R-M-S: an unsinkable itinerary

Another plane carrying carrying someone I know from the US arrived in Sevilla around 9 AM on March 3rd. I was at the airport waiting when she arrived (true story). Once in Alcalá, we headed to school for my one-hour meeting which gave Deb the chance to meet some of the teachers and see the school. We ate lunch with Shaelyn in Alcalá and then Deb took an extended siesta while I went to class. 

Solomillo in Alcalá

The next morning/afternoon Megan help us finalize our travel plans (namely, where we were going to stay on Saturday), escorted us to the Sevilla bus station and even took this fine photo:

We moved before that truck hit us.

We had an agenda in Sevilla. First, we had to buy bus tickets to Ronda. Easy, right? Not when the ticket seller is in the middle of a heated argument with some other worker. While muffled by the pane glass ticket window, it was still quite clear that neither of them were happy and neither of them were focused on selling tickets. The girl in line in front of us tried to get the clerk's attention but the clerk was much too involved in the argument. Through sleight of hand and a twist of fate (sprinkled with a lot of patience and 'oye's) the girl managed to get her tickets and then I was up to bat. I tried to convey that I wanted two tickets on the 6:15 bus to Ronda. That girl deserves a raise because somehow she got me the right tickets through the static of my less-than-perfect Spanish, the sound-shielding window, the man was arguing with her, and her return argument. Without looking directly at me and without skipping a beat in the argument, she accurately keyed in the information, took my money and handed me the tickets and the change. Look for the word 'multitasking' on her resume.

Second, we wanted to check our bags until the bus left so we wouldn't have to carry them around Sevilla. There is a bag check right at the bus station. For 2€ you can leave your bags for the day (it closes at 9 PM). The nicest, cutest old man was working there. I told him we wanted to check our bags and he responded, 'Well, that's what I'm here for.'

The third task was to buy the textbooks for my Spanish class (I needed them for class on Monday). So, billetes in hand and bags in holding, we headed to the bookstore. I feared it might be closed because two o'clock was approaching quickly, but we made it in time, they had the books and I had the credit card.

We walked around Sevilla a little bit and ate tapas at a restaurant in Barrio Santa Cruz (not the barrio that has a program about all the puppets that live there) near the Catedral. I made Deb try tortilla Española, among a few other things.

After an unsuccessful attempt to get ice cream at the usual place (because it was inexplicably closed), we settled for a place on Sierpes street (or somewhere thereabouts). It was time then to head back to the bus station to get our bags and hop on the bus to our first destination: Ronda (pronounced Rhone-Duh).

RONDA

Interesting fact: Michelle & Sasha Obama visited Ronda in August of 2010. Another: Ernest Hemingway and Orson Welles each spent a few summers in Ronda.

The bus ride was about two hours and I don't remember a lot of it because I dozed off. When we got to Ronda it was dark and we were map-less, as is becoming the trend when I travel. We sort of had directions. We knew that it was close to the Palacio de Salvatierra and the Casa del Rey Moro. We headed in what we thought was the right direction. After about five minutes I stopped and asked a woman at a shop how to get to the hotel. She said it was far away, but that we should go straight and then turn at some point and then ask for more directions. I asked if we should take a taxi instead if it was so far, but she said no. I've had this experience before in Spain. The time/distance to a destination has been severely exaggerated. I'm not sure what they do that it takes them 40 minutes to get to a place and it takes me 15 minutes, but I'm kind of curious. Anyway, since it wasn't much further we continued on on foot. When we reached a plaza we went into the five-star hotel (next to the McDonald's and the tourism office), where I (again) asked for directions and also obtained a map. We were about two minutes from the hotel at this point. It was like a magnet was pulling us right there. Map, who needs a map? Maps don't test my conversation and Spanish comprehension skills. The more times I have to stop and ask for directions, the lower my comprehension skills.

Our hotel was more like a bed and breakfast. The front desk attendant/owner/housekeeper showed us to our room and pointed out the amenities. What I remember most of all about the hotel were the towels: brilliant white and fluffy as a kitten.

As exciting as they were, I tore myself away from the wonder of the towels and we went in search of food. There weren't a whole lot of options but what we found had delicious tapas and sangría.

The next morning we went out exploring. First stop was a sugary breakfast:

Next, we checked out the town:

OOOOOOOOOOO...

AHHHHHHHHHH...

Puente Arabe

One of our stops was the Casa del Rey Moro. It was a dangerous place for both Deb and me. Deb tripped and almost fell in the small ditch at the entrance. She grabbed onto the wall for support, causing a framed article on the Obama's visit to Ronda to go crashing to the ground. Inside, while trying to find our way around the maze of the garden, I went down some stairs to what I thought would lead to the mine (mina). To my surprise, the steps ended at a rocky 'Slip 'n Slide'. Although I kept my balance (thanks to the poise and grace I learned in over a decade of dance and gymnastics), my Slip 'n Slide moves were like an interpretive dance with the message 'wrong way'.

The rest of the Ronda visit included viewing the Arab baths, the Puete Viejo and Puente Nuevo, (note: puente = bridge), stopping for lunch at a nice restaurant in a plaza with a musician (of the kindly-request-a-donation, outdoor and street-performer variety) and a great view. Our stomachs happy, we headed back to the hotel to pick up our bags and then on to the bus station. Next stop: Málaga.

Down the mine's ~200 steps.

The light on the end of the tunnel.

The Arab baths.

Puente Viejo.

Tuna and red bell peppers. Classic.

Paella!

MÁLAGA

Although I'd been to Málaga just a few months earlier, I still didn't have a map of the city. (Map, schmap.) I had the advantage of a general idea of where we were going though. We walked to the hotel (using my hotel-finding skills, Deb's information from the Internet and a map provided on the street). It was during this (15 minute?) walk on cobblestone sidewalks and roads that Deb decided we would be taking a taxi back to the train (yes, train) station on our way to Sevilla because her wheeled suitcase was just too annoying. This brought back memories of my trip to Nerja in 2001 where I cursed my own suitcase with wheels and vowed to purchase a large backpacking pack like those possessed by my traveling companions, who floated down the sidewalks of the city while I foundered.

We had decided to stay Sunday night in Málaga as well and take the early train back to Sevilla so I could attend Spanish class on Monday morning. We made arrangements at the hotel for another night stay, checked in and unloaded our suitcases in our room. We rested a bit and then went to check out 'Carnaval' which was going on that weekend. Oh, and we ate ice cream.

Back at the hotel the room was so warm that I couldn't sleep. I thought I had turned the heat off, but it still seemed like it was on full blast. There was also a strange light flickering going on in the windows across the patio. I couldn't figure out what would cause them to go on and off at varying intervals, but usually about 10 seconds apart. I thought maybe someone was trapped on the other side of the building and trying to send a Morse Code message with the lights. I don't know Morse Code though.

On Sunday we first visited the Alcazaba and Teatro Romano. At the entrance to the Alcazaba there was a ticket machine where you paid your admission. There was an guard standing at the entrance helping you make your purchase and, I'm sure, assuring that there wasn't an unusually high number of senior citizen and student visitors. I have a student ID, so I whipped it out and showed it to him to confirm I could enter for the low price of 1€. He looked at it and said, 'Oh, una Sevillana.' (A resident of Sevilla.) "Yes," I said. "Is there a special price for Sevillanas?" He didn't answer, instead he just helped me select and purchase the student-priced ticket from the machine. "Entra Sevilliana," (Enter Sevilla Girl.) he said. After that, we walked around the Catedral, saw the apartment where Picasso was born, saw the Mediterranean Sea, ate tapas, had another drink and saw more of the Carnaval festivities (including a parade).

Look how pretty the Mediterranean Sea is at 9 AM!

The Alcazaba de Málaga

Deb's Breezy...

Tapas/drinks in Málaga

I forced Deb to try more Spanish beer.

How Deb learned that Spain won the World Cup.

After the tour of the city, we returned to the hotel and I decided to ask the front desk attendant how to turn down the heat and what the explanation behind the light show was. He said he would send someone up to check it out. The person that came up to check it out said we had the heat on, so he turned it off (it didn't seem to make any difference whether the switch was up or down. I don't think there was an 'off' position on that heating switch.) As for the light show, he said it was the motion-detector lights in the hall across the way going on and off as people passed through the hall. It was a valid explanation, I suppose, but I was skeptical and curious about the amount of movement on the other side of the building. What was going on over there? Why was it so much more happening than our side? Was someone trapped and pacing back and forth and that was the reason for the constant flickering? I still wonder.

SEVILLA

We took the first train to Sevilla in the morning (bright and early). From the train station we took another train back into the city where we found a hotel where Deb could stay for her last night in Spain. Her flight left at 7 AM and she didn't want to have to worry about getting from Alcalá to the airport by 7 AM. You know how arduous the trip can be, especially with a heavy suitcase. So she got a room and we dropped our stuff off there. I went to Spanish class and she caught up on the sleep we missed by getting up so early.

At noon I returned to the hotel and we walked to the main entrance of the University of Sevilla, where one of my 5th year students (and a member of my conversation group) was waiting to give us tour of the highlights of the city. He showed us the entrance to the university (the old tobacco factory), Hotel Alfonso XIII, the Puerta de Jerez, Torre del Oro, Plaza de la Maestranza (the bullfighting ring), the Catedral and Giralda and the Alcázar. Then we had lunch in Barrio Santa Cruz ('the Barrio' as Deb called it) before parting ways.

Torre del Oro

Giralda Tower

The last part of the day was for exploring the 'Barrio', walking to the Plaza de España and then walking back to the Catedral area for one last Spanish bowl of ice cream.

Plaza de España (also where I picked up
my TIE card way back in December)

We walked back to Deb's hotel and said our goodbyes. Deb was going to check out, walk to the bus, get on the bus and get to the airport the next morning using the Spanish and universal hand gestures she knew. I had no doubt she could handle it. So I off I went back to Alcalá (mapless).