"Tales of the Alhambra"

A quick back-story: I have known Arturo for three years now. We met on the first night of my first trip to Paris. A friend and I were sitting at a bar enjoying a drink when the two men next to us engaged us in conversation. At the end of the night we exchanged numbers thinking there might be a possibility of meeting up later in our trip but little did we know that years later we would still be in contact with them. Arturo was one of these men.

When I first moved to Spain I was overwhelmed by all the unfamiliarities I was being faced with but above all I was lonely and missed my friends. I was confiding my woes to my lovely and dear friend Megan one evening over an impromptu Skype date when she suggested that I get in touch with Arturo to see if he could come for a short visit. When asked he readily agreed and the weekend getaway planning commenced.

For one reason or another it wasn’t until my trip to Paris that Arturo and I were finally able to choose a date for our travels. Over glasses of wine and the sound of muted French conversations we found a weekend that worked for both of us and would allow us ample time to tour the city he most wanted to see, Granada.

Oct 22-24. Unfortunately, our trip didn’t start out the way either of us hoped it would. Through some mishap in communication (which I blame on the abundant amounts of wine being consumed during the planning process) Arturo and I each finalized the remaining aspects of our joint vacation… on two different weekends. In retrospect I should have known that finding a weekend that worked for both of us had been too easy that night in Paris. I realized that our trip was being planned for different weekends only two days before Arturo was to fly into Spain. I scrambled to buy Alhambra tickets and make hotel reservations at the last minute (as I had planned both of those things for the following weekend). Thankfully, all of this rearranging was easy enough to accomplish and two days later Arturo and I were on our way to Granada.

My first impression of Granada was that it was a city full of charming, narrow streets that wound their way through the historic city while providing occasional glimpses of the Sierra Nevada’s and picturesque views of the Alhambra sitting perched on its cliff.

My second impression of Granada was that it was a city full of roads so small that they should have been designated one-way streets, twisting their way through the confusing heart of a city where you were more likely to lose a side mirror than catch a glimpse of the Alhambra poised above you.

My third impression of Granada was that it was a city with too few parking lots, too many slow buses making frequent stops and always seemingly in front of you, claustrophobia inducing death traps known as roads that snaked their way through limbo. And the Alhambra? Forgot about it, I no longer cared. My only thought was to find the hotel, a bathroom, and a place for Arturo to smoke.

After an hour of driving the same 10 kilometer stretch of road, and before I did massive damage to my car or my traveling companion, we were finally able to find our hotel (which we had driven in front of at least four times during our expedition) and track down a parking garage where we could stow my car for the duration of the trip. It was the best feeling in the world to give someone else the keys to my car and walk away from it.

Thankfully, our trip became exponentially more pleasant once we were finally able to abandon the car. As we walked along the streets, so much easier to navigate by foot, my first impression of Granada gradually returned. A few hours later, after a delicious dinner, a few restorative cigarettes (Arturo), and a bottle of wine (myself), I found that my initial impression had been completely re-established and would remain for the rest of our trip.  An additional bottle of wine later and I couldn’t remember where I was, who I was with… or why I couldn’t find my keys.

The next morning dawned just a little too early and bright. I wanted curl up and fall back to sleep until afternoon or, at the very least, be served a large cup of strong, dark coffee in bed.  As luck would have it, I got neither of those things. Instead I pulled myself together, persuaded Arturo out of the room, and headed out into the day. We had tickets to visit the gardens of the Alhambra and I wasn’t about to forfeit our entry time just because we were a little tired.

Half way up the path that led to the Alhambra I nearly changed my mind and retreated back to the hotel. I hadn’t realize how much of a climb we would encounter and without fortifying water and coffee I was in no condition to be hiking up the side of a mountain (and by mountain I mean small hill- but my perception was skewed at the time). Mercifully, Arturo spotted a gift shop and in moments we were walking through the gates of the Alhambra with coffee and bottles of water in hand. I don’t know if it was walking among the beautiful gardens or the rejuvenating effects of the beverages but I rallied and ended up spending a very enjoyable morning touring the grounds.

I hate to admit that before my arrival to Spain I had a very superficial knowledge of the Alhambra. Meaning I had heard the name once, maybe twice before, but didn’t know what it was or even where it was located. For those of you who, like me, don’t know much about the Alhambra, never fear, here is a very condensed history lesson (tip: skip to next paragraph if history isn’t your thing). Apparently there have been various forts and buildings on this site since the 9^th century but the Alhambra as we know it today did not come to life until the 13^th century when the first king of the Nasrid Dynasty (the last Moorish empire in Spain) chose it as the site for his royal residence.  When the Nasrid Dynasty was conquered by King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella in 1492 (yes, the same year that Columbus sailed the ocean blue) portions of the fortress and palace were used by the Christian rulers. Some changes were made to the structures but generally most of the site’s Moorish architecture remains. It became a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1984.  

The Alhambra is the most visited tourist attraction in Spain and due to conservation efforts the number of people allowed admission per day is limited.  It’s best to reserve tickets in advance because, while you can purchase tickets at the ticket office, there is always a line and your long wait will not necessarily guarantee you entry. Since I was forced to amend our viewing date, I was unable to secure a ticket to visit all three attractions as they were sold out of visiting times to see the Alcázar (palaces) and the Alcazaba (fortress). We had to settle for enjoying the gardens and Generalife.

The photos that I have from that morning definitely don’t do the site justice but hopefully they will give you a basic idea of what the area looks like.

The use of water is a special element of the gardens

Carefully manicured hedges leading to the Generalife

Inside the Palacio de Generalife, where the Moorish kings went to "get away from it all"

Me and Arturo in the Generalife

The rest of the day we spent walking through the Albayzin district which was once the Moorish quarter of the city. I quickly noticed that all the hippy and artistic people of Spain seemingly converged in this area. The smell of pot greeted us around every corner and a young man called down from his window asking us if we would like some “herbs.” Don’t worry, Dad, we declined. The Mirador de San Nicolas, an outlook providing spectacular views of the Alhambra, was filled with musicians and street vendors selling their wares. My favorite part of the afternoon was happening upon a busker who was playing a Spanish interpretation of Ben Harper’s “Burn One Down.” After that, Granada, and more specifically the Albayzin, had won a special place in my heart.

The steets of the Albayzin

Arturo buying gifts at Mirador de San Nicolas

Before our day was over we made a stop at the cathedral and then had a delicious dinner… and maybe another bottle or two of wine. Another thing that made me fall for Granada, besides its excellent selection of red wines, was that I never once had a meal that involved Jamon (the Spanish have a love affair with this cured ham and I find it making an appearance on most breakfast, lunch, and dinner plates). Instead, there was a lot more North African influence in their cuisine. 

Cathedral of the Incarnation

Our last day was spent strolling through the Albayzin neighborhood again, getting lost in the maze-like quality of its streets and then finding our way once more.  We stopped in a tetería (Moorish tea room) to rest on heavily pillowed benches and enjoy aromatic blends of exotic tea. Somehow we managed to find the Mirador de San Nicolas again and enjoyed one last expansive view of the mountain-framed Alhambra and the city of Granada laid out below.

View of the Alhambra

Will You Meet Me in Paris?

I’ve been waiting for a good opportunity to catch up on my writing and have finally found the perfect occasion. I have once again been placed on night shift, our patient load has decreased to a workable number (that number being zero), and it’s a holiday so everyone else is out celebrating and not watching over my shoulder as I use the hospital’s Wi-Fi for the important purpose of blog updating. Sure, I’d much rather be enjoying this holiday with friends and family, eating cookies still warm from the oven, and watching George Bailey proclaim, “I wish I had never been born!” but working on Christmas is not a new or unusual occurrence for me since joining the Navy; I guess you just have to make the best of it and I plan on doing this by reliving a fabulous trip or two and sharing it with all of you.

30 Sep-2 Oct. I unabashedly proclaim my love for Paris to anyone who will listen so it seemed quite fitting that my first trip outside of Spain should be to this favored city; all it took for me to find myself on a plane to France was an unexpected invitation from one of my best friends. All Megan had to say was, “I’m going to be in Paris in a week. Will you meet me there?” and I was searching for flights. Schedule changes, transportation strikes, bank braking last-minute tickets, and sleepless nights would do nothing to stop me from making this rendezvous.

As soon as I stepped off the plane in Orly and saw Megan waiting for me I knew I had made the right decision; and this conviction only grew as we walked up the metro steps and onto the bustling streets of Paris. I soon found myself sitting at a charming bistro feasting on onion soup, a bottle of wine, and witty tête-à-tête. The French experience was only deepened when the waiter spilled Megan’s glass of wine, started apologizing, but then, upon realizing what he was doing, started reprimanding her for filling the glass up too high. Before she knew what was happening, Megan found herself apologizing to the waiter for making him spill her wine. Ah, only in France!

After finishing dinner we met up with another friend and I soon found myself being whisked away to various bars around the area. I have plenty of pictures to document this evening, but sadly I either didn’t know the pictures were being taken or was acutely aware and therefore decided that I needed to pose for them in absurd ways. Either way, a majority of them did not meet standards and will not appear on this website; however, here are a couple that turned out surprisingly well… they must have been from early in the evening.

Me and Megan 

Arturo and Megan

The next morning, a little later than planned but morning nevertheless, Megan and I set out for the best hangover cure in town, a late breakfast of croque monsieurs and the most divinely rich hot chocolate known to man at Angelina.

*Allow me to add a quick guidebook-like side note here: While Angelina, located at 226 rue de Rivoli, is quite popular with tourists it is still a stop that I quickly recommend to most people, especially those with a fondness for sweets. Yes, the line can be long and the serving staff less than consistent but at the end of every meal I leave with a smile on my face and a purchase or two in hand. If you don’t have the time to sit and order a meal I recommend purchasing a pastry at their bakery (you can have their hot chocolate to go, too) and enjoying them both on a bench in the Jardin des Tuileries across the street, you’ll be very glad you did.*

My cup of L'Africain (not the most politically correct name but I'm sure you'll forgive them after trying it)

The bakery with all its lovely confections.

After filling our stomachs with delicious food Megan and I spent the rest of the day walking around Île Saint-Louis, occasionally stepping into boutiques and cafes to avoid the rain (this rain also "forced" me to purchase the most ridiculously touristy umbrella in the world), and visiting Shakespeare and Company, an English bookstore on the banks of the Seine near Notre Dame. I had missed this store on my two previous trips to Paris, a terrible oversight on my part as it was only about a 10 minute walk from Megan’s old apartment, so I made sure that I didn't neglect to visit it again. Shakespeare and Company embodied everything that I love about bookstores; it was overflowing with used and new books placed side by side, each papery treasure tucked into its own small space, some nearly hidden from sight, ladders leaning against shelves so that you could reach the highest nooks and crannies, and secret reading areas tucked away from view. I could have spent hours in that place but because I was with someone else I chose a book, bought it, and then pressed the famous stamp onto the inside cover. As I walked out of the bookstore I couldn’t help but think about the fact that I had purchased “The Leopard” (an Italian novel chronicling Sicilian life and nobility in the 19^th century) at an English bookstore in Paris; this amusing coincidence was not lost on me.

Enjoying being surrounded by books in Shakespeare and Company

Candy store in Ile Saint-Louis

Famous Berthillon ice cream (raspberry, pear, mango... and I think lime flavors)



After a much needed nap following our walk around the city, Megan and I met up with a group of her friends from university for a “Megan’s in Paris” reunion party. Sleep deprived and knowing that we had to wake up early the next morning, we made it an early night and retreated back to our hotel room, making a nutella crepe pit stop on the way. The following day we met a friend of Megan’s who lives in Lyon at the train station and, because she had only been to Paris once before, we busied ourselves by showing her some of the city’s sites. Of course, the day started with us taking her to Angelina for breakfast. What can I say? We’re creatures of habit.

At Megan's Party

Jardin des Tuileries

Manon and Megan

The Stravinsky Fountain



In a fabulous stoke of luck the annual all-night art festival Nuit Blanche took place on my last day in Paris. On this particular night, museums, art galleries, and other cultural establishments are free of charge and there are light installations and performances to be seen all over the city. We started the evening at friend of Megan’s apartment before we hit the streets to witness the city in the throes of an artistic orgy. Our first stop was at a performance art venue where the audience could be part of the exhibit.  As with most performance art pieces I am not sure exactly what they were trying to convey to the audience but it was definitely interesting to watch and to be a part of; and just so that you get an idea of the experience picture this- my five minutes inside the plexiglas box consisted of me being surrounded by a handful of men and being stripped of my outerwear garments and one of my friends found himself dancing, locked in the embrace of another man. Like I said, difficult to understand. Next we wandered over to Notre Dame to see a light display that had been installed inside. Looking back on that scene now always makes me start laughing; there I was sitting inside a church, more than a little tipsy after drinking the better part of a bottle of wine, trying to understand the meaning of the installation and thinking it was really inspirational and dramatic in its simplicity. What good memories.

The group before heading out into the night

Nuit Blanche

Wine Weekend

Sept 25-26. For my first excursion outside of Andalucía I joined a trip organized by MWR to Extremadura (our neighboring region to the north) for a weekend of wine and culture. Sadly, the weekend focused a little more on culture and less on wine than I had hoped but I did put forth every effort to get as many glasses of wine as I could out of the experience.

Our first day was spent in the city of Almendralejo, whose bullring used to house a wine cellar. We were told that it's the only one in the world that can make such a claim and I see no reason to object; after all, how many people would think to place a wine cellar under the stands of a bullring? While apparently it was a clever place to store wine because of the climate it is no longer in use since the containers that held the wine are not up to current health standards.

Inside the bullring

The containers that used to hold the wine

Our next stop was the Museum of Wine Science right across the street from the bullring. I would like to say that I had an intellectually stimulating time at the museum and that I gazed at the exhibits in wonder but no such luck. I can say with all honesty that never have I been so bored doing anything wine related as I was for the two hours we were there. Under different circumstances (like if I’d been able to understand the displays, if our tour guide had spoken slightly less accented English, or if I hadn’t been working nights for the past two months) I might have enjoyed my visit; unfortunately, as things were, it was a disappointment. Thankfully, after the tour we were on to bigger and better things… like wine tasting! The museum staff put on a lovely tasting party for us in their courtyard where we were able to enjoy samples from different bottles they had for sale in the gift store.  Besides getting berated by one of the women leading the tasting because I failed to correctly observe my wine's color before tasting it I had quite an enjoyable time.

The setup

Lauren and Dave

We then rushed from the wine tasting to our hotel where a lunch was being provided for us in the restaurant. Our meal was quite an event. Plate after plate of food was put out before us and glass after glass of wine was poured. I am happy to report that at one point in time I had three glasses of wine sitting before me ready to be enjoyed. Our lunch ended up taking about two hours and then afterward Lauren and I we were so exhausted that we skipped the next winery tour (don’t worry, samples weren’t included) and took a nap before venturing out to explore the city of Almendralejo.

Wine! ...and jamon.



Our second day found us driving to Mérida, a city known for the Archaeological Ensemble of Mérida, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The ruins in this city give excellent insight into what a capital city of the Roman Empire was like; I was particularly taken with the theater, which was quite impressive. I would like to tell you more about the site but I didn’t learn much because I escaped the tour group and went exploring on my own so that I could get pictures of the area without people walking into my shots.

Archway leading into the... oh, shoot, I wasn't listening...

The stage

It's two stories. Told you, impressive.

In the stands of the theater



The last stop before lunch was to the Museo Nacional de Arte Romano which, unlike the Museum of Wine Science , was quite interesting and kept my attention for the whole time we were there. I took quite a few pictures of exhibits but I won’t bore you with posting many of them. It’s just that I kept seeing all of these fabulous mosaics that I had to get a picture of, then I’d walk into the next room and see an even more fabulous one that I just had to have a picture of, then I’d walk upstairs and… well, you get the idea. After lunch and an uneventful stop at the Parador (which are historic buildings in Spain that have been renovated and turning into hotels) in Zafra we made our way home. 

Just one example of many!

“Help Me, Rhonda”

On a whim I decided to take a day trip to Ronda back in September and was happy to find two other nurses who had the day off and who were willing to endure the drive with me. As luck would have it, or actually the lack thereof, we ended up spending more time in the car than we did in the city itself. Due to unforeseen circumstances we were only able to spend about two hours in Ronda, most of which were spent searching out a place to eat lunch (because, as it was barely noon, restaurants actually serving anything more substantial than a café con leche were hard to come by). We did, however, spend four hours in the car but thankfully, with the help of Lauren’s iPod, the drive wasn’t too bad… and while we didn’t actually listen to the classic Beach Boys song with the same name as our destination, it was nonetheless playing on repeat in my head for most of the trip.

Even though I only spent two short hours in Ronda, I could tell that it was quite an impressive city. It is situated on either side of a huge gorge and the two parts of the city are connected by three bridges. The newest of which was completed in the late 18^th century and is aptly enough named Puente Nuevo (Spanish for New Bridge).  Although the Puente Nuevo was the only one of the three bridges I saw on this trip I can’t imagine that the other two are in any way as impressive as it was; this bridge is actually rumored to be one of the most photographed sites in Spain. It’s easy to see why.

Puente Nuevo

Overlooking the Canyon

View of the Parador

Hopefully the next time I visit Ronda luck will be on my side and I will be able to enjoy the city and the views from its bridges for more than a couple short hours. And I would be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to perusing the many stores that line the streets as you walk to the Puente Nuevo.

Mi Casa Española

One of the things that I worried about most when moving to Spain was having to secure a place of residence. The Navy gave me 30 days in which to accomplish this task. Now, to those of you who can’t appreciate Navy life, this might seem like plenty of time. Sadly, those days go by quickly when you have to start working two days after your arrival and you’re required to do your house hunting with sanctioned housing advisors whose appointment times are booked weeks in advance. Despite these obstacles I was able to see plenty of houses. I saw quaint apartments on the beach, rambling single-family homes with pools, I walked through quintessential Spanish houses with wine cellars and lemon trees in the backyard, toured townhouses with four floors.  I looked at places that used butane gas (known here as butano) for fuel, ones with “master” bedrooms the size of my old closet, and even visited one with central heat and air-conditioning (a real commodity here). I foresaw the difficulty of having a landlord who doesn’t speak English, tried to get my car into the smallest driveways known to man, and saw homes where my neighbors would be horses and donkeys. Mostly I was surprised at the shear size of the houses that I could afford. Surprisingly, though, instead of searching out the largest place my money could rent me I actually shied away from these behemoths and tried to look for more modest accommodations.  The last thing I needed was to have empty rooms that my credit card was itching to help me fill. I wanted to save that money… at least until the first travel opportunity came knocking on my door, wherever that door might be.

Thankfully, after three weeks, and a little undercover work on behalf of myself and my friend, I was able to find a place that I felt comfortable in. It wasn’t exactly what I had envisioned for myself when I first thought of my potential house in Spain; no tiled balconies or ceilings with exposed beams, no orange trees or Moorish style arches… but it does have a bidet, how much more European can you get? Instead I chose a home that came with an English speaking landlord, two air conditioners, window screens, and two full bathrooms. When did I become so sensible? Don’t worry; I don’t think that it’s contagious… or chronic. Just a random, acute attack of practicality. I should be back to my normal impractical self in no time.

I have been delaying putting pictures up of my place because, even after two full months of living here, I still don’t have everything the way I want it.  I really hoped to have everyone’s first look at my home be when it is at its best, but alas, as I’ve already mentioned, I procrastinate (or “procrastino” in Spanish- thank you, Arturo, for so graciously educating me). Instead of making all of you wait until the end of the year, which is my updated goal for finishing my decorating and what not, I have decided to put up some work-in-progress pictures and the before shots. Mind you, if bright, obnoxious paint colors bother you, you might want to skip ahead.  



The front door... see, no arches!





This picture doesn't do the paint color justice. Imagine fuschia and pale yellow.





And after! Much better, if I do say so myself.





Huge by Spanish standards... and yet, so much smaller than my kitchen in San Diego.





First floor bathroom. A.K.A. Guest bathroom.

The upstairs bathroom.

  

Master bedroom. There are no "after" pictures because I haven't started working on this room yet.

  

Guest room. What I like to call Barney purple and lime green. Gross.

 

After.



Did you really think I would let my fabulous guests sleep in a room the color of an obnoxious dinosaur?



Sunflower wallpaper... sad, really, because usually I love sunflowers but they're just ruined for me here.



 My office.



Like I said, most of these rooms are works-in-progress. Once I put the finishing touches (or do anything productive at all) on the rooms I’ll put up more pictures.