The Running of the Bulls.......what the?!?!

So, the Running of the Bulls takes place every July 6 - July 13 in Pamplona, Spain and the 8-day festival is called the San Fermin. Every morning at 8pm, a number of bulls (6-8??) are released at one end of town and they run as hard as they can through the streets of town until they get to the end of the course, which just happens to be inside the stadium where bullfights are conducted. At the start of the run, a loud gun goes off to tell everyone in town when the first bull has been let out, and shortly thereafter another gun goes off to let everyone in town know that the last bull has left the holding pen and that they are all now running in the streets. The bulls run through a street course with no exits (it's either tall buildings or erected barricades holding them in), so they can't get out.....and neither can the people that have chosen to take part in the run. The bulls go forward, and if anything gets in their way, they go over it or through it. They just run until they're in the bullring and there's nowhere left to run. It sounded moderately dangerous to me, and pretty thrilling to watch, so I hoped I could get there to see it during my Spain trip. I knew before I left for Spain that San Fermin was known worldwide and that getting a hotel room that week in Pamplona would be next to impossible. I tried looking onilne for a dorm bed in a hostel sometime during the festival, but the cheapest I could find was $300 for one night (and, for obvious reasons, no one on couchsurfing.com was offering a free couch for that 8-day period). Needless to say, I didn't book the bed and decided instead to just go to Spain and see how things all panned out.

All over Spain, in the first two weeks or so that I was in the country, I kept hearing about the Running of the Bulls...how crazy and death-defying it was from one person, how fun and totally NOT scary it was from the next. Many people were telling me to run (anyone can run that wants to) because it was the experience of a lifetime and not nearly as bad as the rumors make it sound. However, the closer I got to Pamplona, in both time and distance, the more the majority started to shift and I started hearing more and more stories of people getting gored and trampled or having very close calls with really big, scary beasts in really tight spaces. I was considering running, but logistically it was going to be tough because I didn't have a room or a safe place to leave my stuff, nor did I have someone that I knew and trusted to watch it. I figured I'd just play it by ear.

As it turned out, Pamplona is essentially on the way from Barcelona to Lourdes, France (where I was ultimately headed to watch the Tour de France bike race). So, as I was doing throughout Spain, I went online to the RENFE website (Spain's official train website) to buy a train ticket. Pamplona is 7.5 hours from Barcelona by train, and I happened to find a train that left Barcelona at 10pm and arrived at 534am in Pamplona. Sweet! That meant that not only could I get to Pamplona, but I could avoid trying to find a hotel room or a dorm bed there by just sleeping a little on the train ride. Then, I could see the run with the bulls at 8 a.m., hang out for a while, and get on a bus heading out of town somewhere toward Lourdes.

It all started out pretty well. I bought a little more expensive ticket in which my seat was one of six in a private room with a door that closed. As it turned out, there were two rows of three seats that faced each other. When I boarded the train and found my seat, I was the only one in there. After a few minutes, two other girls came in. One girl was from Pamplona and spoke really good English, so she could give me the scoop on what to do there. (I hoped she'd invite me to stay at her house so that I could stay an entire day instead of just a few hours, but she never did and I didn't want to push it.) The other was Brazilian and was able to speak both Spanish and English with me. Both were really nice and friendly. We made small talk for the first 45 minutes or so, and then we when we were all friends, we decided to fold down all 6 seats so that they made into three beds. There were three of us so it was perfect...except that as we were making beds, another girl came in. She came in late so she didn't bond with us - she just sat in one seat in the corner next to me while the rest of us still got horizontal and squirmed around trying to get comfortable. At first we were all trying to be polite and not touch each other....after a short while, that became way too much of a hassle and everyone's legs were thrown over everyone else's in an attempt to stretch out and get some sleep. It must've looked pretty odd (or impressive, depending on how you think of it) the way we were all stacked up together. Anyway, the train stopped now and then and it was pretty windy so there really wasn't a lot of sleep happening. At some point, though, I realized that I must have been sleeping because I groggily woke up to a really grouchy old guy and his wife coming in, flipping on the lights, and demanding that we put all the seats upright because two of them were theirs. He was right, so we complied, but so much for the sleeping on the train idea. We rode the last couple of hours in the dark, wide awake, trying to sleep, sitting upright without any leg room. It kind of sucked.

Upon arrival in Pamplona, the local girl from my train cabin offered to take me downtown (a short cab or bus ride away or a 20 minute walk away), but I'd have to wait an hour for her sister to get there. I didn't have an hour to spare so I thanked her and went on my own way. The reason I didn't have an hour was because I'd learned that the long-distance bus station on the other side of the small town had "left luggage" room so I could check my stuff in and go reclaim it later after the festivities...and then I'd already be at the bus station so I could get a ticket out of town going somewhere toward Lourdes. Perfect!!

Usually I would have just walked downtown, but I was tired that morning so I was trying to flag down a cab, along with a few other folks I met outside the train station. No cab would stop for us and we were getting pissed, and no buses were coming to the city bus stop that we were standing at in front of the train station. Just as we were about to walk to town as a group, a city bus came up. Given that it was filled with a bunch of local-looking people dressed in all white with red bandannas around their necks and red sashes around their waists, we knew the bus would be going to the right place (that white/red outfit is what everyone wears to San Fermin). We got on the bus and in 5 minutes we were downtown. I got off and asked a local where the bus station was. After another five minutes on foot, I was waiting in line in the 'left luggage' room of the bus station. Unfortunately, it took quite a while to get to the front of the line and leave my junk and by the time I got out of there and walked back downtown and figured out where I needed to be for the festivities, I had missed the window of time to be allowed to get into the course to run with the bulls and they had locked the course gates. I guess the decision was made FOR me to not run....I had been seriously considering it but hadn't yet made up my mind.

When I got down to the course, I was near the end and had no idea where the beginning was. The place was already JAMMED with people and I knew if I farted around looking at different places to see where the view was best, I'd soon not have any view at all so I stayed put. There was an approximately 5-foot high wooden barricade set up to hold the bulls in, and a few feet behind that was about a 6-foot high second fence on which people were seated or standing, craning their heads to get a view. I'm taller than most Spaniards, but with the people standing on the fence I still couldn't see a thing - all this way, all this effort to get here and I can't see?! Screw that!! I had to think quickly. I saw a dude standing on a plastic dumpster, alone, looking out above the chaos. I walked up, introduced myself, asked him if I could hop up there with him, and soon I had a new German friend named Stefan with whom I was able to take in the event. We let a few other dudes up there with us, but after a while, we had to keep kicking people off or pushing them away or telling them no..whatever worked. In a crowd like that, you stake out your spot, you don't move, and you hold your ground, trying not to be too much of a dick if you can help it.

Do you know it isn't easy to stand for over an hour on a plastic dumpster with a flimsy lid with six other drunk partygoers? I feared that the dumpster fall would be more devastating than any bull goring that happened to take place concurrently, but fortunately I never had to find out. It turns out that the spot was pretty decent and I got a few decent photos (see above). You can see from the photos that there were a lot of people and they were scaling walls, lamp posts, etc. to try to get a better view. There were a couple of ambulances just waiting around, and there were passed out people everywhere. Did I mention that San Fermin is pretty much the biggest party in the WORLD!? I have never in my life seen so much drunken debauchery, honestly (and to be sober was, in fact, a bit sobering). From my sweet, standing, dumpster view, there was one chivalrous guy below who had a passed out friend's head resting on each of his feet, just so that his buddies wouldn't have to lay their heads on the pavement. Of course, if you saw that pavement, you'd understand why. Everyone had told me NOT to go to San Fermin in flip flops because the streets were disgusting, and I really didn't get it until I saw it. There was piss, vomit, broken glass, and trash everywhere; it was the most disgusting thing I've ever seen, and yet somehow the whole event was still charming and electrifying. The streets were so littered that every morning after the bulls run, the fire department comes out with their hoses and hoses down not just the streets but the BUILDINGS, from the ground to about 6 feet up!! They flood the place with so much water that you need to be really careful that you don't get near the roiling, boiling mixture of said piss, vomit, broken glass and trash that flows downhill to wherever they collect it all.

Ultimately, the gun went off and we knew the gate had opened. Then 20 seconds later another gun went off so we knew all the bulls were running. Keep in mind we were about 200 yards from the finish of a 3-mile run and we could see the end but wouldn't know the bulls were near us until they were right in front of us because there was a big building blocking our view to the left. Within about 2-3 minutes, we could see the people up on the balconies beginning to fidget and pointing their cameras down the road so we knew the bulls were near....and then, just like that, the runners on the course that were waiting right in front of us started sprinting away...then a few bulls entered the picture.....some people outran them and made it into the stadium before the bulls did (they got ridiculed and people threw stuff at them for being pansies and not running WITH the bulls)....and amongst the rest there was a lot of scurrying, pushing, shoving, jumping, screaming, avoiding, etc. as the bulls charged through the crowd...and then, calmness. Slowly all the people on the course that had run with the bulls came walking past us, cheering, singing, yelling, drinking, reveling. Stefan and I just looked at each other. Was that it?! I only saw 3-4 bulls, and it didn't look all that dangerous....but click on the lowest photo above to see how big those bulls actually were and how close those big bodies and horns are to the people running in front of them. Ok, maybe I'm glad I didn't get the chance to run. :)

Stefan and I jumped down and said "adios" to each other. I quickly walked over to the stadium and walked into the stands. No one charged me money or asked for a ticket - it was like controlled chaos and no one cared who went in the stadium or how many went in. People crowded the aisles when all the seats filled; it was a fire marshal's worst nightmare. But I was there in the middle of it, checking it out, holding my camera high above others taking video of what was happening below. All the people that had beat the bulls into the bullring or those who'd run with the bulls and gotten to the stadium quickly enough to be inside before the gates shut were now actually IN the bullring. What they do is they let one bull at a time out into the crowd. The bull really has nowhere to run so it just runs at people, who stay in its path as long as they can until they jump aside at the last second, hoping not to get gored, trampled, or thrown in the air. People just want to touch the bull, to get close to it, and to not get killed. Most succeeded. No one died or got seriously hurt, but I saw a number of people tossed in the air the like ragdolls by a well-placed bullhorn, and I also saw a number of people trip and get stampeded by a thousand pounds of frightened mammal. The ambulances took away far more people with alcohol poisoning than with bull-inflicted wounds, I'm positive.

After a little while, I didn't need to watch bulls running around helpless in a sea of people anymore, so I left and I walked through the course and through town watching people party their asses off, at 810 a.m. All the bars were open and they were PACKED. People were wasted drunk, dancing, yelling. People were passed out everywhere. I meandered and just took it all in. I bought a t-shirt. I ate a popular Spanish breakfast, churros and chocolate (basically fried dough dipped into hot, thick chocolate milk the consistency of pudding). I didn't feel like going on a beer bender. Maybe if I'd have been with someone else I'd have felt a little more festive and wanted to party. I know if I'd have had a room, I'd have been able to relax and stay longer. As it was, I was glad I saw San Fermin, and equally glad to get the hell out of there.

Maybe I'll go back next year. If I book now, I can probably find a dorm bed for only $200 a night...

Barcelona

Read the blog, and then come back and look at the photos...they will make more sense. And, you can click on the photos to see an enlarged version. Enjoy!











I finally arrived in Barcelona, after a long supposedly 4-hour train ride that somehow ended up being 5.5 hours. In the Barcelona Sants train station, I exited the long-distance train and navigated my way underground to the subway they call the 'Metro'. I hopped on the light green line to Catalunya and soon I was ascending the steps into the chaos of 'La Rambla". La Rambla is a part of town where there are about a million people wandering around (pickpockets included, so beware) looking at a bunch of crap for sale and watching street performers do their thing. I was prepared for the action because I'd already heard all about it so I just lowered my head and marched on through the sea of people until I finally found my hostel a few blocks away.

Hot, sweaty, dirty, and hungry, I checked into the Somnio hostel. In Latin, Somnio means 'to dream' and this hostel was, in fact, a dream! Honestly, in all of my travels around the world, I have never once stayed in a cleaner hostel. It was more like a sparkling, new hotel with dorm rooms than a dirty, old hostel. It was owned and run by a girl named Lee, who moved to Barcelona a couple of years ago with her sister (Lauren, whom I did not meet) to leave behind the world of investment banking and open up their own hostel chain. Lee was fabulous - not only was she there working the desk, but she was full of valuable information and was truly interested in helping her patrons enjoy their time in Barcelona. She also happened to be very tall and very beautiful....but I digress. Over the next 3 nights and 4 days, I used the Somnio as my home base for my exploration of Barcelona. I didn't really bond with anyone at that particular hostel, though there were a few nice folks staying there at the same time, so I ended up seeing the city by myself.

One day, I just cruised around without a plan, getting lost on foot, knowing that I had a few bucks in my pocket and a map I could use to get home just in case it came to that. I just wandered around the typically Spanish crazy maze of streets, browsing through stores now and then, eating or drinking something that sounded interesting now and then, seeing the more important touristy things, but most of all just getting a feel for the city by being in it. Barcelona was very expensive, but well worth it; it's a beautiful city, situated right on the Mediterranean Sea and with a very mild climate.

I saw the Picasso Museum which was quite interesting. I had no idea Pablo Picasso had been so prolific an artist. There were thousands of drawings and hundreds of paintings...and still there are many, many others in different museums throughout Spain and around the world. Note to any of you that plan to visit: don't try to take a picture when you're upstairs at the museum, even if you haven't yet entered the exhibits: security guards get really pissed, really quickly, and make you feel like a Spanish jail cell is in your very immediate future if you even THINK of snapping that precious photo you want to show everyone back home...so keep it in your pocket! Yes, I know this from first-hand experience.

What else did I see in Barcelona? Well, I went to the beach, which was really great, though not as good as in Valencia. There were a ton of people...and why is it always the old, nasty, leather-skinned women that decide to be topless? Ick. Fortunately, I found an open spot to lay my towel beside a cute, 20-something girl (with a bikini, mom). We didn't talk, but just smiled and each enjoyed our own space. Good karma must have been raining down on me (perhaps for showing such gentlemanly restraint and not staring at this gorgeous girl) because after about a half hour she just up and removed her top and soaked up the sunshine without a care in the world. Why can't American girls be so free and uninhibited? If we saw it all the time, we wouldn't feel the NEED to stare. Ok, we probably still would. And yes, I'm still pissed off that before I left the beach, I decided to walk the length of it. I knew I should've just left, but no, I had to see the whole thing, and that was when I had the unfortunate experience of stumbling onto the nude, gay beach. I felt like a piece of meat because there wasn't any gentlemanly restraint being exhibited here such as I had shown earlier...no, these boys stared hard at me (NO pun intended, truly!!). Whatever floats your boat, man...no judgment...but, hey, I'm out of here. And now, I am deleting that part of my memory and ending it at the part where the young hottie removes her bikini top again. Yeah, that's better!

Antoni Gaudi's amazing architecture was a focal point of the city...or should I say focal POINTS?! In addition to a handful of odd Gaudi-designed Modernist houses/buildings polka-dotting the city, the main two sights are his Parc Guell and La Sagrada Familia. La Sagrada Familia is a church that was started in 1882 but is not yet completed. Gaudi died in 1926 after he got run over by a tram and, in 1938, anarchists destroyed the only copy of the blueprints being used to finish construction. So, over the years, more and more parts have been finished, but it's still not scheduled to be finished until (optimistically, I hear) the year 2026. I did not go inside La Sagrada Familia, choosing instead to just photograph it from the outside, because I heard it was not much to see due to the construction. The outside, however, was just covered in crazy, Catholic sculptures depicting various religious scenes and historical figures. The new construction looks similar, yet quite different from the original, and apparently there are a lot of critics voicing their opinions on how Gaudi would turn over in his grave if he saw the church's evolution...yet I understand an equal number of people think it's just exactly what Gaudi would have had in mind. See the photos above - one is of the older side of the church and one is of the modern side being constructed. Click on them and look more closely at the detail in the sculptures.

Parc Guell was actually not planned to be a public park. In fact, Gaudi was commissioned by some rich dude named Guell to build a huge, hillside housing playpen for the rich and famous. When the project ran out of money after only two houses were built, Gaudi moved into one of them and at some point it was converted into a municipal park. Gaudi's style incorporated a lot of magical mosaics and curved lines and at first glance, it appears that his buildings and sculptures would easily crumble. The site of the park on the hillside is stellar, affording sweeping vistas of the entire city of Barcelona and the distant Mediterranean.

While I was there, I was wandering around in a section of the park with cavernous ceilings supported by pillars that appear to be composed of loose rock (somehow I trusted they were actually solidly constructed) when I happened upon a pretty girl playing guitar and singing. As I was the only person around, I dropped a Euro coin into her guitar case and sat down to listen to the music and reflect on my journey. When she stopped, we started talking and after discovering that I play the guitar too, she offered me her instrument and sat there smiling while I played and sang for HER. We traded back and forth, each playing a couple of songs at a time, for probably 30-40 minutes. At that point, she had to get going to work so she walked with me through the park and pointed out various things along the way of interest. We had someone snap a picture of us at a place which overlooked the city (though the guy who took the photo didn't really capture any of the gorgeous view!!) and traded emails and went our separate ways. And yes, her name was María too. :)

(See the three Parc Guell pics above: one is María playing guitar, one is a mosaic dragon at the park entrance, and one is a view of one of the crazy Gaudi buildings and the city and sea lurking in the distance.)

Oh yeah...Gema and I were going to meet up in Barcelona, remember? Well, we arranged a meeting at the Arc de Triomphe (yes, the French one isn't the only one) one evening at 800 pm. I got there....waited....waited...waited....and she never showed up. At 900, I decided that maybe she'd meant to meet her at the METRO STOP for the Arc de Triomphe instead of at the Arc itself (see photo) so I walked the one block over there hoping to find her. I didn't. The next day, we were able to connect via email and actually did meet up at a different place. As it turns out, she had arrived at the Arc Metro stop at 800 and had waited until 900, at which time she thought that maybe she needed to go look for me at the Arc itself. Somehow we didn't pass each other on the way. But, as I said, I did get to sit with her over dinner the next night for about an hour and a half before I boarded the 10pm overnight train to Pamplona. She was so sweet too, insisting on walking with me to the metro and going down into the tunnel to wait with me for my train instead of running off to meet her work friends. I took the opportunity to try to convince her to come visit Portland someday...she seemed interested and perhaps she'll come out for a Western U.S. National Park trip next year.

Oh, and check out the picture above of the rental bike rack...there are racks like this all over Barcelona (and Seville and Madrid) and you see ALL the locals using these bikes. They pay a monthly rental, and they can take a bike anytime they want from any rack they want...and return it to a rack near where they are going. So convenient and an inexpensive way to travel quickly around town. It's a little amazing that the bikes don't get stolen or vandalized like they probably would here in the U.S. Anyway, as a tourist, I was not their target customer so I got to use my own two feet on the ground instead of on their pedals....oh well.

Next....the Running of the Bulls, in Pamplona, Spain. Oh my God. Just wait for this...

Valencia and the fabulous Gema.

So I arrived in Valencia via train and Gema was there waiting for me. I told her in Spanish over email that I was a tall, skinny, white guy, with a red beard, glasses, and a shaved head. Somehow she found me. Oh, and you can click on the pics above to make them bigger for viewing individually. :)

Gema was immediately wonderful, genuine and disarming, and I knew that the visit with her would be wonderful. She had walked from the condo where she lives with her mom and brother in downtown Valencia to meet me. We walked to my hostel, about 10 minutes away on foot, and dropped off my stuff. We then walked all over town, stopping at some cool places along the way and just getting a feel for the city. We went into a big cathedral and walked up the bell tower for a great view for miles around. We snapped a few photos (ok, I snapped a few photos). We walked along a path in the Rio Turia - this is the most amazing park ever! Years ago, after repeated flooding of the Rio Turia, Valencianos diverted the course of the river to OUTSIDE of the town and converted the old riverbed into a park! Now, for miles and miles, there are nothing but gardens, soccer fields, trails/paths, bandstands, and even bigger, bolder architecture like a massive aquarium, a science museum, and a music museum.

That night, we dined out for an early tapas dinner. Gema ordered several things off the menu for me to try, including chorizo (a spicy sausage), a cured meat (like salami/ham) plate, and a big ol' hunk of octopus. I am not much of a cured meat fan so I would say it was tasty but not special. The chorizo was actually pretty good. But, the octopus was one of the best foods I've ever had. I never knew it could be cooked in a way that was not tough and rubbery; this was melt-in-your-mouth, and was perfectly spiced heaven. I am still dreaming of that octopus. I am thinking of getting one Fed Ex'd to me from that bar. Later that night, as I was still hungry, we stopped into another bar/restaurant and ate pinchos, which are basically various foods on top of a slice of a baguette, held together with a toothpick. You go into a bar or restaurant and the pinchos are sitting out on plates on the counter and you take what you want, paying later when the waitress asks you how many you ate. It's kind of an honor system, but at something like 3.5 euros (about 6 bucks) per pincho, I guess they're not too worried about losing money. (Yes, all food is very expensive over there!!) There is no description of what each pincho is, so you just have to look for what looks good to you and dive in. I did really well, except for the one I hungrily bit into that was filled with anchovy and caviar. It was horrid, and I couldn't stomach another bite. Gema just laughed at me.

I stayed in a hostel (the Red Nest) while in Valencia...nothing special, and with way too many rules. It felt more like a prison than a hostel. Fortunately I spent all my time with Gema except for when I was sleeping!

The next day Gema picked me up in her tiny car (everyone in Europe has a tiny car....and they make due just fine...makes our SUV's seem rather pointless and a bit pretentious...until you want to go up into the mountains camping, I guess) and drove me outside of town, off the tourist track. First we stopped at the Albufera, a beautiful nature preserve just filled with migrating birds. It is a very interesting geography there...it's a freshwater lake just barely separated from the ocean by dunes.

After the Albufera, Gema drove me around an area adjacent to the Albufera in which there were many square miles of rice paddys and orange groves. Her grandfather owns (though he recently sold a large portion of his) land in the area, and his land is used for growing both rice and oranges. Their family apparently has made a good amount of money from the farms, as they have a nice beachfront apartment in the nearby town of El Perelló. Gema and I went to the apartment, met her mother and her mother's husband, and then went to the beach. On the beach we met her sister Amparo and her sister's boyfriend Carlos. Both were super nice, though we didn't sit with them long as Gema and I went for a long swim and walk on the beach. This beach was one of the most beautiful beaches I've seen, with perfectly fine, light-colored sand, no rocks, bathtub-warm water, and of course, the occasional topless females. Later, after a shower to wash off all the salt water, Gema and I headed down to the next town, called El Perellonet for dinner.

This village is where the famous Spanish food called 'paella' originated, and it is still world-famous for serving the best paella. It was stupendous!! In all the places throughout Spain in which I ate paella, it never tasted half as good as it did at the restaurant Gema, Amparo, Carlos and I went to. I had the traditional rabbit and chicken paella that time, although I tried various other types (veggie, seafood) in other restaurants throughout Spain.

We also stopped for some horchata....which is totally different from the Mexican rice milk/sugar/cinnamon drink we are used to here in the U.S. In Spain, it is made from tigernuts (also called chufas), water, and sugar, and served frozen as a kind of "slushy" drink. It was pretty tasty, but I like the Mexican version better.

The next day, I was off to Barcelona...and so was Gema! She had to go there for 11 days for a class, and I was going just because it was the next destination I wanted to see. Unfortunately we couldn't get onto the same train so we went separately. After my morning "cortado" (that's Spanish for a shot of espresso, 'cut' with a tiny bit of milk, and sweetened with a bit of sugar), I headed off to the train station. As I waited for my train to arrive, I noticed the line to get through security getting longer and longer very quickly. I jumped into the line and it was going nowhere. Finally after about 20 minutes, when I started to get concerned about not getting through in time to board my train, I asked the guy next to me (in Spanish, of course), what was going on. As it turns out, he just LOOKED Spanish and was in fact Dutch so he spoke fluent English AND Spanish. Luckily he was there because I would have been incredibly confused had he not been able to explain the situation to me in English. Apparently, someone had committed suicide by jumping in front of the train that was coming to pick us up. So, in Spain, when this happens, no one can do anything at all until they send out someone from the church to bless the body. That meant we waited. And waited. Finally, after about an hour, our train rolled in and they started letting us pass through security. When I got up to the girl checking us through, she asked if I spoke Spanish. I said yes, but fortunately she told the Dutch guy to tell me in English. He told me that they had added four extra cars to the train and our assigned seats were no longer available. We now had to just jump onto one of the last four cars and find the first available seat we could. So, we got out to the area where we were to board, fighting our way through a mass of people ready to jump into any seat they could find, and the electronic readout on the car said "Madrid", NOT "Barcelona". Now we didn't know what to do. Were we even at the right train? Everyone was confused, including the workers on the platform, but somehow my Dutch savior got the word that in fact it WAS the right train. When they opened the doors, we were able to quickly squeeze into a seat and stow our bags on the shelf above us. From then on, it was smooth sailing....but without the Dutch dude, I'd have been competely confused and unsure of what the hell was going on.

That was my last experience in Valencia, except for the Valencia oranges I'd bought at the local market that morning. (Spanish markets are a kaleidoscope of sights, smells, and sounds in which you can purchase anything from a complete pig's head to a whole fish, to a fresh-sliced fruit bowl.) I'd heard so many good things about Valencia oranges....but the ones I bought were terrible! They're better at Fred Meyer. (Of course, once I was somewhere ELSE in Spain, later in my trip, I had absolutely delicious Valencia oranges so they redeemed themselves.)

My visit with Gema was such a pleasant surprise!!! And then I was off to Barcelona, just 4 hours further up the Mediterranean coast from Valencia. The plan was to meet up with Gema sometime during my 3-4 days in Barcelona...

Granada me encanta! (enchants me)

So, Granada. What a cool place! Super tranquil, beautiful setting in/at the base of the hills, with a great mix of Arab and Spanish cultures. I got fat on chicken schwarma and chicken kebobs. The schwarma rivals Chipotle as the best food for the money on the planet. A "schwarma completo" comes with chicken, egg, cheese, some secret special sauce, beets, onion, cabbage, olives, falafel, carrots, and probably a few things I´ve forgotten. The description sounds disgusting, but it was AMAZING!!!

I stayed at the Oasis Backpackers´Hostel again, one of several in the chain, as it was recommended by travelers I met at the Oasis hostel in Sevilla. This Oasis didn't have a pool on the roof, but it was a really, really cool old Granada building, four stories high, with open, dark wooden balconies on each floor overlooking the ground level...and each balcony had long, green, spider-like plants covering the railings and hanging down into thin air.

I met some great people there...Simon from England/Belgium; Chris from Melbourne, Australia, Laurie from Brussels, Belgium; Eric from San Francisco, CA; Andrea from Norway, and Sue-Tan from Singapore. I also saw once again Jessie and Georgina from north of Toronto, Canada (had hosteled with them in Sevilla). I met Emma and Jane from North Ireland and learned all about the Catholic-Protestant tensions that are still going on there...crazy. There are parts of town the girls can´t go to because they´re Catholic and people will report back to their parents, etc. They could even get beat up, so if they dare go, they only go in a group and they watch their backs closely. I can't relate at all; we really take our complete freedom for granted, don't we?

One night, Eric busted out his guitar and a large group of us spent the waning hours of the day up on the hostel roof watching the sun set, drinking beer/Sangria, and singing/playing songs. It was wonderful!

Oooooh....the Alhambra...this is an amazing, historic Arabic military fortress/king's residence that still stands and looms large on the hill above Granada. It is simply magical. The Spaniards, after nearly a millenium of conflict throughout Spain, finally conquered the Arabs in 1492 and retook Granada/the Alhambra. There are so many visitors every day now that you have to go and buy a ticket in the morning and then come back at whatever time they print on your ticket. They do this to make sure there are never too many people inside the fortress at once. I got lucky when I went to buy a ticket because I was alone and that meant I could go in immediately; people that showed up with several friends often had to wait several hours to be allowed in. Anyway, the Alhambra was amazing! First of all, the setting is idyllic and you can see for miles in all directions. Secondly, the architecture is stunning, with an excruciating attention to detail, and you can see how it was essentially impregnable, unless they wanted you in! I guess it was built over several hundred years and each Arabic king added his own stamp to it. It's amazing to imagine something that impressive being built in the years 900-1500 A.D. There are amazing gardens, huge towers, lavish interiors, city views, and immeasurable charm. Photos can't do it justice, but if you'd like a glimpse of the Alhambra and my time in Granada, check out this link:

http://www.new.facebook.com/album.php?aid=63043&l=fee52&id=737430995

On my fourth and final afternoon in Granada, I wanted to buy a souvenir to remind me of my time there so I went into a small shop selling a lot of local wooden crafts. Keep in mind, I had been traveling for over a week in Andalucia (Southern Spain) and really couldn't understand anyone, nor could they understand me. Their Spanish was so fast, and so different (they don't pronounce the last letters/syllables of many words) that it was like learning a new language. Then, I met Maria José, who was working at the souvenir shop (currently her father's, and her grandfather's before that). She is 37 years old and was born on that same street on which she was working the store that day, and has never lived anywhere but Granada!!! She and I just seemed to hit it off immediately, and we could understand each other!!!!!!!!!! I probably hung out there for 45 minutes talking with her in between her times helping other customers. She's been to New Mexico so she was very interested in meeting someone from the western U.S. and talking about her time there. At one point, I decided I wanted to ask her to have dinner with me or something because this was the first person I'd been able to communicate with in Spanish since I arrived. When she came back from helping a customer and I was about to ask her out, SHE asked ME out! Yeah!

Before meeting up with María José, I spent the rest of my afternoon eating one last chicken schwarma and wandering around Granada's crazy maze of streets (the Albayzin, a UNESCO World Heritage neighborhood), in which my hostel happend to be located. I spent a really great hour also with Laurie from Belgium sharing music from each other's iPods, turning each other onto artists the other hadn't heard of. We shared ear buds from the same headphones and we had a bonding moment through music.

Later, María José and I met at the Plaza Nueva at 1030 pm, after she got off work. We walked together, chatting casually, all over her lovely town, with her pointing out various landmarks, talking about the history, etc. We went to her favorite little pub/restaurant for some tapas (small, appetizer-sized dishes popular throughout Spain) and a beer. We ran into her lawyer and his wife on the street and all chatted for a few minutes. We walked along a small creek through town to another plaza, this one directly under the Alhambra up on the hill, which was gloriously lit up at night. We ended up at a little Arabic tea house in which the plan was for me to teach her some English (that plan got scrapped because we were enjoying talking too much to stop the Spanish). Neither of us wanted to smoke the hookah, so we just chatted and chatted. All in all, we ended up spending about 5 hours together and I walked her to her parents doorstep at 330 a.m. (her house was a 30 minute walk outside of town so she wanted to just crash at her parents' place, which was a 5 minute walk away from my hostel and the plaza we were in.) With a gentle hug and a sweet, quick, friendly kiss, we said our goodbyes and wished each other well. That was probably the most special experience of my entire Spain trip; getting off the tourist track isn't always easy to do, so you have to relish the moments when you can bond with someone local.

I arose early the next morning, having already packed my backpack the night before. I hoofed it down to the train station and at about 7 a.m. I hopped on an 8 hour train to Valencia to go meet Gema, a friend of a friend back in the States. I had never even seen a photo of Gema or spoken with Gema, so I had no idea what to expect when I arrived. I hoped it would be fun and not awkward or forced...

Sevilla and Ronda. Boiling, and beautiful.

How exactly did a week and a half go by without my posting a blog? Maybe it´s the 41 degree heat (what´s that, 107 Fahrenheit??). Well, I guess it´s really a combination of having a great time and having limited internet access as well. When I last posted I was in Sevilla, having just gone out for the flamenco show with a big group of other hostelers. So much has happened since then that I will have to give the abbreviated version as best I can remember. :)

Also while in Sevilla, Spain played Germany for the Euro Championships in soccer...and WON!! It was mayhem here, as you might imagine. It had apparently been 44 years since they´d won so the entire country was one gigantic fiesta. I watched the game with a fellow hosteler (an Argentinian lawyer named Madeline) in an outdoor plaza on 2 big TVs with a big crowd of mostly locals. It´s amazing how they wrap themselves in Spanish flags, wear team jerseys, or really wear anything red. It was a noisy, red sea of people chanting, singing, yelling, and drinking. The Spanish are a very passionate people, yet somehow very calm and tranquil at the same time. But, when futbol comes on the tele, watch out! I can still hear in my head the singing..."Ole, ole, ole, ole, ole......"

Have I mentioned yet that Spanish here in Andalucia (the Southern region) is completely and totally different!? It´s totally frustrating for me because they don´t pronounce all the letters of all the words, leaving off s's at the end, and speaking really quickly. They also pronounce some letters differently so words I know well sound like words I´ve never heard before! Generally, while not fluent, I can get by with my Spanish and they tell me I´m pretty good...but here, I can´t understand them, they can´t understand me, and we have to repeat things five times in five different ways at five different speeds before we get the jist of what each other is saying. Slowly my comprehension and speaking are improving a bit, but not much. Anyway...

Sevilla´s cathedral was pretty spectacular and I took a bazillion photos. There was a super high tower that I climbed, taking cool photos from the inside as I ascended. The view from the top was astounding...it was something like 35 levels high! The cathedral was so big and ornate, full of amazing gold plating, wood and stone carvings, and oil paintings, that somehow I missed one corner of one room that has the tomb of Cristobal Colon...that´s Christopher Columbus - when I learned of this later, I felt like I´d lost some of my American-ness, although Spain is so enchanting that it seems that´s happening to me a little bit anyway.

Sevilla´s Plaza de Toros was also really cool. Mary the Canadian hosteler and I took a guided tour of the bullring and its museum. It was mega-hot that day and it was nice to get deep inside the dark, old, arched hallways of the stadium. Our Spanish tour guide was insanely beautiful and did the tour in both Spanish and a difficult-to-understand English. I didn´t understand all of it, but got enough of the history to satisfy me and got a sense of just how important bullfighting is to the Spaniards. I bought a really cool poster to mail home and put on my wall, if/when I someday own a wall...

Sevilla´s quaint maze of streets and mellow vibe was intoxicating, but it was time to move on. I chose to visit Ronda, a town of only about 35,000 people situated dramatically on either side of an incredibly steep river gorge. I did this one on faith, having read it was nice, but not meeting anyone that had actually been there, and not having any hotel reservation. I was not disappointed. It was great because it was off the tourist track, it was less expensive, the gorge was just that...gorgeous, and it had really cool, old Arabic walls/fortresses to view. The only bad part was the bus ride there from Sevilla...it was a million degrees and I was in the back of the bus on a really curvy, hilly road. It was a recipe for disaster and I don´t know how I managed to not lose my lunch on the back of the seat in front of me! But I don´t recommend a two and a half hour bus ride largely spent choking back your own vomit. Ugh.

I only had one day/night in Ronda so I made the most of it. I walked all around the city taking amazing photos, rested in my air-conditioned room during siesta (I had sought out my own hotel room that night as Ronda does not have a hostel), and just generally relaxed and took in the Spanish life. If you walk just 2-3 blocks off the main tourist street here (and in a lot of other cities), you get a much more realistic view of local life. You can eat in local restaurants, drink in local bars, shop in local stores, and pay local prices; in fact, the first thing I generally do when I get to a new town is find the touristy place, and then try to walk straight out of it.

In Ronda I had a really cool local experience. Thus far, I hadn´t connected with any local people, but I ended up making friends with the bartender, server, and cook in a little bar/restaurant I sat in that night in Ronda. The cook was really friendly with me and came out from the kitchen to sit with and talk to me. Turns out she was actually Romanian but has lived in Spain for 10 years. Her Spanish was quite fluent. When she introduced herself, she shook my hand and said that in Romania, that´s the way they do it...with a handshake. Then the server came up and explained that in Ronda (and most of Spain) they do the kiss-on-each-cheek thing so we did that. The cook asked what we do in America and I demonstrated/said that we hug and they all laughed as the cook and I embraced...and then she started making jokes about how her breasts get a nice little press when she gives hugs and she came in for another one. Hilarious! Then they pointed out the bartender, who was across the room and they said that in Madrid, where she´s from, they kiss on the lips to greet. I didn´t believe it, but the bartender came out from behind the bar and planted a kiss right on me. Ok. I´m all for cultural exchange, right?! Anyway, they all turned out to be super nice and I hung out there for a few hours, watching the TV (the Spanish football team was arriving back in Spain after their victory), eating dinner (delicious marinated chicken breast), and drinking (crappy Cruzcampo beer). Yes, mom, I went home alone.

The next day, after waiting in line 30 minutes at the correos (post office), I found out they don´t sell tubes in which one can mail posters. So after walking all over town looking for someone to sell me a rigid tube in which I could mail home my bullfighting poster from Sevilla (and finally finding something decent), I hit the train station to head to Granada...

Oh yeah, I forgot...while in the correos, I had a seat and an older Spanish guy came in with his wife. There was only one seat left and he took it, leaving her standing. I stood up and offered her mine and she took it. He said, a bit smirkingly, "Que caballero", which means "What a gentleman", I believe. Anyway, an hour later, as I walked to the train station, I saw the same couple many blocks away across town and he was opening her car door for her. I walked by and she smiled at me in recognition and I said "Que cabellero" to her and smiled...she laughed, as did he, and I continued on. Guess he learned a lesson from the grungy, American traveler.

On to Granada....mmm.

3:21 a.m.?!?!

It´s 3:21 a.m. as I sit here at Oasis Backpackers´Hostel here in Sevilla. I´m awake!?!?

Today was quite the day. Woke to a "breakfast" of a brown toast called wheat and a warm, slightly sweet drink called milk. Hey, it was free, so who´s complaining?

Hooked up with one of my dormmates, Mary the ballet teacher from Calgary, Alberta, Canada...and we headed off to wander the streets of Sevilla, with the ultimate goal of seeing the Alcazar. The Alcazar is a fortress/palace/gardens of impressive proportions, influenced by a mixture of Muslim and Christian periods of rule here in Southern Spain.

It was AMAZINGLY hot here today...41 degrees Celsius...and as we wandered semi-lost through the Barrio de Santa Cruz looking for the Alcazar, it quickly proved that our brown bread and warm milk breakfast was not going to give us the stamina to make it through the next hour. We stopped at a little cafe and ordered salads. You see, everything so far has been fried carbohydrates so all we were craving was something NATURAL. You can imagine my disappointment when my seafood salad with the dressing on the side was a plate of pasta slathered in garlic mayonnaise with a thin slice of tomato and three kernels of corn as garnish, topped with four sticks of a very fishy "krab"-like nature. Yikes. But, I was starving...

The Alcazar was astoundingly beautiful, and the reward for our efforts was.....the rooftop pool at the hostel!! It couldn´t have come sooner. After the pool we rendezvous´d with another Canadian gal and walked over to the supermercado to buy some real food. I came home and absolutely gorged myself on a banana, a peach, and apple, and enough turkey breast-gouda "sandwiches" to go through the entire package of turkey (no bread). PROTEIN!!! YES!!!

After spending some talking with a few random people about hostelling around Spain, I decided to reserve a bed in a Barcelona hostel for next week since it´s getting to be the busy season and I wanted to make sure I got a decent room in a part of town close to all the cool stuff to see. I worked that out online and then a group of about 15 of us headed off to look for a rumored free flamenco show.

As we stood in a group outside of the hostel and everyone was asking everyone else if they knew how to get where we were going, no one was able to convincingly state that they knew anything about our destination or what route to take. Someone had to step up. Given a map of the spider-like network of Sevilla streets, I leapt up and took control. With an anxious group of folks all wanting to see their first flamenco show, which happened to start in only 15 minutes, I felt the pressure mounting. I knew I´d be a hero if I got us there on time, and that I´d be completely ostracized if I failed to find our location quickly...somehow I rallied all that directional instinct and map-reading prowess that I store deep inside...and we walked in at the moment it started.

This show was quite a find. Not only did it turn out to truly be free, it also turned out to be in a non-smoking venue, with great live music/dancing, in a tiny unmarked club on a tiny street, with mostly locals in attendance. It was a gorgeous performance and it was nice to see it in such a small venue, without amplification for the singer or the guitar player. The passion and intensity were astounding, as was the sweat dripping off of the dancer!

This show ended at 12:30 a.m., but in this town and this country, that is just when things are beginning. I was up for whatever...going home, going out...and since the majority of the group wanted to go out, we did. We walked about a half hour to a club that was supposedly a great place to dance your ass off. When we got in line, everyone quickly realized that most of us were severly underdressed for such a club, given the attire of the other folks we could see waiting to get in. Here it´s still 90 degrees and everyone is in full slacks, shirts, dress shoes, evening dresses, etc., compared to our flip flops, cargo shorts, tshirts, and halter tops. I knew that was likely to happen, drawing on my experience from other travels in which I was denied admittance to a club because I looked like a dirty traveler (looked like!?). As it turned out, one of our group knew a local girl and she met us in the line, which happened to be out the door and continuing about 200 yards up the street. She took one look at us and told us it wasn´t going to happen and that we were wasting our time waiting in line. We then found out it was a 30 Euro cover charge to just get in the door....that´s about $46 and change I think based on today´s exchange rate. Um, no. Dirty, POOR travelers don´t pay that to go dance in a nightclub. We walked on and found another place that was suggested to us, but they denied us because an invitation was required to be admitted. Of course, a couple of our women smiled really nicely and all of a sudden an invitation appeared out of nowhere. After a couple of hours and a couple of beers, the better dressed in the group headed off to then go dancing at what was now 3:00 a.m., while others of us hopped in a cab and headed home. Yes, I just said that they left to GO dancing at 3:00 a.m. Like I said, this country doesn´t even eat dinner until 10 or 11 p.m., let alone go out. Anyway, I am not dancing and, hence, here I sit at now 4:03, stone cold sober and somehow still strangely awake, writing until my wrists hurt.

If I can rouse my ass out of bed in 4 hours, I will head to the local market with a group of folks. I love going to "the market" in other countries...you see such a great part of the culture at such markets. Other than that, I plan to see the cathedral tomorrow, relax in the hot mid-day sun either in the pool or in some little air-conditioned pub, and then head out for the finals of the European Football Championships in which Spain meets the mighty Germany to decide this year´s winner. This country is already buzzing since Spain even made the final, as they apparently are always good but perenially underachieve. If they win, I may have to be prepared to walk home through rioting in the streets. If they lose....I wonder.... :)

Buenas noches, people. I´m having fun, but I´m still thinking aboutcha.
D

Portland to Atlanta to Madrid to Sevilla

Wow. What a whirlwind. What time is it anyway? What day is it? I feel completely discombobulated at the moment, so I apologize if my ramblings that follow seem a bit detached. (And, as sit here, I am drinking a "tinto de verano", which apparently is a red wine with splash of some kind of lemonade and a lemon wedge. It feels mildly refreshing, but I'd rather have a raspberry lemonade of yours, Clint!)

The flight from Portland took off at 610 a.m. and went uneventfully...that is until we landed and got to the gate in Atlanta. We were stuck on the airplane for an hour because they couldn't get the jetway to move out to the door of the jet. Finally, we all had to restow our carryons, and sit down again while we taxi'd to another gate. I was not really affected since I had a 5 hour Atlanta layover, but many others on the plane missed their connections both within the US and internationally.

In the interest of the overall organization of my trip, my plan was to try to get immediately down south to Sevilla after my plane landed in Madrid. If you take the high-speed train (the AVE), it only takes 2.5 hours to go, uh, really far. The train goes something like 280 km/hr...you do the math. The bus takes 6.5 hours. From the US, you have to reserve a spot on the train 5 days in advance, but here in Spain, you can go to the train station and see if there are any open spots. Once I landed in Madrid at 930 a.m. (the next day!!), I figured out which subway/metro to take to get from the airport to the train station (I had to transfer twice and it was confusing), figured out where the ticket office was, and was able to get on a train leaving in 20 minutes. Fortuitous! The next open train was for tomorrow!!

The train ride south was interesting. I was quite tired and dozed now and then, but when I was awake, I saw countryside that really reminded me of a combination of central coastal California and Eastern Oregon. It was arid/semi-arid in appearance, somewhat desolate, with frequent farms, and we sailed through rolling hills spotted with many trees which looked a lot like nut or olive species. The mix of old farm houses and the occasional really old castle-looking dwelling was interesting...and it was startling to rapidly roll into a town now and then chock full of new construction of large apartments/condos and big box stores. Fortunately there weren't many of those. The roofs became redder and the dwellings whiter the further south I got, presumably as it gets hotter and hotter in climate. Buildings are primarily out of stone and red or sand-colored brick. Many of the buildings look exactly the same...much like Chicago where they were all rebuilt after a catastrophic fire. From the looks of it, it seems many more people in this part of the country live in large apartment/condo buildings than individual dwellings.

After arriving in Sevilla at 3:30 p.m., I decided to walk to the hostel I had chosen rather than try to take a bus or taxi. By my partial and incomplete map, it appeared to only be about 1 to1.25 miles. Well, that was right, but since the map sucked and the street markings and layout can only be described as chaotic at best, I ended up walking in circles for 2 hours to go that 1 mile. I finally found it, and did exactly as I suspected I would. I got to know a large part of the city before I even did anything in it. I swear the best way to get to know a city is to get lost in it. Now, from my past travel experiences, I have learned that is is NOT, in fact, pleasant or useful to get lost in a city after dark - and as a result, I strive to arrive in a new city with at least several hours of daylight left just to avoid such an occurance.

I arrived at what appears to be an AMAZING hostel...clean, friendly, well-located, with a rooftop terrace/pool, free internet 24/7, and a separate key card-controlled personal safe for every dormitory bed. Wow. It costs 21 euros (34 dollars on today's conversion rate). I just got back from wandering the streets, drinking Cruzcampo beer (nothing special) and eating tapas (I guess I didn't yet find the good ones). I did have an interesting ham and crackers dish at Bar Alfalfa, where the guy had smoked ham hocks hanging from the ceiling, and he carved me off some slices from one of the while he held the hoof to keep the hock from moving around on him as he cut.

The streets here in Sevilla are very tight and run all different directions. There is no grid and it impossible to not get lost it seems. I am going to check into seeing a bullfight if I can, as well as see the Cathedral and the gardens here. This hostel is full of Americans, which is really odd as I'm not used to meeting many of them when I travel the world. I see...they're all in Costa Rica and Spain. Now I'm going to go for a swim. It's 10:20 p.m. and still about 90 degrees or so, so why not?

Love to all,
Den

Hey everyone!!

I'm going to Spain in 3 days and am psyched!! Right now I'm in the middle of mad, last-minute preparations/packing and trying to tie up loose ends at work before I go.

Interestingly, Spain beat Italy yesterday in the quarterfinals of the 2008 European Football Championships (soccer!!), and therefore they are now in the semifinals. They play Russia on the day I go over there, and the game will be over when I get off the airplane in Madrid. I have no idea if I'll be walking into a countrywide party, or if it'll be like a funeral. From what I understand, they take this more seriously than we Americans can even fathom.

I will write regularly on my blog during my trip (in place of emailing, most likely) so feel free to check back every couple of days if you want to know where I am and what I'm doing.

Adios!

D