The end!!!

The main purpose of this last blog post is to express my deep gratitude to everyone who made this trip the amazing and wonderful adventure it turned out to be. This trip literally would not have been possible if it hadn't been for the extreme generosity of everyone who opened their home to me and took me in. I stayed with friends, families of friends, friends of friends, a few complete strangers, and I did not have a single negative experience. People were kind and hospitable beyond my wildest dreams. All of my needs were graciously met--beyond just the basic shelter and food and showers and a place to do laundry, I was hooked up with a camera/cell phone, a winter coat and gloves, a phone charger, reading material, rides and access to various events, and much more.

I know for sure I would have run out of money early in my trip and I wouldn't have had nearly as fun, pleasant, pleasurable or comfortable a voyage if it hadn't been for all of you. I can only hope that one day I will be able to (if not repay) at least pay it forward and be as good a host to future wanderers and guests.

I am also grateful to everyone who read this blog or kept up with me in some other way while I was traveling. It was remarkably meaningful to me to know I wasn't forgotten about, because I certainly missed all of you. I'm sorry if I was true to my word and a little on the loquacious side. I hope you found my tales amusing.

I wish I could offer some great insight gained from this trip. But the fact of the matter is that it was pretty short, and I didn't really go to Europe to "find myself" in the first place. I went because I am a restless person full of wander lust. I love traveling, and don't get to do it enough, and I figured I should grab an opportunity when it seemed I had nothing better to do. I also haven't really had that much down time to reflect, since my life has remained fairly crazy since returning to the US.

Here are some condensed reactions and reflections. I am always happy to elaborate upon request.

-The world is a big and beautiful place. The more of it I see, the more I want to explore. It was a good reminder not to let other stuff get in the way of taking/making this kind of opportunity.

-Traveling by myself really increases my sense of self-confidence and competence. I'm pretty damn good at it.

-Came away satisfied. Had lots of fun and adventures. Even if I didn't write as much as I thought I would. Few regrets. One of which is losing three essential things from the list of six and another is not shelling out 8 euros to see Michaelangelo's David and da Vinci's in Florence. Also, there are still so many places I didn't get to go and still want to, but I see that more as deferred gratification than regret. Also, I wish I could have eaten more pasta in Italy. Or more in general.

-Got to see old friends and make new ones. :)

-Being abroad for 3 months changed my perception of being home. Although I missed the ease and comfort of being here while I was away, I felt sort of removed upon returning. I've been especially tuned into the commercialism and different quality of food. Food here really is much sweeter, saltier, richer and more intense than in Europe, in general. And there's more of it.

-Traveling hopefully renewed my excitement and energy for my real life and college too. We'll see.

-All my pictures are up on facebook. Hurray!

-I'm excited to see you and catch up! And I can't wait for the next adventure to begin.

Nearing the end

The hostel we stayed at in Lisbon is ranked in the top ten in the world on hostelworld.com. It was nice. There was free breakfast food out pretty much all day. The dorm rooms were large, airy and spacious. There was free internet available, and 24 hour reception, friendly helpful staff, and plenty of other amenities. But after the last two sweet, family-owned, tiny hostels with private accommodations, moving back into a communal living space like this was rather a step down.

We quickly gained nemeses in the form of a really weird French couple. There was this girl, sitting on her bed in the shared room on her laptop, for basically 8 hours straight. She was there when we arrived in the city and dropped off our stuff, and she was still there when we returned from a preliminary stroll, and still there when we left again for a late dinner. Occasionally, her boyfriend came to join her, and they both sat on the bed, staring at her computer and periodically saying "Ha" in approximate unison, apparently vaguely amused by something they were watching. Needless to say, Sara and I eyed them with distaste.

We didn't get to see much of Lisbon. It was really hilly. We ate some pastries at a little cafe. We also went out to dinner at one of the restaurants the hostel recommended. I ordered the "house steak" which came with an egg and bacon and gravy on top of it. It was quite interesting. This restaurant also sneakily got us to pay for appetizers. They brought a tray with a bunch of cheeses and fish spreads, bread, and olives. I figured they were just giving us a lot of free stuff. But actually they charge you for whatever you eat. Oh well. We also did witness a car/motorcycle accident. I still get phantom pain in my hand when I think about it.

Sara and I both set out and parted ways the next morning. I barely slept because I was stressed out and thinking about getting up at 5 am to get to the airport in time. I had an 8 am flight. So I got on my flight to London/Gatwick and Sara got on her flight back to New York a few hours later. It was really nice to have a visitor and travel companion for those two weeks, and we had a lot of fun together.

That day, Tuesday December 7th was long and stressful for me. I was basically in transit from 5am until 12 am. I flew to Gatwick, then took a bus to London, then was about to get on a bus to Leeds to see Mia at last, when I suddenly got a call from her saying she was in London and not going back for four more hours. So I had to adjust accordingly, change my bus, and seek her out in London. Then we wandered around Camdentown shopping for a while. I adjusted to cold weather, being in a big city, and being in a place where Christmas is more capitalistically in-your-face, and remembered why I'm not crazy about that. Being in Europe, and mostly away from that, up until that point did a lot to show me the other side of a holiday I've never really been able to appreciate before. So that was nice.

Anyway, it was really exciting and great to see Mia again. The week that followed was definitely a week of decompression for me. I was in Leeds to see her, and not to see the place, so I didn't do a whole lot. We slept in a great deal, and I got to know her friends, and we watched some movies, including Jaws which I immediately became obsessed with, and made me want to be a sailor/pirate/shark/shark-hunter more than ever! Mia and I were in pretty different emotional places, and it definitely wasn't the visit I was expecting, but I'm really glad I was there. I also got to hang out with fellow Udubber Helen Please (also the recipient of my self-created goofiest-last-name pass-down). That was super awesome, we hit it off and became good friends, and had a really long and stimulating debate about religion, probably encouraged and set off by my going to a Christmas Carol church service with her. Also at that event I got to try mulled wine and mince pies, very traditional English Christmas fare.

I went to a class or two with Mia and got a better sense of the similarities and differences between the UK and US university systems. Also a cool and interesting thing to do. There was a definite sense of my trip winding down all along. This really took me by surprise. I kept marveling that it felt like it had been so quick, and I definitely could have kept going and traveled more. I think this is an indication that I paced it really well. There was enough variety in where I was going, what kind of living situation I was in, how long I stayed and what I was doing that it stayed fun throughout. And before I knew it, I was on my way back home.

100% Cozy Lagos

The journey from Algeciras to Lagos, Portugal was one long adventure, or inconvenience, depending on how you look at it. I had researched and booked a bus that was supposed to go directly there, albeit with a few stops, including one in good old Sevilla. The tickets were pretty expensive, but it seemed the best and easiest way to do the trip. We were scheduled to leave at about 10:45 a.m. We got to the bus station, the only bus station we had dealt with in Algeciras so far, and to my knowledge the only one this small city had, to discover that the bus to Sevilla wasn't until 11. This made Sara worried and suspicious, and after looking at the ticket I had printed out, she said that we were supposed to go to the Port, and not to the bus station.

I tried to play it cool. By the time we made this realization we definitely did not have time to walk to the Port and find whatever buses might be there before missing the scheduled departure. So I figured if we took a bus only 15 minutes later, maybe we could switch to our original bus when it stopped in Sevilla. It definitely wasn't ideal, but I didn't want us to waste more worry over it than we needed to, so we rode the bus to Sevilla and agreed to sort it out when we got there.

Unfortunately, we were up for another frustration when we arrived. Well, several actually. There was some sort of demonstration, art project or (most likely) general transportation strike going on in Sevilla that day. There were hundreds of taxis just sitting empty in the streets. Also, there are two bus stations on opposite ends of town in Sevilla. One is right near where my apartment had been and sends out buses to other countries and far away places. The other is for local and regional buses. Our bus from Algeciras went to the latter, and our bus to Portugal was going to leave from the former. So we hiked across town with all our bags to try and figure out how to get to Lagos.

We then had another couple of stress-filled hours while we waited at the bus port, not sure if the tickets we had would get us onto the bus we needed, or when exactly that bus would roll up. Our original bus was supposed to get us to Faro (a town within a short cheap train ride of Lagos) at around 4:30. We didn't actually board a bus in Sevilla until 4. We finally got to Lagos around 8 or 9. But once there, all our problems were solved. Our hostel hostess Marie picked us up at the train station in her car and drove us back to her house/guest house. This was by far the nicest hostel I have ever stayed in. It was a big, cozy, comfortable, impeccable, lovely house. We were the only guests the night we arrived, so we got our pick of rooms between a slightly bigger one and a smaller one with sole access to the chill-out area on the roof (from whence there was a view of the ocean). This place also had a kitchen and a living room with active fireplace, computer with internet, TV with cable and movies. It was pretty fantastic, especially the first 24 hours when we had the whole place to ourselves.

We began exploring Lagos the next afternoon. It was a beautiful little town--full of boats, right on a gorgeous coast full of grottos, colorful cliff and cave formations and beaches. It was clearly a popular tourist destination as such a beach town, but it was not touristy in any of the ways I object to. This may have had much to do with it being the off-season. But it was not crowded or kitchy and I didn't feel like everyone was trying to sell me something. It was just a nice place to visit.

Before getting there Sara and I had talked about treating ourselves to a horseback-riding adventure. After consulting Marie, however, we decided it was too expensive and difficult to get there because we didn't have a car, and we were better off going on a guided boat tour of the grottos. We did that and it was really beautiful and epic. We took a LOT of pictures. And that was the main thing we did while we were there. The rest of the time we just relaxed. We went grocery shopping and made ourselves some food, we went out a few times, we walked on the beach and marina and we snuggled by the fireplace. We even chatted with some Americans who were doing a masters/teaching program in Madrid, but were spending their weekend at our hostel in Portugal.

Lagos was lovely and we were sad to head out after 3 nights. But we did all the same, and caught a bus to Lisbon (after yet another small transportation misadventure).

Walking the Rock

The night we returned to the family-run Lisboa Hostel in Algeciras, we discovered yet another gem in that mostly fairly unpromising town. One of our hosts recommended a tapas bar that was just next door. We went and checked it out and it was really fantastic. It seemed like the most authentic Spanish restaurant we visited, which makes sense since Algeciras is not very touristy, especially compared to Barcelona, Sevilla, Cordoba and Granada. It was also super cheap! That first night we had 4 or 5 different tapas, a glass of wine each and after dinner liquers (on the house!) for 8 euros altogether. We ended up going back and eating there again the next night and the waiter/possible owner gave us another round of free drinks as well as a serving of a fish/octopus salad we had ordered the night before, to enjoy as we decided what to order. It was pretty sweet.

Our post-Morocco plan was to take the ferry back to Algeciras, stay there for two nights and do an all-day trip to Gibraltar between those nights, then head off to Lagos, Portugal where we had booked a very positively reviewed hostel for the following 3 nights, then go to Lisbon for our last night before shipping off in different directions.

The trip to Gibraltar was sort of a mixed experience. Sara had heard a lot about it before coming to the region and was from the beginning arguing for a visit there. I was more skeptical. I'd heard of it but didn't really know what it was (just a rock? some sort of pilgrimage destination of religious or historical significance? I had no idea). It turns out (for those of you likewise in the dark on these matters) Gibraltar is one of the few remaining outposts of genuine British imperialism. It is this tiny island within easy walking distance from the coast of Spain which should by all logical implications belong to Spain but is in fact part of the UK. (Interestingly, even though it has been under GB control for hundreds of years, it still appears to be a sore subject to Spaniards. They get kind of embarrassed and unhappy if you mention it to them.) Everyone there speaks English, there are fish and chips pubs and UK department stores all over. It is, in fact, so obnoxiously, aggressively, kitchily English that it seems like one giant tourism stunt. Sara insisted, though, that that's just what colonies are like. It's over-the-top British and feels discordant just because, well, it is discordant.

Sara perhaps described the feel of it best as being like the Disneyworld Epcot portrayal of England. It is also a crazy tax haven, so there were a lot of shops, especially for cigarettes and booze, but everything else as well. However, there is another side to it. Most of the island is taken up by this giant rocky mountain (The Rock of Gibraltar). It's big, beautiful, green, impressive, and reportedly home to the only monkeys in Europe. I have to say, the monkeys were a big draw for both me and Sara, as they are for many other visitors. There are also a bunch of caves and battle sites and bits of history that tour guides will drive you up to and let you check out for the totally outlandish price of 25 euros per person. Sara didn't really want to hike up the mountain, but I was unwilling to get ripped off like that, so in the end we hiked, and I was very happy.

We managed to get through the gate to the scenic, attraction-heavy upper portion of the Rock just around the time they stopped charging admission. So we did the whole excursion for free!!! And we saw some mother-loving monkeys, my friend. I love wildlife in whatever form (even mice and rats and seagulls) and I'd never seen a monkey in the wild (for no lack of trying in South America), so I was really, really excited about this. These monkeys have gotten used to people, so you can get really close to them and they won't do anything to you. We saw monkeys climbing a gondola tower, monkeys stealing chocolate from people, running around, just chilling on the ground, we saw an adorable tiny little baby monkey, we even saw monkeys having sex (much to my surprise). We even had a sneak preview on the way up of one monkey running across a hotel roof. It was a very satisfying monkey experience.

We also stumbled upon an old Jewish cemetary that was up there and met this really bizarre and strange-looking Gibraltarian (his term, not mine). Without invitation or encouragement, he approached us and began a 30-40 minute uninterrupted monologue about the demographics, politics, lifestyle and culture of this crime-free strange tiny island of 25,000 inhabitants. And you thought I was bad!

Another fun fact, you have to walk across an active airstrip to get there! Overall, Gibraltar was weird but memorable and the views from the top (of Europe and Africa and the sea in between) were quite spectacular. We couldn't totally enjoy the sunset because we didn't want to get trapped on the mountain once it was done, but we caught some good glimpses and made it home. Win-win situation.

Rocking the Kasbah

One of my greatest goals throughout this entire trip was to get to Morocco. This was for a number of reasons. I know several people who have gone there and all have really seemed to love and rave about it. I suspected it would be really culturally interesting and beautiful, and the food would be delicious, and it would give me the sense of being somewhere truly foreign that I haven't really had up til now. I mean, some things have definitely been different, but I sort of wish I could have done this trip 50 or 100 years ago, before globalization really took off. But that's another story. I expected Morocco to look and feel more profoundly different from my experience than Western Europe did. I also have a goal of getting to the 6 continents besides Antarctica before I turn 23, and this way I could count Africa. :)

So, Sara and I planned to spend the week we had after my short-term lease was up and before she heads back home and I head back to England to see my friend Mia (at last!) traveling to/in Morocco and Portugal (where we both booked flights out of Lisbon). But that was just about all we planned-- ahead of time. Moving day was a hectic combination of trying to figure out where to go next and how to get there while simultaneously packing up all of our stuff (half of which had recently been stewing in a lake of water the washing machine produced).

Sunday Nov. 29 we struck out on the road again. We took a train toward Algeciras, one of the Spanish port cities that is closest to the Straits of Gibraltar and Morocco. We had a little confusion when the train stopped 2/3 of the way there, but we eventually figured out what the conductor had tried to tell us in Spanish when we got on, that we needed to transfer to a bus in the village Ronda. This was because from there the route was along these crazy winding mountain paths which we rode along in the dark. We didn't get to Algeciras until about 11 pm, and the city was weirdly shut down and deserted by then. It took a while to get our bearings and find the hostel we had booked, but when we did find it it turned out to be a real little gem. It's a family owned and run place, and the family was extremely sweet and charming. The room was clean and came with a private bathroom and a balcony.

We got there late enough that we couldn't really get anything to eat, so we had a pretty sad dinner of a can of tuna each and some raw pasta on my part (Sara insisted it was terrible for my teeth, but I thought it rounded out the tuna pretty well.) The next morning we grabbed some breakfast and made for the ferries to Tangier.

As it turned out, the ferry was reasonably indicative of some of the things that would be different in Morocco. It didn't leave until almost an hour after it was supposed to. The men who had sold me the tickets (aside from the whole ticket-selling operation being vaguely sketchy) had told me it would take about an hour and a half to make the crossing. It took more like 3.5. Another one of those 30-40 year old men whom this trip has taught me to be more wary of approached me and talked to me for a while on the ship's deck. After I realized that he was making Sara nervous and upset, I eventually broke off the conversation, but I do feel like I learned some interesting things from him. I was careful not to tell him where we were staying when he asked, though, and sort of talked around his suggestion that we meet up while we were in Tangier, and I was fairly alarmed when we happened to pass him on the street a few days later, though I think it was just a coincidence. Sara also pointed out that there were comparatively very few women on the boat.

This was definitely a recurring theme. Every time we went out and about in Tangier, we saw about 10 or 12 times as many men as women. There were a bunch of restaurants and tea houses that seemed to be entirely male zones. We had been warned, and we went in anticipating some unwanted attention for being two young white western women with uncovered hair, but it was definitely worse than I was expecting. I am generally dismissive when I hear about other people's fears and discomforts with this kind of thing. I pretty much always feel safe and confident wherever I go, I am used to feeling this way, and it is pretty hard to make me feel otherwise. But something about the situation in Morocco really did make me feel nervous, edgy, dis-empowered somehow.

It felt like every man we passed was openly staring at us, that most of the younger men were mocking us or trying to intimidate us, even if all they said was "Como estas?" It was the way they said it. It was the way that they felt they could say anything they wanted to us, even if it was totally obvious we wanted nothing to do with them. It was the fact that even a young boy, probably about 12, on the back of a motor bike felt he could yell something to two adult women with utter impunity. There was just something about the situation that felt deeply unfair, and it made me angry, and what made me even angrier was that there was nothing I could do about it. I am not used to being powerless to change a situation I don't like. But what could I do? This is a foreign culture, where I can scarcely communicate. I was there only a few days and had no way or opportunity of changing any of their attitudes or even discovering in a more scientific way what their attitudes even are. And perhaps it would have been ethnocentric and wrong for me to try.

Suffice it to say, I didn't fall in love with Morocco the way I planned to. It sort of rubbed me the wrong way from the minute we arrived. It didn't help any that our hotel was not "a short way from port" but actually well over 2 miles out of town. We tried to walk there with the directions I had, but we eventually got tired of lugging all of our heavy stuff that far, especially as the sun was setting and it was getting cold, so we hailed a cab (with difficulty) and rode the remainder of the way, which turned out to be just a few meters by then.

I have a strong suspicion that I would have liked other towns in Morocco better. I have heard several reports that Tangier is one of the less interesting and desirable cities to go to, that Marrakech, Fez, Meknes all would have been much cooler, and probably even Casablanca and Rabat would have been more enjoyable, especially as I had connections I might have been able to use to stay with people in those last two. But all those cities are also much deeper in the country and harder to access than Tangier. It also happened to be a big week-long festival, the festival of sacrificing sheep, the week we chose to go there, so most businesses, museums and authentic Moroccan restaurants were closed.

Eventually Sara and I decided that since we did not have that much time to travel, we hadn't really made any plans ahead of time, we didn't have even a guide book or much idea of what we were getting ourselves into, it was not an ideal time to visit anyway, and the misogynistic culture made us uncomfortable, we would go back to Spain and try and see the Rock of Gibraltar (high on Sara's to do list) and get to Portugal a bit sooner, rather than trying to delve deeper into the nation we were in. I would like to go back to Morocco one day and give it another chance--but I think I would like to have someone who knew the country, culture and language better than I do along with me.

We did have one day of mostly fun adventures. We wandered our way into the Medina and Kasbah of the town. Upon entering the Kasbah we were greeted by a man named Mustafa, who spoke to us in English, told us the tourist office and museum were closed, but that he was there to meet us, and then proceeded to give us a private tour of the neighborhood. We had sort of hoped to avoid this kind of thing--namely, getting hoodwinked into paying someone some unknown amount for a service (such as guidance) that we had not technically asked for. But in the end, I think it was for the best. He was very nice and showed us a lot of cool interesting things including Henri Matisse's house and what he claimed was his tomb (we're not totally convinced), some very old mosques, some beautiful views, and a restaurant that the Rolling Stones used to hang out in.

The tour took a turn for the sketchier when he brought us several stories up into a co-op, then left us with two strange men while he went off to pray. These men wanted to sell us a handmade woven silk/camel wool rug from the desert. They showed us several, showed how these were high quality, could not be pulled apart like the machine made kind, could not even be burned by a lighter. They also brought us some sweet mint tea, the drink of choice in the region, also called Berber Whiskey (since they don't drink real alcohol). I quickly fell for this drink and had at least 5 more cups in the next 24 hours.

Sara decided to go for it, and we started to barter. She feared for my life when the man suggested €290 and I suggested €10. It was a tense moment. But eventually she settled on a price they were both reasonably happy with, and we did not become corpses or hostages. All in all, it was a very exciting little tour. The streets were very narrow, winding and confusing, we definitely would have gotten lost and not understood as much if we had tried to tour the Kasbah on our own, and we would have encountered a lot more discomfort because of the men around us than we did with a guide. For that alone it was worth what we eventually paid him.

Despite all the challenges, we did get to try some delicious spit-roasted chicken on a sandwich and couscous before we left. We got to see a bunch of young children carrying a lamb around like it was their job. We had a beautiful view of the sea from our far-away hotel. We even saw a camel! Which may have been the highlight for me. And we made it back to Spain with a few more dry clothes than we had when we left.

Does it still count as a siesta if you just get up late?

It's been several weeks now since I last updated this thing, and consequently I now have more to write about than anyone ever thought possible. But I will try to cram in the essentials in a vaguely reasonable number of words/posts, and I'll even try to go in chronological order, but I'm not making any promises.

I had a total of three weeks in my cozy apartment in Sevilla. The week by week breakdown went more or less as follows: Week 1- relax, unwind after months of travel, explore Sevilla, walk around, hang out in internet centers, read. I think that was also the week I took a day trip to Cordoba. Week 2- plan Sara's visit, read Wuthering Heights, Sense and Sensibility, Breakfast at Tiffany's and most of Absalom, Absalom, write some crazy poetry, mostly inspired by said Faulkner book, wait for Sara to arrive. This was the week I took a day trip to Granada. During those two weeks I prepared almost all of my own meals (though they all truly stretched the lower limit of required preparation) and ate a shocking amount of muesli/granola, which I find to be delicious, and appropriate for breakfast, dinner, dessert and snacks.

Week 3 was the week that Sara finally arrived (Hi blog readers! -- Sara), something I had been looking forward to throughout the whole trip to that point. Week 3 resembled the two weeks preceding it in that it was low-key, involved a lot of sleeping and rest and was far from a flurry of activity, but we did get around to visiting the main sites in Sevilla, such as the giant Gothic Cathedral and the Moorish Alcazar palace, which I had been putting off until then. I also got to try a lot more local cuisine that week, since I could use having a visitor as an excuse for going out to eat / eating real meals like a normal person. That was the week I finally tried paella. Twice. And lots more tapas. Including octopus. On Thanksgiving. But before I get carried away with all that, a few words on my day trips.

Cordoba
A fascinating city, full of history. It took about 1.5 hours on the train each way. The whole city is surrounded by this crazy medieval fortress wall that the Arabs built when that whole section of the Iberian peninsula was under their control. Basically I spent the day walking around inside that Brown class I almost took last semester- "Living Together: Muslims, Christians and Jews in Medieval Iberia." I started the day by touring some ancient Caliph bath ruins, then I found one of three synagogues in Spain remaining from before the expulsion of 1492, went to a teeny museum on Spanish Jews and briefly visited the giant Mosque Cathedral. I didn't go inside because it was too expensive, but I could tell it was impressive and beautiful and cool all the same. The orange grove courtyard was nice. Apparently, the Arabs were big on those--I found more at the Alhambra, the Sevilla Catedral and the Alcazar.

Granada
I saw a wild pomegranate tree while I was illicitly tagging along behind a group of people who had paid for a tour guide (and bus) at the Alhambra. I've gotten really quite good at free-loading on this trip. Anyway, I recently discovered how delicious these things are, and after looking at the tree I started having a craving, and when I went back to Sevilla I bought myself one, only to discover that the Spanish word for pomegranate is in fact "granada." Coincidence? I think not. The main thing I did in Granada was tour the Alhambra, which is this crazy and amazing and huge old Arab palace. Really incredibly beautiful, with massive and extensive gardens. I also learned a lot about Washington Irving, one of America's earliest famous writers, who (lucky bastard) actually just got to chill out and live and write in the Alhambra for a few months at one point. That's when he wrote most of this book "Tales of the Alhambra" which originally put it on the map as a tourist destination. Pretty wacky stuff. And it's the 150th anniversary of the book this year, I think. Hence the museum exhibit.

I also had a tiny misadventure with a gypsy who caught me unaware as I approached G's cathedral (these Spaniards really like them some church). She stuck a piece of rosemary into my hand and proceeded to read my palm in mostly Spanish with some English thrown in now and then. At the end she asked put a cross on my forehead and then put her palm out and said "money." I was a little peeved. I had no interest in paying this woman for an unwanted, solicited, mostly incomprehensible and generally silly service. What's more, I didn't have any bills smaller than a 20 and although she offered to give me change, I didn't really want to go down that road. So I handed her the only coin I had, a meager 10 cents, and accepted her look of disdain gracefully.

Granada was also the trip upon which I was almost forcibly ejected from a train for the first time. It wasn't the first time I pushed my luck on a train, I spent a lot of time looking over my shoulder for fine-giving train officials in Scandinavia. In fact, this error was pretty innocent. When I went to Cordoba I took slower smaller older trains to avoid paying the really obnoxious main-line Spanish reservation fees. I just flashed my Eurail pass and rode. I figured I could do the same thing to Granada. But it turned out I was supposed to get a reservation, and wasn't allowed to ride without one. So the conductor held out his hand for 4 euros. Unfortunately, at that particular moment I was putting off a return to the ATM and had only 3.10 in currency on me. I wasn't sure if he was going to insist on throwing me off or not (because he didn't speak English, and I only kind of understand Spanish), but at the end of our talk he threw up his hands and never came back, so I can only assume he decided to let it go. He was pretty grouchy though.

I later chatted up and made friends with a middle aged San Franciscan couple who had been sitting a row or two behind me during this altercation on the train, and were waiting across from me for the train back to Sevilla later that night.

The best parts of the Sevillan cathedral, in my opinion, were the tower (formerly a mosque's minaret) that you could climb and see all of Sevilla from, and the tomb of Christopher Columbus, which I had no idea would be awaiting us there. It was also generally big beautiful and impressive. The Alcazar was cool, although I was less impressed than I might have been if I hadn't gone to the Alhambra first. The gardens there were also quite spectacular. And there were peacocks!

On Sara's first night in Sevilla we went out to dinner across the river. This was before we decided to purchase a small phrase book, and they had no English menu, so we picked items at random from the menu and hoped for the best. An excellent culinary adventure. We ended up with a really yummy tomato based stew with salty cod in it, and some meat we later discovered to be ox. Possibly ox calf. It was quite good. On our way back we saw a rat down by the water, which I thought was cool and Sara thought was terrible and upsetting. Especially when it started swimming. Then someone above our head started throwing small loaves of bread. We thought it might be AT us, but I think this restaurant just throws their leftover bread into the river for the fish. It was really crazy--the river positively started swarming and churning with fish. You could see thousands of them, right up at the surface, charging this bread and fighting over it. Exciting stuff.

And that pretty much covers the events of my latter two weeks in Spain. Except for our delicious, extremely non-traditional Thanksgiving dinner that culminated in me frequently stating "I'm a pirate and can drink as much as is needed," subsequently downing a bottle and a half of wine and, well...let's say I lived to tell the tale. Then of course there was the tragic saga of attempting to do laundry at my apartment. I think it's all dry now, but it took a good 4 or 5 days and several border crossings to get there. Soon I will write about my life post-Sevilla. It's been great, but despite a few landlady frustrations, Sevilla was a fantastic place to live, a beautiful city and it will always hold a special place in my heart, especially as it was technically the locale of my very first apartment. :)