading and then DEMAND a shitload of money. The tourists who give in do so because they feel obligated, which they shouldn't, because it is a SCAM.

As I walked through the gate to enter the compound, one of the gypsies called to me, telling me I dropped money. I kept walking. I knew she was a fucking liar.

Ok, got that out.

I was a bit disheartened to see the gigantic tour groups that had clogged the narrow streets of the old city were now clogging the entrance to the mezquita. By the time I figured out where to get a ticket and got in line, they had moved through, but once inside, there they were, mobbing the place all competing to try to get that perfect foto that would somehow convey the granduer of the place (or at least I hoped that was their intention). I also joined the competition, but there were too many people, so I moved away from them, passed through the enormous cathedral that bragged about the grandiosity of Catholicism that was erected in the center of the mosque and suddenly found myself feeling like i had the whole place to myself. Seemingly hundreds of red and white arches spread out before me and I imagined silence and thousands of men reverently prostrating themselves on the cool marble floor (even though there were sounds of drills and hammers and the distant sounds of tour guides speaking multiple languages).

This was one of the things I came to Spain to see. It was hard to believe I was seeing it. It was a visual feast if I ever saw one. The old mosque must have been a sight to behold. I lamented, as others have, the destruction that was later done when the Christians decided to impose their god on the place, but I got used to it, and found the cathedral, though a bit overdone, also quite beautiful.

I walked around several times. The place was huge. Each time I found something new. A cross under islamic arches, a little chapel with incredible golden mosaics, light coming from stained glass windows reflecting on columns. It was amazing. I wished I could have the whole place to myself without the tour groups or the reconstruction crews, but hopefully my photos will serve to bring me (and others) to that place.

Once I had had enough, I returned to the small, winding streets, found myself back at the entrance to the walled city, and turned around for another exploration. I came across a little tea shop that looked so tranquil and beautiful with a beautiful stone floor, a big plate with oranges, lemons and grapefruits and arab music playing. I got a horchata and a few little pastries.

From there, I walked further on, dodged the massive tour groups and found myself back where I started.

One more time I said, but as you can guess, the tour groups were too much for me, so I decided to leave.

I thought maybe I would find some interesting places in the newer, "real" Cordoba. The part I passed through on my way to the old city, where people were eating churros and chocolate or eating toast with olive oil.

As I walked back, I thought about the prospect of spending another 5 or so hours here with nothing to do and no guide book or map. I remembered the bus station and my thought at one point that instead of wait for my 7:15 train that would get me to Granada at 9:45, maybe I would take the bus.

As I walked towards the train station, I found a restaurant that had paella as their daily special. I stopped for lunch and then went to the bus station. I was standing in line at 1:55 when a woman asked if she could step in front of me because her bus left at 2:00. Just then I heard an announcement that the 2 p.m. bus to Granada was boarding.

Fortunately, I had enough time to buy my ticket, get my bag and board the bus. What luck. I was going to be able to check into my hotel early, shower and spend an evening exploring Granada.

The ride was wonderful. I saw what I imagined Spain to be like. Acres and acres of olive groves, dry yellow soil, castles perched high on hills surrounded by little white villages. It was absolutely gorgeous. I would doze off and open my eyes and be amazed, and though I tried my hardest to keep my eyes open, I would doze off again. But each time I opened my eyes, the scenery though it changed slightly, was pretty much the same for the whole ride. It seemed like there were nothing but olive trees (and the occassional castle and white village).

Finally, I arrived in Granada, found my hotel, took a walk, got oriented a bit and found a nice little square with cafes where people were eating churros and chocolate.

I decided this was my chance.

I have had churros before - in Mexican restaurants and in Mexico. They've always been the same. Long donut type things with ridges, sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon and sometimes filled with custard.

When the waiter brought my plate of churros, I was surprised. There were long donut type things but they looked very different. They didn't have ridges. They weren't sprinkled with cinnamon. They were kind of twisty and reminded me of play dough. But I did as had seen so many people do in the past three weeks, I broke off a piece of dough and dipped into the thick cup of warm chocolate and ate it.

OH MY GOD!

Enough said.

Mission Accomplished!

It's been three weeks (I think) that I have been here, and while there probably are more things for me to see, I've kind of had it with looking at churches and other "monuments". So, it was nice to have a mission.

I've been on the hunt for an alarm clock. I knew pretty much what I was looking for, I just didn't know where to find it. Who knew that finding an alarm clock in Seville could be so difficult?

After my morning routine, gym, bakery, lunch, dodging hookers, nap, I hopped on my bike and decided to look for the third building in the Corte Ingles shopping center monopoly. I knew of one, but discovered there was a 2nd with electronics, cameras, etc, and then I found out there was a mysterious third. I looked on my map and saw where it was tucked away. According to a page I found on the net, this third one had appliances and housewares. If there was an alarm clock to be had in Corte Ingles, this is where it could be found.

It was nearing the end of siesta, but the streets were still pretty much deserted, which was nice, because there was very little car traffic on the streets (not that there ever is) and very little foot traffic on the pedestrian streets (where I am not sure if I am supposed to ride my bike).

Anyway, I searched all three floors of this other Corte Ingles building and there were no alarm clocks. I didn't bother to ask anyone.

At that point I was hungry and decided I wanted to have some tapas. It was 4 p.m. and I knew I had to ride fast if I was to make it to my favorite little bar before the kitchen closed. I got there, sat down and the waitress told me they were closed. I went to my second favorite place and the waiter pretty much ignored me, so I got up and searched for a new place.

I found a nice place with a little courtyard with tables. They had signs outside that said in big letters TAPAS. When I ordered a tapa of mussels, the waiter told me they didn't have tapas, only raciones (which are bigger), so I ordered a half racion of mussels in sauce and a half racion of spinach with garbanzos, and a sangria.

My spinach came and it was okay but not as good as at my favorite little place. I waited for the mussels, but they didn't seem to be coming. Finally, I called the waiter and told him I ordered mussels. He said, 'oh, you want mussels?' as if he hadn't heard me when I first placed my order (since he didn't write anything down, it was no wonder he forgot them). Finally, he brought them out. I was expecting some nice, warm mussels in some kind of sauce I could mop up with the bread, and instead I got a half-dozen cold mussels with some kind of red sauce in the center of the plate. They were not that good. I am not going back to that place, even if they have a nice courtyard. The food wasn't that good and the service sucked.

So, I got on my bike again and instead of retracing my steps, I decided to head east through streets I had neither walked or cycled. It turned out to be an interesting ride through the old Jewish quarter on the one street that allows cars and I ended up at the bike path that circles the old part of Seville and would take me home.

But with my research I did this morning, I found out that there was a mall near the ruins of the Roman aqueduct. Since I knew where that was, I decided to check the mall. Surely, I could find an alarm clock in a mall, right?

Wrong.

The mall was mostly a cineplex and a few clothing shops and a supermarket. I couldn't believe there was nothing else there. Maybe I was missing something. It was interesting being out of the old part of Seville away from the tourists and where it was probably even more local that my prostitute infested little neighborhood.

Supremely puzzled, I got on my bike and made my way back to the bike path and on my way home. As I neared the street I would take to get home I passed it, like Mecca - it was called Ronda Bazaar. In the window were dozens of different kinds of clocks, including the little travel alarm clock I had envisioned - Casio even - not some little pink made in China thing that would probably fall apart on the first alarm bell.

So, now that that is done, I am wondering if I might somehow find a money belt. Rick Steves has me really worried about Rome. Do I really need a money belt? I'm not bringing a lot of money and when I go out I will only bring what I think I will need for the day. My passport, credit cards and the rest of my cash will be locked in my safe box in my room. But since it is so much fun having a mission and a reason to explore, I think I will continue to look for a money belt (I have several in my dresser in San Francisco) just to see where this new mission takes me.

I Miss Walgreens

There are some things in Seville that I love and will definitely miss - the market with fresh produce, the bakery with freshly baked bread, the olive store, tapas everywhere, but one thing I miss about home that kind of surprised me is Walgreens. Who knew?

I'm still sniffling and I am not sure if this is a cold or allergies (I'm thinking a cold). Either way, it has me tired, feeling chilled sometimes and I'm trying to take it easy and not ride my bike too much. So yesterday I mostly just hung around (after going to the gym, buying more olives, etc.)

I finally heard back from this student travel agency that has a weekend trip to Morocco. It's not too expensive and we go to three places. I figure it will be a good introduction and not too much of a hassle for me as I will be accompanied from Seville and returned here when we're done. I went to Plaza Nueva yesterday to give them my credit card information and everything else they needed.

Last night after a marathon of Entourage on my computer, I suddenly got the idea to check Lonely Planet dot com and see if I could find a cheap hotel in Rome. Now that I knew for sure when I was going to Morocco, I figured I might try to get a few days in Rome if it were do-able.

It was. There are cheap flights from Seville, direct to Rome that take about two hours, and on the Lonely Planet website, I found a hotel that had rooms available that were in my budget. I'm not sure about the neighborhood, but it's close to the train station which will make it easy to get to when I arrive, and easy to get back to the airport when I leave. Getting around will be easy since there is a subway station nearby.

So, after much hassle with my stupid credit card, I finally got the hotel and flight booked. For some reason lately, if I make more than two purchases in one day, and especially if one of them is on the internet, my credit card company freezes my card. It was pretty late when I was making these bookings and I had two browsers open because I wanted to be sure both the room and the flight were available before I confirmed either. I finished the booking for my room and then went to book the flight, and it was rejected. It didn't say what the problem was. I tried again, same result. Again, same. Finally on the fourth attempt I was told to call VISA.

After several calls they finally told me I had to contact the airline because though the problem was initially that they put a hold on my account because of this "suspicious" activity (booking a hotel and flight) the problem now was the website of Vueling Airlines. It was after midnight and the office was closed. So I went to bed with the issue unresolved and had a very restless sleep.

In the morning I did finally get the reservation confirmed (after a few more calls to VISA for the same problem) and since my flight is next Wednesday at 7:25 a.m., it means I will need to get up earlier than usual and be at the airport at least an hour before. I need an alarm clock.

Today I went on a quest for an alarm clock and a Rome guide book. I got the guide book but had no luck finding an alarm clock. I walked down the pedestrian shopping street and found no stores that looked like they sold alarm clocks. I went to Corte Ingles, the big department store and they had none that I could find. I did find one in a little Chinese shop on Feria Street, but it looked so cheap I didn't trust it.

That was when I began missing Walgreens. I know in Walgreens I could find exactly the kind of alarm clock I need along with other travel necessities such as a money belt (Rick Steeves is insisting I carry a money belt).

This evening I went for a walk and passed another building of Corte Ingles that I didn't know existed. Turns out there is even another one that I think might have alarm clocks, but I have no idea where it is. I guess I'll have to do some sleuthing on the internet to see if I can find where this mysterious building might be.

So while I love going to all of these little shops that specialize in things like bread, olives, etc., I miss one-stop shopping too. Why didn't I stop at Walgreens before I left and pick up a small travel alarm clock?

Acting Like a Tourist

Sundays seem to be my day to act like a tourist. I'm not sure why. It's just working out that way today. I was scheduled for a 4 p.m. work skype call today to finish up some editing on a book but I had lots of time before that, it was a beautiful day and my cold seemed to have pretty much gone with the wind.

After breakfast, I hopped on my bike with two destinations in mind. One was something I saw on the map that said it was the ruins of a Roman aqueduct. I've seen pictures of these amazing vaulted structures in different guide books and thought it would be cool to see one up close. The other was the Casa de Pilatos, which I read was a replica of the house of Pontius Pilate where Jesus was condemned to death. I was interested because there was apparently some interesting "mujedar" design (mujedar is the Islamic style of architecture that was done after the Christian reconquest of Spain and before all Muslims were either forcefully converted, expelled or burned at the stake).

I started off with the aqueduct. It turned out to be quite small, just five or six arhces, not very big, and looking like it could have been built in 1960. It was hard to believe that it was older than the remnants of the great wall I pass regularly on my bike rides that remains of the wall that used to surround Seville. I guess it did its trick though, carrying water to the city, and didn't need to be as grand as the ones I've seen in guide books.

From there, it was a short ride to the Casa de Pilatos. The ticket agent asked me if I wanted just the ground floor or the whole house. I told her the whole house. I think it was 3 euros more. She told me to go in, turn left and wait at the top of the stairs.

I was a little confused.

I walked through the bookstore into an amazing entry way that was covered with tiles that opened into a grand courtyard with a fountain and several large classical Greek/Roman statues that I think are actually originals. Around the edges of the courtyard, the walls were covered with tiles and heads of different Roman looking faces lined the top. Gardens and other rooms shot off from the courtyard. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be waiting at the top of the stairs for my tour that was to begin in 20 minutes, but I wanted to explore. So that is what I did, keeping an eye on my watch to be sure I wouldn't miss the tour.

At 10:55 I went up the stairs which were also covered from floor to ceiling with tiles, and the ceilings were amazingly detailed mujedar style wooden ceilings. The building was really a work of art.

As the tour began we were led into a group of "salons" by a smallish, probably gay, Spanish man who spoke enthusiastically in both Spanish and English. I kind of chuckled a few times at his English. He would say things like, "we are going to veeseet the salAn of Frantheesco something or other, kind of singing the words the same way in English as he did in Spanish. He was not as robotic as the tour guide at the bull ring, and I kind of liked hearing things first in Spanish and then in English, giving me the opportunity to check my understanding and get translations for some of the words I didn't understand.

The upper floor tour was not that interesting though. The rooms were small and dank and filled with old paintings by not-so-important artists, other than one by Goya and a few by Velasquez' teacher. They were dark from years of age and the subject matter was not that interesting. Faded tapestries hung on the walls of one room and another room had furniture that was badly in need of repair. Things I found more interesting, like some of the ceilings were not explained, and I was with a group of about 25 tourists, most of whom were behaving rather badly. We were told to stay on the gray carpet to preserve the floor and a few people strayed off the carpet. When the guide was explaining things in English, those who understood the Spanish started chatting, oblivious to the fact that they were being rude to the tour guide and also those who were trying to listen to him (like me). I was glad when we were finally released and I was allowed to return to the rooms on the first floor which were much more interesting to me, but now were more crowded than when I first arrived.

I snapped a few more pictures and got on my bike and rode through some of the small winding streets until I reached Plaza Nueva, and from there rode to the cathedral and stopped at Starbucks.

I never go to Starbucks in the States, but when I travel, it's a nice oasis amongst the confusing choices no matter where I am. In Bangkok, I know it will be air-conditioned and have nice music playing. In Taiwan I knew the spoke English. In Seville, I know they have refreshing fruit frappachinos.

I passed gypsy women trying to trick tourists into accepting "free" rosemary that would cause them to clean out their wallets, wanting to say, "DON'T ACCEPT THE ROSEMARY", but deciding it was not my business, parked my bike and took a walk through Santa Cruz.

I am not sure why everything seemed so crowded. The little streets of Santa Cruz were packed with tourists, the Alcazar had a long line of people waiting to get in, and even the street in front of the cathedral was full of people. I am not sure if there are more tourists in Seville than there have been, because it is now much cooler and more comfortable, or if it was because I was out later than usual. Either way, I was just killing time until I could sit down and order some tapas for lunch.

Finally at about 1, I went to the restaurant where I had garlic shrimp and papas bravas. The same waiter threw a menu at me. When he came back I asked for his recommendation and he enthusiastically recommended the fried fish. He said fried sardines, hake and one other type of fish all came on a combination platter. It was 16 euros. I didn't want to take a chance on three kinds of fried fish but wanted to try the anchovies (or were they sardines?), so I ordered them and the shrimp.

They were okay. I think they are what we call smelts. They were little headless fried fish dusted with flour and fried. They needed salt, or a sauce or something. Compared to the bubbling dish of shrimp I got that came in melted butter full of pieces of garlic, they were pretty bland. My garlic shrimp caused quite a few heads to turn as the waiter brought them out, they were sizzling and the smell of garlic wafted along the sidewalk. I saw two other tables get them after I did.

It was a nice lunch and I felt comfortable. I'm a little beyond being a tourist at this point since I really know my way around and no longer carry a map. Even when I am exploring places I have never been, I don't care where I go because I know I will eventually end up some place familiar. Getting lost is now half the fun. I'm also learning some foods that I like, and when I go out I usually order one thing that I know I like and one thing new. At least that way I will always be sure of liking at least half of my meal.

Tomorrow will be a return to the "living in Seville" me - gym, market, maybe even laundry. Since most things are closed on Sunday, Monday is my day for taking care of business. But today, I enjoyed acting like a tourist and not feeling the fears and doubts I had when I first arrived. I was a tourist who knew what he was doing, including not accepting "free" rosemary gifts.

All The Right Places (again)

I know I kind of wrote about this before, but I want to write about it again.

Long story short, I was returning from Korea in August, took a taxi from SF airport and at the end of the ride the taxi driver gave me a book he wrote.

I read the book.

I just finished it today.

It was great. It was about his travels through Japan, China and Russia. I've decided that reading travel books when you are traveling is a good thing. For me, it kind of opened my eyes a little more to the experience, because that is what travel is about - the experience. It's not so much what you do, where you go, what you see, but the overall experience. Little things like a day with an incredibly blue sky and big puffy white clouds, or seeing three little kids playing hide and seek and running through a restaurant while their parents sit outside at a table and smoke cigarettes. It's about things that when you return home and people ask, "how was your trip?" are almost impossible to summarize in the amount of time that people want to pay attention. It's about a journey that we take internally as well as externally, but mostly it's the internal one that matters.

I definitely recommend the book. It was a great read and entertaining on many levels, but for me one of the things I enjoyed the most about it was that it was about traveling through Japan, China and Russia in 1984. China and Russia were just opening to the rest of the world. Things are so different now. It made me realize that the experiences I am having now are not only my experiences, but they are my experiences in these places at this time. Ten or twenty years from now, these places may have different names or be in a completely different state. Traveling and being in a place in a certain time is one way of preserving the history of the place. I still remember being in Nicaragua to celebrate the 5 year anniversary of the Sandinista Revolution. That is a memory that needs to be preserved, kept alive, passed on.

After finishing the book today, which ended on a wonderfully quirky and amazing note, I looked up the author, Brad Newsham, who drives a green taxi in San Francisco. I e-mailed him and told him how much I liked the book. Amazingly, he remembered me. He remembered the name of my street! It was over a month and a half ago that he took me home from the airport. I've had people meet me two or three times and still not remember me, how is it that this taxi driver remembered where I lived? I still wonder if I was being recorded in that cab....

Anyway, it was a great book and has me thinking more about trying to pull together some travel stories and maybe writing my own book. But more than anything it has me marveling at the shear coincidence of the whole thing.

The book now sits on the bookshelf in this cute little apartment in Seville with other books that people have left behind. I hope future tenants of this apartment will enjoy it as much as I did.

My Neighborhood II

Sometimes it's enough just to observe and do nothing more.

The weather has gotten cooler. It's really nice. The only problem is I caught a cold because I slept without a blanket and it got cold. I seriously thought colds were from germs. I think colds are from cold.

Anyway, after the gym, I came home to wait to see if my ATM card was finally delivered. I've been waiting for it for over a week and was afraid to go anywhere in case I had to sign for it. The postman passed and didn't stop here.

There were four sex workers outside. Because it's not as hot, most of them were dressed a little more modestly, wearing jeans instead of the skimpy dresses they normally wear. One in particular looked quite beautiful. They look young. Maybe early 20's.

Across the street from my building is another apartment building where several African families live. There are at least 6 children and it seems as if one of them is always crying, I mean screaming. Maybe they take turns.

As I was peeping out to see if the postman was coming, my neighbor, a young African woman, came out with three kids - two adorable little boys and a younger girl. The boys were crying.

The had little backpacks on and it looked like they were going to school. The mother was yelling at them. I heard some English thrown in from time to time "come on"! Her yelling seemed to make the crying worse.

The mother kept walking and one of the boys stayed behind. The pretty sex worker called to him, also in some language that was not Spanish with a few words of English mixed in - I heard "big man". She went over to him and gently touched him on the back to encourage him to walk with his mother. It was such a sweet gesture.

I finally went to the bank and got my ATM card. Turns out the postman returned it as undeliverable. I thought I knew my address. At least I have it now and can get money from the bank. I don't know if I lost money by converting all of my money at once, but now I don't have to search for banks that will exchange money for me or worry about daily fluctuations.

Walking back, I passed the bakery where the grumpy guy seems to not be working anymore. I went in on Wednesday and a woman was working. They had prepared food. I got chicken with vegetables and meatballs. Both were really good. I also bought soft cake in a bag. It was yummy. The woman was nice. She didn't snarl at me.

Further down on Feria Street was the Thursday flea market. I passed it last week on my bike but didn't stop. Since I was on foot, I thought I'd check it out, especially to see if there was any food being sold. Verdict? A bunch of junk. Like any flea market anywhere. Used shit that somebody doesn't want being sold to someone who probably doesn't need it.

After walking a block, I turned around and came home.

The four sex workers stayed outside until siesta and then they disappeared.

All the right places

When I got back from Korea in August I was lucky to get a green cab at the airport. It was a Prius. The driver liked to talk. I kind of thought maybe it was one of those taxi confessional things, you know with a hidden camera. He asked me where I had been, we talked about Korea a little, teaching ESL, etc. He had also given up some information that his father worked for the CIA. After talking about me for a while, I said, "so, CIA huh?" and we changed the subject.

We had a nice talk. He told me about how he had to come to terms with the work his father did, even though he was just a map maker and was not out in the field plotting assassinations or overthrowing governments. He was a really nice guy (the driver that is) and the time from the airport flew by.

As I got out he opened his trunk and pulled out a book. He asked me if I liked to read. I told him I did. He said, "since you were in Japan, you might like this book that I wrote", and handed me a copy of a book called "All the Right Places".

I brought it with me on this trip and started reading it on the flight to Amsterdam, but I was too flustered then to really enjoy it. I was on a new adventure to who knows what, for quite a long period of time. I had lots of worries and fears with me on that flight. The book was not resonating with me.

The other day I picked it up again. Somehow now, after a month away, I am open enough to connect with it. I'm loving it.

I recognize a lot of the experiences in the book, in Japan, and then on to Hong Kong and the infamous Chung King Mansion where most travelers on a budget end up (and I did once).

Today I spent the afternoon reading, napping and watching the final episodes of season 5 of Weeds. I came across a quote in the book that hit me. Brad, the author, and taxi driver, was on a boat in China. He was speaking to a Canadian woman. She said, "If you don't get out with the masses, go places where you can't speak the language or drink the water, you lose all perspective on yourself. You begin to think the life you live at home is the life everyone lives."

I thought it was right on and pretty much describes one of the reasons why I feel I like to travel so much - to keep that perspective, to remind myself that my life at home is not the life that everyone lives.

I just came back from a bike ride. I guess it was the evening rush hour. There was all kinds of traffic - cars, bikes, pedestrians. Squares were full of people drinking, talking and smoking. Children ran around like crazy. The wind was blowing and you can feel fall in the air. Very few people were wearing shorts - some were bundled up like it was winter.

I saw the guys that stand on the side of the road - mostly African men, selling tissues to drivers who stop at the lights. Others stand and point out parking spaces. People park and give them money to watch their cars. I feel like it is bordering on extortion and wonder why people have to do that for a living. I thought of the prostitutes, who today I was feeling really tired of seeing every day outside of my window. I passed the Mormon missionaries, chatting up a single guy (single as in alone) - they looked very serious. He was smiling.

I thought about how I am in the right place right now. I am doing the right things. I don't know why. I don't really have much of a plan, but it all seems to be falling into place and it all feels right.

Tapeando...

In Spain they use the verb "tapear", which means "to go for tapas". I decided to do some tapeando today, mostly because I was too lazy to figure out what to pull from my refrigerator for lunch.

I found a quote I really liked, I'm assuming it is a translation from a Spanish saying - "how wonderful it is to do nothing and then to rest afterwards". That pretty much describes my life in Spain so far. I seem destined to be a lazy bum here, and the culture seems to encourage it.

I got up around 8 as usual, lulled around eating muesli, drinking vanilla rooibos tea, checking e-mail etc., and went to the gym around 10. It seems to be a daily routine now. I can't seem to get to the gym earlier than that.

I had a short workout, mostly because there were too many people for my liking (there were maybe 8), and I was feeling a little off this morning, perhaps from the salt on my popcorn last night. I made popcorn and went to put a little salt on it and the top of the salt shaker came off and all of the salt dumped into my popcorn and some on the floor. I dumped out what I could but didn't want to make a new batch of popcorn, so I ate the popcorn, trying to shake excess salt off of each kernel as I ate it. Salt and I do not get along.

So anyway, after my mini-workout, I returned home, watched Naomi Klein on Democracy Now, and then decided to try to do some trip planning. I picked up my Lonely Planet and soon was finding myself once again frustrated by my inability to make any headway on figuring out where to go or what to do.

That was when I got online and looked for information on the Pueblos Blancos - some pretty hill towns in Andalucia and surrounding provinces, and found the quote about doing nothing and then resting afterwards. It seemed I was destined to find that quote today.

I had a snack of some manchego cheese I bought yesterday, took a little nap and finally decided to walk down to the center to grab some tapas for lunch.

I decided to walk instead of bike because walking allows me to see more and connect with people in a different way. Even though I love the bike, today I felt I needed to be on foot.

I walked down a different street from the Alameda and came to the first big plaza where Corte Ingles is located. Corte Ingles is a department store and yesterday I discovered there is a great supermarket in the basement. I picked up a few things because I was on my bike and plan to go back often. I love the selection of everything they have.

From there I chose a pedestrian street and made my way to La Giralda, the tower that rises above the cathedral that used to be a minaret of the great mosque that was once there. From there, I headed up a winding street to the tapas bar where I was initiated into the art of tapeando.

The last time (the first time) I had tapas, I had something called Carrillada Iberica. I still don't know what it is, but it was delicious. I decided to have it again, and this time try something new. I ordered spinach with garbanzos. The spinach and garbanzos were amazing. There was a slight hint of vinegar and also pieces of bread that soaked up the spices and juice. The carrillada was not as good as the first time I got it, and I suspect it was because I arrived too early. When I had it before, it was after my time at the arab baths - around 4:30 p.m., today I had it around 2:00, just as the tapas hour was beginning. I think it was so good before because it must have been simmering for hours. I'll go back and get it again, but at a later time.

It was an enjoyable lunch, two tapas and a glass of sangria. Siesta was just beginning and it seemed to be when parents go and pick up their children from school (I guess to bring home for lunch). As I sat in this little cobblestoned alley, a parade of people passed me by, some tourists, but mostly parents with little kids in tow. The kids were right at eye level of my table, and as they passed, each one looked to see what I was eating. I think they were hungry - and jealous. They were adorable.

After lunch, I decided to explore the alleys of Santa Cruz, the little neighborhood where I was that was once the Jewish, and then Muslim/Jewish quarter. I don't know the whole history, but I know that during the Moorish period, Spain, especially Seville, was a place of tolerance, where Jews, Muslims and Christians lived together in peace. Then, the Christians eventually overthrew the Muslims and regained control. At first, they allowed Jews and Muslims to stay, then they started forcing them to convert to Christianity, and finally they drove them out or burned them at the stake. It was hard for me to walk these pretty little streets and not think about the people who must have lived there at one time, who lost their lives, or were driven out and lost their property - a scene that has been replayed over and over again in history, to Jews in Spain, Russia, Germany and elsewhere, to the Japanese in the US, to the Palestinians now. I felt the ghosts in those streets that are now filled with camera-clicking tourists and shops that sell aprons that look like flamenco dresses.

I headed home, walking through as many different streets as I could, even though most guidebooks and websites I have read warn against walking through these streets during siesta. I felt safe, but was cautious, though I don't now what I would have done if someone had tried to mug me. Fortunately, nothing happened.

It was a nice little adventure and enough for today. I've since been lounging around my apartment, watching some TV on my computer and reading. Soon, I'll pull some things out of the fridge and make dinner.

I guess at some point this week I will get on a train or a bus and go somewhere and explore, but my little walk today made me realize there is still a lot of Sevilla that I have not seen. I could go off to a new place where I don't know my way around, or I can walk out my door and just try a new street, confident that I will easily be able to find my way back home.

My Neighborhood

I like my little neighborhood here in Sevilla. I hope the apartments I chose in Madrid and Barcelona are as convenient as this one.

My neighborhood is called Macarena. It's on the northern edge of Sevilla. There is a big medieval wall not too far from here, which makes me think that even though this is not the center of Sevilla, it was a part of the old city.

Two blocks south of my apartment is my gym. It's a small gym. There are machines and free weights crammed into one side and on the other side are eliptical trainers, treadmills and bikes - lots of bikes, because they have a spinning class. There is also another room where I guess they have pilates, tai chi and who knows what else. It's nothing fancy, but it works, and for 40 euros for the month, it was not too much of a stretch on my budget.

One and half blocks west of here is the Alameda de Hercules, a very large plaza, maybe stretching 4-5 blocks. It's kind of shabby looking, but I guess no one cares. In the evening people go out for walks and then later in the evening, around 9 or so, the restaurants and cafes surrounding the Alameda put out tables and chairs and the place fills up with people eating, drinking and smoking.

Two blocks to the east is my favorite thing about the neighborhood and the reason I am here - Calle Feria. There is a wonderful produce market that has many stalls with fresh produce, butchers, a few restaurants and a place that sells soaps and candles. It's next to a big old church. Today I noticed the door of the church was open so I stuck my head in. It was really beautiful. A big golden alter, lots of statues, candles burning and it smelled like a church should smell, not dank and musty like that big monstrous cathedral in the center. People were praying and there was no entrance fee. This is what churches should be. Things that are used and not "monuments" that charge tourists to visit. I guess they don't get a lot of tourists because I don't think this is on the tourist trail, but there was a sign saying not to take pictures during mass, so I am assuming I am not the only tourist to visit this church. It makes me want to wander around this neighborhood and visit more of the old churches around here - there are many.

Calle Feria has lots of other stuff two. Within one block there are two bakeries, several banks, a hair salon (which I just noticed today). Further down, there is a supermarket. There is a book store and there are lots of bars (places that also serve tapas). And of course there is Doña Aceituna, the olive shop.

And of course, I can't not mention the ladies. Apparently there is a bit of sex work going on here as well. There are three sex workers who stand outside of my window during the day. Ralph told me it is because of the construction workers, but I've noticed that there are more up the street and there seem to be several houses around here with women hanging outside. So, I don't think it is a temporary thing only while there is construction going on. I think they are fairly permanent.

I also noticed on the edge of the Alameda that there is a marijuana seed shop. I was reading somewhere on the net that pot is legal here as well. I had no idea. Possession under a certain amount is legal for personal use. Along with the city bikes and the great train system, I'm actually amazed that Spain has so many things in common with Amsterdam. I wonder what the rest of Europe is like in regards to drugs (I know they have trains and many have public bikes as well as bike routes). America is the country that is seeming so old now in terms of our public policies. If a country as old as Spain, that is so steeped in tradition and religion can legalize marijuana (or at least decriminalize it) and legalize same sex marriage, why can't we?

Well, that's all not really about my neighborhood, but it was a worthwhile tangent.

Alcazar

 

Today I decided to get out early and return to the Alcazar. I went last week and was there early, but didn't realize that there was this hidden part of the palace with amazing Islamic architecture until it was too late and the place was mobbed by tour groups. Today I got there at 9:20, they open at 9:30. I was the first to enter, ahead of a few couples and a big mob of French tourists. I had the entire place to myself, minus one unsmiling security guard, for nearly 30 minutes. I was in heaven. Here are some of my favorite photos of the place. Pure heaven.

Alcazar

 

Alcazar

 

Alcazar

 

Alcazar

 

Alcazar

 

Alcazar

 

Alcazar

 

Alcazar

 

Alcazar