Last day

Oswaldo stays behind in the comfort of our new place to work on a paper and I venture out through the holiday crowds. As I pass though the square between the Real Alcázar and the Cathedral I am amazed to see huge lines of people waiting to get in. Just a week ago I could go right in.
I have an assignment today: to check out the Pronovia wedding dress shop on Calle Cuny for my 'sobrina', Karina Lassner, and like any other Sevillan I cut through the historic quarter knowing exactly where to go. I have become very familiar with the city. The store turns out to be a bit like a private bank, a lot of dark wood with a couple of glossy posters, but not an actual dress in sight. This is strictly by appointment, and the store attendants eye me doubtfully as I stand there bride-less so to speak. I explain that the bride in question is in Brazil. "When is she coming?" they insist, explaining they need time to get the dress to the store. I leave with a catalog and some prices and then saunter along, slowly returning to our apartment. I meet Oswaldo in the square below, where we settle at one of the tables of the Donaire Jacaranda

and order some delicious tapas: Bonito con tomate y la cidra - a plateful of thin slices of toast with warm grilled chunks of white tuna placed in a dab of sauce on top

and Queso balanchar gratinado com miel de azahar - like warm Brie with apricot jam (see picture) and utterly delicious with a cold beer

 

From where we sit we can see our apartment windows.

What a special trip this has been. Andalusía is a wonderful area to explore. It has everything, ancient history, wonderful nature, excellent food and drink, good infrastructure for tourism, and, of course, the courteous Spaniards with their lovely language. Oswaldo has enjoyed giving his talks and has made new academic friendships.

I have learnt a lot about Spain and Spanish and am ready for more. Maybe northern Spain next time?

We learnt a new word in Sevilla, Vale.  It is similar to OK, or, in Portuguese, neh. People use it all the time in casual conversation. 

Hasta la vista. Vale!

Leaving Ronda

TAP gets in touch to inform us our December 7 flight from Seville to Lisbon has been cancelled, which forces us to return a day later. Our friends have to return to Salvador on the original date, so we decide to spend that day in Seville. Oswaldo talks to the people at Corral del Rey, who offer us, since the hotel is full due to a local holiday, a service apartment behind the cathedral, with room for 5 - the only drawback being that it's a 2nd floor walk-up in an ancient building. No problem!
Meanwhile Ronda has filled with tourists spending the long weekend in the town. We cross the bridge again and when I get my camera out to snap a picture of bright oranges against the blue sky

I realize something is wrong. The lens cover opens only a slit and has to be nudged fully open manually. Bummer. But we head for the Museo Joaquin Peinado museum in the old Moctezuma palace, which has an interesting collection of the Ronda born painter who met and was influenced by Picasso and other greats when he went to Paris in 1923. He was unable to return to his birthplace due to the Civil War and eventually died in Paris in 1974. We also see a collection of Picasso ceramics.

Our next stop is the Lara museum, a collection of many things, through which a group of children run shrieking, touching everything, which is surprising, because, until now, we've only seen very well-behaved Spanish children. Part of the exhibition is dedicated to the Inquisition and Bruxaria - witch hunts -, and after a very short while I have had enough of torture instruments and return to the sun outside. This is a fortuneteller tableau from the exhibition

We meet Carlota and Abel for a leisurely outdoor lunch and then find a cab to take us back to Sevilla though the spectacular landscape.

Francisco, the driver, gets lost in the tiny streets around Corral del Rey, and eventually Carlota and Abel walk the last bit, dragging their suitcase, while Oswaldo goes to get Gabiela from our hotel, who will show us into our apartment. Francisco drops us in a quiet square, the Plaza de la Contratación, and we haul up our luggage to a charming and ample apartment, with all the comforts of the hotel, and with a view of the square and the cathedral tower.https://plus.google.com/photos/108088723826036223432/albums/5955012230479785585?authkey=CKvNx_DQs8C8qwE
Later we walk out to meet our friends for our last tapas together in nearby Casa Robles, and, like Ronda, Sevilla has filled with people for the holiday

We eat a fabulous seafood platter and grilled mushrooms with a salsa verde, accompanied with a great white wine. Then we walk back to our apartment and say our goodbyes.

Doing the rounds in Ronda

Oh, we're so lazy when we wake up. All these days we've walked and done things all day long, and now that the last talks have been given and the pressure is off, we feel like doing nothing at all. But outside beckons the astonishing sun and the equally astonishing landscape - just waiting for us to explore it.

- and, of course, the breakfast, lavish with everything you can imagine and ranging from these churros

to a series of surprisingly tasty gluten-free products.

There's a pathway long the gorge right outside our hotel, the Paseo Hemingway, and we follow it to be able to look into the cavernous gorge.

Then we cross over that fateful Puente Nuevo and head into the Moorish old town, La Ciudad, on the other side. In many places are photos of Hemingway and Orson Welles, both of whom spent time here. The latter's ashes are buried on the property of retired bull-fighter Antonio Ordoñez, the father of adored bullfighter, Gayetano Ordoñez, mentioned by Hemingway in The Sun Also Rises, and who is immortalized in a statue outisde the Plaza de Toros. Another frequent visitor was Rainer Maria Rilke, whose name seems to have inspired many restaurant owners. The poet would have been surprised! We meander through the pretty streets, unwilling to go into museums on such a glorious day, but finally we decide to check out the Casa del Rey Moro hanging on the edge of the gorge. It is under renovation, but we can visit the garden and a "mina". I find and stalk a reluctant peacock until I can get a picture, after which he lets out a series of outraged gargled screams. Maybe he's just looking for his mate? She disappeared as soon as she saw me.

The "mina" turns out to be a steep set of steps going round and round down into the rock-face, all the way to the bottom of the gorge. Oswaldo goes alone with the camera and is gone for a loooong time. He's pretty tired when he comes up the ap. 200 steps, but has taken some spectacular photos of the translucent water

Then follows a complicated, and ultimately succesful purchase of tablecloths from a nice Spanish lady, who leads me to her "hijo" in the store nearby. She explains he is her only son and that he is very beautiful, and I say I have one of those also :) He's tougher than his mom, though, and does not produce the  discount originally hinted at, but it doesn't matter. I know I'm buying way cheaper than at the store on the main street.

Ronda was a destination for 19th and early 20th travelers in search of the Romantic landscape. George Eliot was here, as was Washintong Irving, and many others. On our way back to the hotel we find the city plaque, which honors them with quotes from their work.

Oswaldo didn't get to see the Plaza de Toros  in Sevilla, but we visit together the one behind our hotel, which claims to be the oldest in all of Spain, built in 1785. Ronda had two very famous toreadors and their outfits and other paraphernalia are shown in an adjacent museum.

In the plaza outside the arena stands a most amazing statue of a charging bull. We fervently hope he was one who made it.

Here are the pictures from Ronda: https://plus.google.com/photos/108088723826036223432/albums/5954744074756187825?authkey=CJHOk_uUqI2ofA

Waking up in Malaga

By this time I have no longer any idea of the day of the week nor the date. What I do know is the breakfast offered to us this morning by the very neutral and business-like TRYP hotel is the best we've had so far. Expresso coffee, a wide selection of fruits and juices, several kinds of yogurts, idem breads and rolls, exquisite little cakes, cold cuts and eggs for the asking. It will be hard, but certainly necessary, to return to the homemade granola with soymilk and a single fruit - our usual fare in Rio. Abel appears  holding several printed sheets and Oswaldo and I leave him to think about his talk. Soon Oswaldo too is gone and I pack our bags and prepare to vacate the room and meet Carlota, who's been doing the same. We have a plan to find the world famous Picasso Museum in the historic center, but El Corte Inglés, a huge department store, on the way lures us in, and we spend some motherly in time there selecting Christmas presents. On our way out we hear lively forró music. Turns out there's a skating rink nearby, where teenagers are having a lot of fun dacing on their blades - or just holding on for dear life.

We pass a splendid array of phallic-looking churros, offering a variety of fillings,

and eventually, with the help of many passers-by, find the way to the historic center.  

The new Museo Carmen Thyssen, built in a renovated old palace, has a selection of mainly 18-19th century Spanish painters, many excellent, depicting scenes from life in southern Spain. It's fascinating for us, because it makes the settings, the shaded courtyards with their fountains and tiles and the lush gardens, which we have seen throughout our trip, come alive. It is a happy collection, perhaps because it takes a loving look at life and tradition in Andalusia and makes you feel part of it. This is the painting called "Julia", which is the "carro chefe" of the collection

I have to run our of the quiet exhibition rooms, when my cell-phone suddenly trills its merry tune. Oswaldo and Abel are done and will be dropped nearby, by a Malagan professor.  There is a still the world famous Picasso Museum to be seen, but when we meet up in the nearby Plaza de la Constitución, we just feel like walking along, watching the scene,  and then finding the Mediterranean - Abel's long time dream. 

We cross a busy avenue and walk through a long garden, where Bird of Paradise flowers and date palms mix with more temperate vegetation, until we reach a modern port area

Abel is thrilled to see the sea and starts singing to himself, songs about the sea, which he learnt in his childhood. We find an attractive outdoor restaurant for our lunch

and then take a cab back to our hotel, where the bags are waiting. The hotel arranges a new driver for our ap. 2 hour drive to Ronda. Sated after lunch and wine all except Carlota doze of. Every now and again I come to and catch bits of her conversation with the driver, who, it turns out, was vegan for twenty years until he met his muslim wife and converted. He says he could not continue to be vegan "because of the sacrifices," a phrase we return later to wonder what it means. What sacrifices? Meanwhile the landscape is changing dramatically with the lowering sun on our right and I snap some photos as we drive along.

Finally we enter Ronda, the largest of the pueblos blancos in the mountains between Malaga and Sevilla. The Guadelevin river, which we saw in Sevilla, cuts through the city in the deep Tajo canyon, and our hotel, the former town hall and now a Parador hotel, sits right next to it. Once in our room I open the windows to take my first look at the amazing view surrounding us.

The bridge is mentioned in Hemingway's For Whom the Bells Toll as the one from which fascist sympathizers are thrown to their death. In fact, we will learn, this seemingly peaceful little town has suffered much in the past, including from the hands of the Spanish Inquisition.

The Alhambra!

We have set our alarm for 7am to have time to pack and check out from Carmen de la Victoria and then to be by the door of the Nazaríes Palace at 9.30am. When I open the window I see this sight - the dawn on the Albaicin hill - and I feel wide awake.

Soon we're in a taxi with a driver who takes us again the long way down the hill, complicated by the fact that it is the school hour. He keeps asking if we have the big or the small tickets. I think he's trying to sell us something and assure him we have EVERYTHING, but it turns out the small tickets gets us straight to the palace entrance, and thus we're 45 minutes early on that cold, cold morning. We have time, then to visit the Alcabaza, which from the 9th century is the oldest part of the complex. In front we find couple of cold cats warming each other

 and from the top of one of the towers is the most beautiful view of the hills surrounding Granada.

Then we join the line already formed in front of the palace and we're in - alas with several groups and their guides, French, Korean, and Spanish. We walk from room to room admiring details of woodwork tiles, and vistas

as we have in several other Moorish palaces by now, but the Patio de los Arrayanes (Court of the Myrtles) takes out breath away, it is so graceful with the still, mirroring water.

At the same time we have these posings for photos to block out, although we see these same Koreans endearingly do Tai Chi-like stretching exercises, when we happen to run into them at the coffee bar at the end of the tour.

Behind is the Salón de Embajadores with a wonderfully carved ceiling and the Sultan's throne

and next is the much expected Patio de los Leonares, with a marble fountain held high on the back of 12 lions, which represent the hours of the day, the months and the zodiac signs, and surrounded by graceful collonades. The guidebook says it was here the sultan enjoyed his harem

We're curious to see the ensuing Sala de los Reyes, with it's profane paitings on leather, but it is closed for renovation. We move on to the Patio de la Reja, where Washington Irving camped out while writing his Tales of the Alhambra, and pass through the lovely Royal Baths, the Daraxa patio, and the Queen's Dressing Room

Then we're out of the palace and sit for a while in the sun, enjoying the peace and the gardens in front of us. Up a long path lies the Generalife, the summer palace, and after a while we stroll in that direction, passing on the way a group of very small school children, dressed in identical dark blue wind-breakers. They're standing in the cold shade with their teachers and are being taught how to clap their hands and their chests to get the circulation going, all of which they do enthusiastically. We wander on and find a bench in the sun, where we sit for a while looking down at the view and the elaborate gardens,

marveling at the wonder of it all. Eventually we find the energy to move on and see the rest of the summer residence, basically the outdoors, which is the pleasurable retreat one could imagine with shady gardens, and patios with many splashing fountains. A summer's day would have added the scents from the many flowering plants.

On our way out we see the little kids are now seated in a row in the sun listening to a teacher. Suddenly they break into song and sing all the words with gusto, so much so that we clap and shout "Bravo!" when they're done. The teacher's voice floats acoss to us, "Digan gracias." 

After a quick coffee we catch a cab back to the Carmen and share a nice smoked salmon salad with Chino and Pelma, two rather hungry cats, with cold cerveza for good measure. Then Abel and Carlota arrive from their half hour later Alhambra experience and we all pile into Paco's cab to go to Malaga, where Oswado and Abel will give their talks tomorrow. It's a bit of a culture shock to enter a big busy city and to be dropped at a Tryp hotel, but the rooms are comfortable and the internet works. We end the night with a cheerful dinner at a nearby restaurant

Here are the many photos from our visit: https://plus.google.com/photos/108088723826036223432/albums/5954020537580381185?authkey=CIazwdyekd2LXg

Walking on the Alhambra hill and around the city

After a good night's sleep I wake to this view:

and we get ready and hurry down to breakfast, because Maria José, the professor, who has arranged our visit, will be picking up the men soon for their talks

Carlota and I take our time getting ready - we're also waiting for it to warm up a bit from the 7 degrees C outside. We have to go to the highly organized Alhambra, for which we've bought tickets over the internet a month ago, to make sure we're all set. Turns out the taxi there takes a very long route, similar to driving through Rocinha and getting stuck behind a garbage truck or a bus - or both. Our tickets are duly checked and we walk down through a beautiful park area

until we reach the Plaza Nueva in the city center in the middle of the two hills. From there we head into a fun area of tiny alleys and many middle eastern style shops, the Calle Caldería,

where we enter into serious negotiations with a very pleasant young Muslim woman and thus manage to get a little discount on our purchases. The men call to tell us they're done with their talks and we're all having lunch - on the Plaza Nueva. We meet Maria José and Manolo, and share a sizzling pan of a local Paella version using thin spaghetti instead of rice and an inky dark rice and squid dish along with a portion of local fava beans cooked with the ubquitous and delicious finely sliced ham, which even we eat - even though we've seen all over the ad for the ham, which includes a delicate little hoof sticking out as a kind of handle… We're sitting outside in the sun at a pavement restaurant, and when the sun moves we decide to go to an old Teteria, an Arab teahouse, where I drink a Boabdil tea, in honor of the last emir, who, according to Washington Irving,

in his Tales of the Alhambra, which I have been reading, unjustly was accused of beheading more than thirty of his rivals…We also fall upon a selection of Arabian sweets!

Then our hosts leave and the four of us continue to walk around the city, wondering why there are so many tea shops near the cathedral

which we forego for the smaller Capilla Real, which contains the mausoleum of Isabel and Fernando, and also their actual coffins. We also head into the old Palacio de la Madraza, which, interestingly has glass floors to show the excavated ancient stone floors and pavements, and fine pale woodwork on every available surface

On our way out Oswaldo stops to admire an amazing and very still human statue.

I linger a bit to watch a kind of changing of guard, as the silver guy breaks his pose and makes room for a new character with expressive face staring out behind matted black hair and covered in a black cape. As he fidgets to get the right pose, his dog, a slender boxer stands still with her head bowed. She looks like she's in for a long chilly haul. He sees my interest and says I can pet her. Her name is Kiri and she leans into me as I scratch her expertly. When I leave and look back, her head is bowed again and she stands as still as her master.