You rascas my back, I rasco yours

For the remainder of our 4 day stay in Madrid, I quickly established a rhythm.  In the early morning, Marco would quietly get dressed and leave for his conferences and meetings.  It was so strange to see him in a business suit again after a month of shorts, t-shirts and flip-flops.  I guess this was easing me back to reality slowly!

I would sleep in and only just get up in time for the buffet breakfast downstairs.  At first, I thought that the breakfast was complimentary, but once I realized that they charged $25, I decided to try to eat my money's worth (pretty much impossible - I would have had to stuff myself with jamon probably).  But it really was one of the best breakfast buffets I've ever had (if you ever go to Madrid - stay at the Tres Cibeles - great location and nice rooms just don't book a single).  It was divided into large sections, one for cold cuts and cheese; another for artfully arranged fruit in small glassware and yogurt, and 6 large jugs of different juices ; the third for a  selection of pastries and bread; a hot food section with scrambled eggs, sausages and Spanish tortillas, and the last was a smorgasbord of tiny desserts which I never had room to even sample.  Breakfast usually took around an hour for me to get through.

By then, I was itching to go into the sunshine and take on Madrid.  However, the city had surprisingly few Big Hits to offer.  Aside from a smattering of museums and art galleries, there was just the palace, the bull ring, and a large park.  Marco had asked me to save the palace and the park so that he could go on the weekend with me, so I thought I would attack the Prado art gallery and the Reina Sofia by myself first.

I left for the Prado around 11am, thinking that after eating such a massive breakfast it should at least hold me over until I finished the museum.  Man, did I ever underestimate how long it would take me to go through the place.  After 3 hours, I barely walked through the first floor, never mind touching the rest of it.  The place was like a maze of rooms, and even after my second trip there I still did not get my bearings.

It was a lovely day though, and I certainly took my time with this excursion.  The walk itself from my hotel to the museum was beautiful.  One of the main thoroughfares to get there,  the Pasaje de Prado, had a small strip of a park that was literally built along the center of the road, dividing the two lanes.  It reminded me very much of the Pan Handle in San Francisco.  It was so nice and warm that day that it seemed almost a shame to spend so much time in doors.  So, after I arrived and got my ticket, I sat down for a little while to bask and people watch.

However, to my great surprise, I was immediately approached by two teenage Spanish boys, awkward and spotty, asking me if I spoke English.  Apparently they had some sort of a school project for their English class to collect information regarding tourists.  I happily complied, but after it was all over, it struck me what an amazing opportunity that would have been to practice my Spanish - you rascas my back, I rasco yours right?
So after the boys left, I patiently waited for the next bunch and offered an exchange - they could ask me the questions in English but I would give them the answers in Spanish.  It turned out to be a great conversation!  I surprised myself with actually being able to piece together a coherent response - I told them where I was from, what I planned on visiting in Madrid, where else I had been in Spain, and what my favorite Spanish dish was so far (langostinos a la plancha).

By then, it was already noon before I stepped foot into the museum. After 3 more hours in the museum, I was tired, and starving and had to admit defeat.  But the main goal of the trip, to finally get acquainted with this Goya that the Spanish are so infatuated with, was at least somewhat accomplished.  I was really astonished at
the quality of the art there - so many pieces were just so intricate and gorgeous that I would be staring at it for a long time.  Here are some of my favorites:

  (this painting really captivated me, but I don't know the name of it and now I can't find a decent photo of it online!  Wasn't allowed to take any photos in the museum)


Life Sized Portraits of Adam and Eve               I loved this miniature saltcellar.  The merman was gorgeous
The anatomy was incredible.                              and the whole thing was adorned with precious jewels

In fact, I was so captivated by certain paintings, that I thought it would have been such an awful shame for Marco to miss them.  One day, he finished his meetings early and I gave him a whirlwind tour of all of my favorites in less than two hours - we skipped a lot and only stayed for the truly stunning pieces.  Again, we did not have time to even touch the second floor.  I guess we're just going to have to come back again some day -- but only on an expenses paid business trip.  My last impression of Madrid is that it's a great city for business, not so much if you're simply there on vacation.

Navigating Madrid

Getting to Madrid was definitely the easiest part of our first day in the Capital city - one stop high speed AVE train took us from Sevilla to Madrid in a lightening fast one and a half hours.  Pretty amazing.  I loved watching the Spanish country-side zooming past, and even though it lacked the lush greeness of the English countryside, it certainly exuded its own charm of olive groves and quietly grazing sheep. 

Getting my first glimpse of Madrid from the taxi, I finally understood just how much of a Big City it was - wide open streets, long rows of shops, congested traffic... I could almost believe that I was back in America if not for the ornately decorated buildings, random sculptures and massive squares.  It was a surprisingly welcoming sight, particularly to know that I wouldn't be afraid to go out by myself and get lost in a maze of dark and narrow little streets.

However, all that excitement completely evaporated when we got to the hotel.  It was a nightmare.  The lobby was strangely located on the second floor, and we had to cram ourselves and our luggage into a teeny elevator (no tipping also means no bell-boy to help with bags).  When the doors opened, the pungent, chemical smell of paint hit me in the face - the hotel was deep in the midst of renovations.  The entire mid-section of the hotel was blocked off with a plastic curtain and the place looked strangely bare with all the furnishings removed.  I immediately started to bristle with indignation - didn't these people know how toxic paint fumes can be?  But it would be too difficult to lug our stuff through the city to look for a new hotel just right now, so I thought we'd at least check in for the time being.

That was until we got up to our room and opened the door - it wasn't so much of a room as a broom cupboard.  Only one tiny twin bed squeezed next to a desk - it really was about the size of a college dorm room.  Urrrrghhh.... What kind of business are they running here? Asians aren't that thin for goodness sakes.  It was another hour before Marco managed to get us into another room, which was located on the top floor far away from the construction mess.  I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that it was a normal hotel room.

By the time we got out to explore the city, it was past 2 and all the tapas restaurants close at 4pm for a short siesta and to prepare for dinner.  I was anxious to get to Cava Baja, the gastronomic center of Madrid but we also wanted to stop by the San Sebastian Mercado first - it had the reputation of being one of the best foodie markets around.

 
As usual, good food totally lifted my mood.  I was amazed at the quality of food at the market - each stand specialized in different varieties of appetizer sized gourmet food.  Rows upon rows of tiny flat breads topped with brightly colored caviar, pink rolls of juicy salmon, piles of oysters, cooked shrimp of every size imaginable, trays and trays of differently pickled and stuffed olives, I was in foodie heaven.

People amassed in groups, all counter tops were filled with delicacies heaped high on small plates and wine glasses were squeezed into all nooks and crannies.  Marco and I only had so much time, and so much room in our stomachs, so we carefully circled the entire place to decide where we wanted to start first.  Or rather, Marco walked slowly while I was literally buzzing with eagerness and hunger -- all I wanted was to sink my teeth into something!!



We finally made our pick and everything was truly delicious.   I only wish we had more time to sample all the food there!  But the promise of another street filled with Madrid's tastiest Tapas bars spurred me on.  I hurried Marco to finish up and we quickly made our way towards that small street.  I had already been warned that it was notoriously hard to find, so it did not surprise me when we got lost.  I asked three people for directions - getting quite good at that by now in Spanish - the last of which told us that we were extremely close and that it was the third street on our left.

By then, it was already 3:45pm and I knew that we were running out of time and my belly was again growling.  It was so frustrating to walk up and down that street, hunting for Cava Baja, dreaming of all that good food while passing other cafes that were already looking like they were ready to close.  Finally, Marco and I settled on a different cafe and cut our losses.  On our way home, we were dismayed to find that one of the tiny side streets that we had ignored actually had the sign that we were straining to find.  This was totally my version of Murphy's Law - you only find the good restaurants when you are not hungry, and they somehow  always evaporate when you're actually trying to find them.

Your Compañero SMOOSHED it!!!!

Our very last night in Sevilla obviously left us very anxious to have the last bite of our favorite dish that the city had to offer.  I barely hesitated before I decided that the tastiest morsel was the Pork Cheeks from Bar Europa that we had the first night we were here.

Bar Europa is right on the corner of the street that we live on, so we see the Waiter around all the time.  And somehow it's always the same guy, whether we're going to lunch around noon, or out drinking at 11pm at night.  Naturally, we always greet him, and by now, at the close of a month, I've begun to believe that we've built up quite a nice little rapport with our daily Holas and Qué Tals.

However, as soon as we were seated, I started to realize that this same Waiter was barely giving us any attention.  We sat there twiddling our thumbs for a really long time before he would even come over to give us a menu, even though I had tried to flag his attention whenever he was serving the tables close to ours.

I managed to brush this all to the side, thinking that he was just extremely busy and probably grumpy from being overworked.  That's why when he was taking our order, I said in my best Spanglish, "Your Pork Cheeks are la mejor en Sevilla!!" Big smile.
He gave a half snort and twitched his cheek before hurrying me on with giving the rest of our order.

Despite the waiter's brusque manner, I was still really excited about our food.  Scrambled eggs with various ingredients, or Revultas, were somewhat of a specialty in Sevilla because I kept seeing it crop up in tapas menus, but somehow, it had never occurred to us to actually order one until tonight.  Plus, the Waiter had given us the suggestion to order Plato Del Dia instead of what we had originally picked out because it just happened to be a scrambled that day of eggs with asparagus and cod.  Or at least, that's what I thought had happened....

Our first dish was literally served to us while he was in a trot.  He didn't even slow down when he slipped some baked egg plant lasagna-esque dish on our table with a "It's Very Good," and dashed off again before we even knew what happened.  Naturally, we have all ordered dishes in Spanish which have come out totally different to our expectations so I was only a little confused at not having ordered anything with egg-plant in it.  We immediately dug in, completely ravenous.

Next, he came clasping two scrambled egg dishes and now, to my amazement, proceeded to unload both and trotted off again, apparently not hearing my half mumble of "Hey! We only ordered ONE!" with my mouth full and my arms waving.  That's when I started to realize that perhaps we had not ordered the first dish either.

Very soon, there was no room left on our table for the dishes that we actually did order, and that's when a slow rumbling rage started building up in my no longer rumbling tummy.

When I finally managed to get the man over to our table, I told him indignantly that we clearly only ordered one scrambled dish - substituting the one he had suggested instead of the one that I first ordered.  However, all he said was, "No, I said 'Dish of the Day is good', and you said, I will take that!" and immediately walked off again.  Things were getting ugly -- you don't wanna push Lucia too far.

Seeing as it was our last night, Marco convinced me to just take the uneaten food to go for the morning.  So when another waiter (not the grumpy one) came out to give us the check, I told him I'd take everything uneaten to go -- all of this in Spanish.  But even though he repeated what I said with complete comprehension, his hands did not cooperate and he proceeded to stack one plate on top of the other, so that all the food was completely ruined.

That's when my fuse blew.  I flatly told the waiter that we weren't paying for the dish that we didn't order, and when the mean Waiter came over, I looked at him squarely in the eye and said,
"FIRST. You gave us an extra dish that we didn't order so we had too much food, SECOND, when I asked for that para llevar, your... Compañero SMOOSHED IT!!!!" I accompanied this with loud smooooshing gestures with my hands and glared at him as fiercely I could.  Marco loooooved all of this and replayed my performance to me many a time since.  I didn't care - moral victory for me was a thousand times greater than the price of the dish we got refunded.

Don't under-estimate Lucia!!!

All around the world

In light of our quite sudden decision to interrupt our trip with coming back to the USA for a week for Marco's brother's wedding, which then ended up being a one-month long detour through Madrid, London, Chicago, Vegas, SF, then our scrapping coming back to Seville altogether and instead choosing to spend the next leg of our trip in Barcelona and the South of France, I have had to make a decision about this blog, as well as it's title.

For those of us without a job, this is as serious of a decision as it gets :P

Anyway, I just wanted to explain why, for the next two months, I will be going on about our various adventures and gastronomic enterprises throughout various parts of Europe and the US except Sevilla.

Thank you for your cooperation.

"Let those who see it built will think we were mad"

4/12/2010

When tourists arrive in Seville, most of them make a bee-line straight to the Cathedral.  It is one of the largest in the world, and certainly the largest of the Gothic cathedrals.  However, seeing as we feel as though we live here, we have kept putting this off until now, our second-to-last day in Seville.  A mad scramble to find out whether the our wonderful walking tour guide was available resulted in a last minute booking and our rushing to the meeting place after lunch.



 It certainly did not disappoint.  The interior of the cathedral was absolutely massive, housing 80 separate smaller chapels, and simply walking around it took a long time.  Our tour guide walked us around to the most famous of the chapels, explained small details and unlocked secrets that we otherwise would never have known.






 For example, in one of the chapels hung a large painting by Goya, one of the most famous and beloved Spanish painters.  the painting depicted two young girls holding palm leaves, looking up toward the heavens, with a large lion licking the feet of one of the girls.  These girls, Justa and Rufina, are the two protectors of Seville because they refused to bow down to Roman gods and were martyred.  However, legend goes that it took the Romans three attempts to finally kill the girls because fires refused to light and lions refused to eat them.  Later this week, when I traveled to the Madrid and walked around the Prado museum hunting for Goyas, I came across a small miniature of this exact painting, with all the details in-tact, that served as the blue-print for Goya before he painted the larger one in the Cathedral.  It was one of my favorite moments when I stumbled upon this, and I even took Marco back to it later that evening to show him seeing as he was stuck in meetings during the day, poor thing.

Another amazing room housed the treasures of the Cathedral, and there were plenty. The most resplendent was the crown that was placed on Mary.  At first, all I saw were the letters at the top of the crown glittering like nothing I had ever seen before in the light.  I was puzzled because the lettering were so fine that I was already amazed that gold could be worked in such detail back then.  Only when I looked closer did I notice that it was laced with tiny diamonds, rubies, and other precious stones that made the entire thing look like a focused sun-beam.  And also, the white dress worn by the angel in the front and center of the crown was carved from a complete pearl.  They were clearly skimping on cost, these people, while they were at it, why not just carve a replica of Mary from a complete slab of diamond?

In the same room were also lots of gold and silver cases housing the relics of saints.  A particularly large case, a kind of elaborate magnifying glass, held what looked like a long brown twig. I was very puzzled at why that would be so revered.  Only then did my guide reveal that this was a gift from a French king who took part in the Crusades and apparently came upon Christ's crown of thorns.  He broke one part off, which is now housed in the silver case that was right in front of my eyes.  Apparently no DNA tests have ever been performed on the relic to confirm its origins because no one in Seville particularly wants to know the answer....

The highlight of the cathedral had to be Christopher Columbus' tomb, which was held up by the personifications of the four regions of Spain: Castile, Leon, Aragon and Navarre.  Apparently, poor Christopher did more traveling after his death than when he was alive, as he first interred at Valladolid, then at the monastery of La Cartuja in Seville. In 1542 the remains were transferred to the Dominican Republic. In 1795, when France took over that entire island, Columbus' remains were moved to Havana, Cuba. After Cuba became independent following the Spanish-American War in 1898, the remains were moved back to Spain, to the Cathedral of Seville.  Then, because the Dominicans still claimed that Columbus' remains never left their country and that they had sent another body to Cuba, in order to finally resolve this mystery, Columbus' current surviving relative had the body removed and sent to Houston, where DNA tests were done and finally confirmed a match with Columbus' brother's DNA.  Now, finally, this poor guy can rest! 





The entire structure of the Cathedral took almost a century to finish, and was built on top of what previously was a mosque.  The new cathedral kept the Minaret of the mosque in tact, and climbing it revealed the best place to see a view of Seville's old town seeing as it is in the heart of El Central.  

Climbing the Minaret was great fun because instead of steps, ramps were installed - it's necessary because altogether there were 34 floors of ramps! I don't think we would have had the use of our legs had it been flights of stairs.  Small windows from each level wafted in with gentle breezes and dazzling sunlight, giving us incentive to go up even faster. The views from the top were also absolutely breath-taking and well worth the journey.

Polka Dot Extravaganza

3/11/2010

It's our last week here in Seville!  So I'm finally getting around to what I've been meaning to do the entire time I've been here -- put up a flamenco fashionista post.  

 To celebrate the Feria (April Fair), the girls here all get decked out in the newest style of flamenco dresses.  The festival lasts for an entire week, and often music, dancing, and celebrations are non-stop for 24 hours.  Naturally, each girl wants to out-do all the others, so it's simply not acceptable to keep wearing the same dresses year after year, and certainly not for the entire week.

 
 Because they need to show off all the right curves, all the dresses get tailored to fit and the wearable dresses all start around 400-500 euro.  To my un-trained eye, I could barley differentiate between the styles when I first arrived.  All I saw were yards of ruffles and polka-dots.  Hopefully from these photos you'll be able to distinguish more than me!

 Even the littlest of girls get dresses - but these can get retailored a few years to let out more material so parent's don't have to break the bank every year with new dresses.

The accessories are composed of a big bud of fake flower in the hair, long dangling earrings and chunky necklaces and bracelets of every color and pattern to match the dresses.  Needless to say, there will be a riot of color at the Feria.





One of the Germans in our Spanish classes was working now at the Flamenco museum, so I was treated to a free tour of their museum as well as a free Flamenco show (photos later).  It was superb, and I got to see the costumes that the Flamenco stars wore from decades before.  The woman who sponsored the museum, Cristina Hoyos, is a world-famous flamenco star whose career spanned almost four decades.

  This dress is particularly well known because it is the original that Cristina Hoyos wore for a dance during the inauguration ceremonies for the 1992 Summer Olympics held in Barcelona.



 

Four Days Crammed Into One

Today was definitely the most action packed day that we've had in Spain so far.  I still can't believe how much we crammed in, and with such a late start!   The morning started on the chilly side, so we decided to take advantage of the hotel pool before setting off.

We only planned on staying at the beach for one night, and we wanted to make the most of having the car before heading back to Seville.  So what does Marco suggest -- teaching me how to drive with a stick-shift on the rental car!  We spun around in that parking lot so many times that Marco got dizzy.  I'm so proud that I did not grind the gears a single time!! Learning how to start the car without stalling on first gear was the most challenging part - but I think I have the hang of it now, as long as no one is behind me is pressuring me to move right away.  I'm still a bit timid about pushing down too much on the gas in fear of zooming into a wall, or in coming traffic. All in all, it was a fun hour.

Next, we decided to go back to Cadiz seeing as the first stop yesterday was so rushed.  I loved it every bit as much this time.  We stumbled upon the Torre Tavira - the highest point in Cadiz at the top of a watch-tower.  There was also a camera obscura at the top of the tower, which allowed us to have a 360 degree tour of the entire city inside a dark room.   An image of the city was projected onto a huge white screen that could be manipulated up or down to focus, just like a camera lens.  It was incredible to see clothes being dried on clothes-lines fluttering in the wind on that screen, just like a miniature photo that was magically moving.

We then covered the entire city on foot in search of a coffee shop that also served good pastries - it was Sunday and of course, the open establishments were mostly Cervesarias. Finally, we came across a little place tucked away in a quiet but sunny alley.  After snagging a table outside in the sun, Marco ordered a drink with a delicious sounding name - Cafe Bonbon - which was an espresso with condensed milk (Vietnamese coffee in disguise).  When my drink came out, as soon as I tasted it, I said - this much be French!  And it was actually made by a French person! I knew because it was the most amazing, frothy, creamy Cappuccino I had ever tasted.  It was so good I almost considered taking a walk around the block and coming back for another - despite my swearing off coffee since the bar exam.  The desserts were also out of this world; almost worth going back there just to taste everything on the menu.

By then, it was getting to be almost five, and I was anxious to get back before it started to get dark.  However, as soon as we approached Seville, Marco insisted on driving around more to get a better sense of the city before we returned the car.  Much to my surprise, he insisted on driving right into the heart of the old town to get to our house - he gallantly insists that he did this so that I could use the bathroom in the comfort of our apartment but I secretly know that it was for me to drop off our luggage.  Getting in is the easy part, getting out was freakishly difficult.  I explained earlier that the old town is a maze of tiny streets, well, they are so tiny that our car (which is seriously miniature) could only scrape through by the hair's width.  In fact, we had to both fold down our side-view mirrors to squeeze through.  Even Marco professed to some heart palpitations during this experience, you could just image the mess I was in.

After making it out alive, and unflattened, I was very much hoping to get rid of the car.  But Marco was much rejuvenated by the thought of food, so we drove around some more in search of a Chinese restaurant.  We then ate far too much and had to walk it all off, taking an entire two mile lap around the Guadalavier river, which was really stunning at night.  Of course, naturally, we stopped to take some photos on the bridge.  At this point, Two randomers stopped by and pointed to our camera, then pointed back at themselves.  I said, totally confused "You want me to take a photo of you...with my camera."  And they nodded!  I looked at Marco - did these crazies forget their camera want us to email them the photos or something?  But it turned out that they wanted me to be in the photo with them! Babbling on about "photo with a local Seville-people." Hmm...looks a lot like a Guido and a Guidette to me. Anyway, that's how this special photo came into being.

By now, it was approaching 11pm and we still had to find the train station where we had to return our car and fill up on gas.  Of course, this is when we get a bit lost, and a little more so trying to find the very poorly sign-posted rental car agency in the dark.  But of course, it all works out with 20 minutes to spare before the place shut down.  Luckily by then I was too exhausted to feel that nervous.  Just so happy to finally.... zzzzzz

Don't worry...'bout a thing

Marco and I have just returned from a two day extravaganza at Cadiz and Chiclana de la Fontera.  While we were walking along the Guadalavir river here in Seville last week, both of us came to the realization that what we needed to truly relax was water.  After some brief research, I discovered that the closest beaches to us was also rated as one of Spain's best - those along Cadiz and further south in Chiclana.

The best way to get there was to rent a car and drive.  I have to say, I was more than a little nervous about this - and was made even more so after Marco told me that he did not get a GPS with the car.  The road signs in Spain are next to nill, particularly in places where you really need them to be.  On top of that, insert some crazy drivers and incredibly narrow city streets, and voila, you have a recipe for disaster.  However, amazingly, (and I will take the credit here for some sharp sign-reading), we barely got lost at all.  In fact, the time that we wasted was purely because of our self-doubt causing us to back track and then stop to ask when we were going the right way all along.

It was totally worth it though - I loved the experience of driving through the Spanish country-side, looking at the wide expanses of olive groves and green fields. We stopped first at Cadiz, which is probably one of the oldest cities in western Europe, as well as the port for all the trade ships coming from the West Indies and the Americas.  There are also a bunch of beaches bordering the city itself.  I loved it for being such a relaxing, sparkling beach city - I totally felt relaxed after just being there for a short time.  I could tell that people there were just happy and easy going - nothing like the beach culture to melt stress away!

The very best part of our trip all was the fact that the sun started shining as soon as we got to Cadiz.  It was heavy and gray all the way from Seville, and I had frankly feared the worst when I saw some droplets of rain on our windshield (thinking back to a rain-drenched cruise in the Caribbean I took 2 yrs ago).  But everything cleared up like magic once we got close to the water.  Obviously once I saw that, I couldn't wait to go to the beach to soak up the sun and our stop at Cadiz was hastily concluded.  Our hotel was about an hour south of Cadiz, and was situated right in front of La Barrosa, supposedly one of the best white sand beaches in Spain.

Both the beach and the hotel far exceeded our expectations.  The hotel had a gorgeous pool that looked like it had been cut out from a postcard from the Bahamas.  Our room was also roomy enough to fit five people in it easily - awesome!  And the beach was soooo incredible.  The sand was so fine and soft, we were both scrubbing our feet in it for exfoliation!  And by four o'clock in the afternoon, it was just the perfect temperature to lie out and bask.

The day ended with a great dinner, which we completely over-ordered (restaurants here have huge discrepancies between what is a "tapa" size and a "media racion").  Also a funny side note - who would have thought that the entire downtown area near our hotel would be filled with pizzarias? We ate at what seemed to be the only place that was a "regular" Spanish restaurant.

Granada

Dinner at a Moroccan Restaurant/Shisha Bar

It is SO AMAZING here!!!! I am so absolutely in love with this place I don´t even know where to start with describing it.  First of all, the city is just an amazing exotic mix between Arab and Spanish culture.

Tea Room

 Side by side with tapas restaurants (where your tapas is free with a drink) are shisha bars, kibob and shwarma joints, and an entire street filled with tea rooms.

The city is also hilly, which is totally different from flat Seville.  It reminds me a lot of SF in that way, with the early mornings being a bit cooler and things heating up quickly in the middle of the day.  The view is also more beautiful than Seville because of the amazing vistas that you can see from the tops of the hillsides, particularly of the grandeur of the Alhambra palace nestled on top of the mountaintop. More about Alhambra later, I have enough photos of that extravaganza to fill a book.

We are staying at the famous White Nest hostel, where apparently many reviewers say that this is the best hostel they´ve ever stayed at.  The service certainly did not let us down.  As soon as we got there, steaming cups of tea met us with friendly faces, one of whom sat down with us for ten minutes and drew out a detailed walk on a map along with markings of all the best tapas restaurants and places to visit.

Tastiest Clams Ever!

Mushroom Risotto with Crispy Jamon

At 10pm that night, we ventured out on the town on a tapas tour.  We experienced some great tapas - including pescaitos (tiny fried fish), langostino plancha (grilled shrimp), some jamon wrapped in a cheese on a toast point, and finally finished things off absolutely amazing mojitos for only three euros a pop.
 Did I mention that in order to receive a free tapas dish you must order an alcoholic drink? People here are just trying to get you drunk all the time.  

Tour Group

The next morning, we went on a free walking tour of the city that was also arranged through the hostel (really two thumbs up with this place, guys! Stay here if you´re ever in Granada).  Now this really was excellent.  The tour guide is an Aussie who truly knows his way around the city, winding us up and down the hillsides to visit the Jewish quarter, then the Arab quarter of the city, interspersed with stopping at particularly beautiful spots to relate interesting tidbits about the history of Granada.  Much of it revolved around the Arabic influence.

Islamic Baths; Hammas

I learned that when the Christians reconquored the city from the Arabs, they gave everyone who chose to stay and convert a name that was particularly marked in its Christian symbolism so these Arabs could be tracked for years to come.  For example, Iglesias (church), Banderas (flag) and Cruz (cross)  -- know anyone with these last names? An Enrique, or an Antonio perhaps? Even a Penelope?  Their last names reveal that they all have Arab roots in their ancestry.  Basically, what I got was a real live history lesson, delivered on the site where all the action occurred.  Nothing could have been better.

Famous Flamenco Cave

I also heard about the Guitanos (Gypsies) that live here.  Before today, I had no idea that Gypsies actually originated from Rajastan, India!!  They then roamed all over the world, and many of them came to settle here, and became virtuosos at the flamenco guitar.  There is actually a mafia culture over flamenco here, where only members of certain families can play in certain areas of the city.  My tour guide, who is learning himself, promises that he has heard some of the best flamenco guitar of his life just hanging out at these bars.

There are also many caves high up in the mountainside, where many hippies reside.  The rock is very soft here, and lends itself well to digging.  Unbelievably, many homes there merely have facades of a regular house, but once you go in, you quickly realize that you have actually stepped into a cave. 

Alhambra in the Background

Although brief, hopefully this description has given you a flavor of the collision of many cultures in this city.  It is what I love best about it, and what gives the atmosphere here such a sense of mystery.  Tonight, I sat watching the sun set over the Alhambra palace from the hilltop Plaza St. Nicholas.  I felt like I was lost in an ancient, beautiful and tragic world, where greatness once bloomed and died on these hillsides.