All the way to the bank (cities)

I finally made it up to Northern Spain. I have been to Barcelona several times, but I don't count it as northern Spain. I think of it more as 'right side Spain'. My trip to Bilbao and Santander (March 11-13), however, allowed me to finally check 'Northern Spain' off my travel list. In addition to their location, these cities also have another common thread: they both have banks named after them. BBVA stands for Banco Bilbao Vizcaya Argentaria and Santander for Santander (it's sort of like New York, it's the bank so nice they named it twice).

Tallest building to the right is the BBVA building in Bilbao.

Santander headquarters in Santander

I started my journey in Bilbao (which I'm sure I will spell wrong at some point in this entry. Sometimes I can't remember if the 'o' or the 'a' is the last letter), I arrived at about 10:00 AM at the Bilbao airport. I was mapless, as you might expect, but this time I actually stopped at the tourist office in the airport to get one. I obtained both a map and directions on how to catch the airport bus into the city. It came at a price though; I had to disclose my nationality for their statistics ('I'm just another Canadian tourist,' I said).

Onto the bus and into the city I went. The second bus stop was just feet from my hotel. I was allowed to check-in early (woo-hoo!) so I went up to my room, examined the map, took a nap and then went running. I was scared to walk out of the hotel in the middle of downtown Bilbao wearing my yellow running shorts and blue running top. I was expecting the stares I usually get here in Alcalá. To my relief people acted like I wasn't even there. It was a breath of fresh air.

A small part of my run in Bilbao.

I spent the afternoon walking around Bilbao, checking out the architecture, visiting the Guggenheim museum and getting my bearings. I also took a trip to the bus station, where I bought a ticket to Santander for the next day (Saturday).

After a run on Saturday morning, I walked a mile to the bus station and took an hour-long ride to Santander. I attempted to get a map at the information desk in the Santander bus station, but there was a sign posted that said that they didn't have maps. I tried to use the station's free wifi to pull up a map on my iPod, but I was unsuccessful. My third idea was to walk outside and follow the yellow signs pointing to the 'tourist office'. Unfortunately I could only find signs that had other words on them. It didn't matter though. I just wandered around and found churches, squares, outdoor escalators and great views without a stinking map. (Although, I never gave up the search.)

Cathedral of Santander- Nuestra Señora de la Asunción

Escalator up the hill

View from the top of the escalator.

I walked around Santander all day. I stopped for tea and read the paper (I learned that the US was appalled and disappointed with Gwyneth Paltrow's most recent appearance in Glee and that there was an earthquake in Japan). For lunch I went here:

The waitress here was super duper nice. She got the table all set for me, brought me a drink and answered my questions about the menu. I decided to get the three-course menu that included a a drink and bread for 9€.  The first course choice was simple- the lentils. But I wasn't sure what to get for the second course. I didn't know what a few of the choices were, so I chose one and asked the waitress.  I asked what 'callos' were. She couldn't explain them every well except that they were cow meat in a tomato sauce and that they were typical of Spain. And so, against my father's golden rule of never trying anything new, I ordered them.

Had I been a better Spanish student I would have known that 'callos' also means 'callus' or 'corn' (as in feet) and that an edible equivalent to the word couldn't possibly be a delicious decision. So when it came out, I tried it. It was slimy and chewy. It had absolutely no taste, just texture. After a few bites I convinced myself I had given it the ol' college try but ultimately didn't like it. So I left the rest.

mmmmmm.....?

I had a feeling I didn't want to know what I ate and I was right. My Grandma (Wehrmann) would have been proud of me (and would have laughed at my expense) for eating it. That is not a good sign. 'Callos' in English is 'tripe' or (according to thefreedictionary.com) 'the rubbery lining of the stomach of cattle or other ruminants, used as food'. Please note that it is not defined as 'food' but rather as something that is 'used as food'.

Luckily, I had the first course of lentils, the half bottle of wine (Don't judge me. That's what she brought me when I ordered red wine, I didn't ask for a half bottle) and ice cream to fill me up. The waitress also saw me drinking the bottled water from my purse and said, "I saw you drinking water from your bag. Do you want a bottle of cold water? It's included in the meal." I accepted her offer.
She forgot to bring me bread and remembered when she cleared the callos off the table. She asked me why I didn't remind her and I said that I had plenty of other food and I didn't need bread. She said, "Yeah, it's fattening anyway, it's better not to have the temptation" (or something along those lines).

After lunch I started walking again. At a crosswalk I met up with a little boy (he was maybe 2 or 3) and his mother. He saw an older lady cross the street on a red light and asked,
"Mamá, why did she cross the street?"
"Because she's in a hurry," the mother replied.
A few steps later, at another crosswalk, I took out my camera to take a picture.
"Mamá, why is she taking a photo?"
"Because she is visiting and she might not be back, so she wants to take a photo so she can remember where she was."

I walked back to the bus station and went the opposite direction I went the first time. Not long after my second departure from the bus station did I find the tourist office sign along with a touristy area. I walked down along the ocean/tourist area for about twenty minutes. The sun was setting and the sky was incredible. I'm glad I didn't find this area until dusk; the photos just wouldn't have compared to these.

I got on the bus back to Bilbao at 8 PM and walked back to the hotel where I watched the original Charlie and the Chocolate Factory on TV (in Spanish).

The next morning (Sunday) I took another walking tour of Bilbao. I walked outside the Guggenheim museum, crossed several bridges and walked in the historical downtown area, which was in stark contrast to the other more modern part of Bilbao I'd seen. It was almost like I was in another city.

Puete de la Salve

Mamá (the spider sculpture)

Me with the Guggenheim
museum in the background.

Zubizuri (White Bridge)

Puente de Deustu (Modeled after the
Michigan Ave. bridge in Chicago)

Yoga in English...for children.

The Way of St. James marker in on the sidewalk.

Plaza Nueva

Bilbao Summit of Way of St. James

I entertained myself by saying 'Bilbobus' over and over.

My favorite part about Bilbao was the name. You can put 'Bilbao' in front of every word and it makes it more fun to say: Bilbobus, Bilbao tao, Bilboa boat, etc. I also like that the Basque language uses the all too underused or forgotten letter 'k'. But I'm not the only one who likes the Basque language. Your favorite second president, John Adams, was also a fan. This monument in Bilbao displays his quote about the Basque people:  "While their neighbors have long since resigned all their pretensions into the hand of Kings and priests, this extraordinary people have preserved their ancient language, genius, laws, government and manners, without innovation, longer than any other nation of Europe."

John Adams in Bilbao.

Shortly after I left President Adams I took the bus back to the airport for my flight to Sevilla.

Bilbao, bye.

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).

An updated version is now available!

It seems I need to tie up a few lose ends from my previous entries. I didn't mean to leave you hanging like that. The suspense has probably been killing you.

First off, I was assigned to a Spanish class the Thursday after class started (so I missed one class). I was actually assigned to a class that worked perfectly with my schedule: Mondays and Wednesdays from 10:30 to noon. It takes a little over an hour to get there (and back), so it takes up a good chunk of those days. The class has students from the US, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Italy, Bulgaria and France. The class is at a good level for me grammatically speaking, but a challenge for me orally speaking (HA). I'm learning a lot though. I'm trying to ignore the fact that Spain's (class assignment) system worked. I think the score is now: me- 0, Spain-3.  Even after 519 years they've still got it.

It's much warmer these days. I back to wearing shorts and a t-shirt to bed.

The burn I got is healing well:

Another photo of Cousin It.
I'm on the borderline for creepy photos, aren't I?

My favorite teacher in the non-roommate category gets to stay and teach! Whew and hooray!

I got my 5th cold in 5 months right on time- February 28th. Two boxes of kleenex (plus napkins and toilet paper when available) in one week is all I really need to tell you.

I have now drunk tea four times. My conversation group got me to try rooibos tea and believe it or not, I liked it (I do so like green eggs and ham. Thank you, thank you Sam-I-Am). Rooibos is just my gateway tea. Someday I'll be higher class, drinking teas like Earl Grey and camomile and raising my pinkie in the air as I sip from my small white cup (and saying things like 'Swell' and 'So's your old man').

At press time, I was still not officially an aunt. UPDATE: Congrats Nicki & Jim! Baby Jackson born March 8th at 8:12 PM (Pacific Time) (but March 9th 5:12 AM Spain time).

Mérida (not Mierda)

I don't remember exactly why I chose to visit Mérida. As best I can remember, it involved looking at a map of Spain and considering airports, bus schedules, train schedules, siteseeing options and available hotels for cities that were identified on the map I was looking at. Armed with all of these facts, I made several very complicated calculations and determined that Mérida was the answer to my puente weekend needs. I hadn't heard of anyone else having been there. In fact, I don't ever remember hearing the name uttered previously at all. (But then again I don't remember taking the bus in Hawaii or being picked up at T-Hall to go to that marathon with Mom and Dad, so take that with a grain of salt.)

On one of my trips to Sevilla for Spanish class, I stopped at the train station to buy a ticket to Mérida. There is only one train per day from Sevilla to Mérida (and vice versa) and it takes four hours. It costs 15,20€ each way. Now this is where I may have made a miscalculation. First off, I should say that I have a problem telling a bus and a train apart. I use the words interchangeably as if the difference between these modes of transportation is so slight that it's a wonder there are even two words for such similar things. In fact, on my 'to-do' list I had written 'buy bus ticket to Mérida', but there I was at the train station buying a train ticket. Turns out, there are about nine daily buses to/from Mérida and the trip is but three hours. Well, mierda! Since I had already purchased the round-trip train tickets, I just went with it and chalked it up as a learning experience. At least I bought a ticket to the right city and on the right dates.

The train left at 3:50 from the main train station in Sevilla (Santa Justa). I decided I should leave the piso at 2 to be sure I got there on time. I would have to walk to the bus stop, take the bus to Sevilla, get off and go to another bus stop and take a second bus to the train station (you probably know the drill by now). And so off I went, arriving at the train station in plenty of time.

The four hour train ride was a little boring. The scenery was really pretty, actually and it was peppered with glimpses of livestock. Cows frolicked in lush, green grass at in one spot and further down the track sheep followed suit. It was quite idyllic. But it wasn't enough to entertain me for the full four hours so I took an hour long nap. I also took three videos of the train. Here's one:

I arrived in Mérida at around 8 PM. To my dismay, I discovered that I had not brought the sheet of paper where I had written the pertinent hostel information with me. You know, information like the hostel name, address and directions. I remembered reading the directions and thought I remembered writing them down, but they were nowhere to be found amongst my belongings. What I remembered was that the hostel was near the post office and near a main plaza. I thought the directions told you to look for signs to the plaza and then go around the corner by the post office to find the hostel. So that's what I did. I started walking in search of a sign that listed a plaza that sounded familiar. After maybe 15 minutes of walking through what I assumed was the center of the city ('downtown'), I came to the Plaza de España. I thought that might be the plaza I was looking for, but there was no post office in sight. I decided my best bet was to stop in at one of the hotels in the plaza and ask if they knew of a hostel whose name started with an 'S' and that was near the post office. Although not completely pleased with my lack of organization and information, the woman at the front desk of the (5-star) hotel was kind enough to search via Internet for the place I was looking for. I was in the hotel for less than five minutes. Armed with a map (finally) and directions, I stumbled upon my hostel just before 9 PM. 

I went out walking a bit after I checked in, but didn't really see anything or do anything. I figured I would leave the excitement for Saturday.

On Saturday morning I got up to run. I brought along my camera thinking that I would run to some of the sites with ruins. The fog threw a wrench in that plan. How foggy was it? Let me show you:

Do you dare cross the bridge?

Ducks in a row- get yours.

The path for running was awesome. It was right along the river and there were quite a few other people using it for walking, walking their dogs and even (gasp) running!

Even with the fog I managed to see this Roman bridge and see the entrance to one of the other tourist spots. After a shower I headed out toward the bridge to the Alcazaba. The Arab Alcazaba is a fort that represents one of the the best examples of military architecture of the time (835 AD). It was here that I bought a 6€ joint entrance ticket to six different sites. (This was the student price, but what a deal, right?) The ticket listed each site. As you entered each site, you showed the ticket and they punched a hole next to the site you were entering. (It reminded me of the passport book you can get at Epcot Center. You get a stamp to show that you 'visited' each country.) And so I spent my day trying to reach all six sites before they closed for the day (at 6:15 PM) and adding to the challenge was that 5 of the sites had a two hour break for lunch. This is what success looks like:

To prove that I was at each site and didn't just poke holes in the ticket, I took a photo at each one. I actually wasn't going to officially enter the Circo Romano. I had stopped by it at about 5:15 PM, but it just looked like a big, open field and since time was ticking and I thought the Cripta would be more interesting, I just took a picture of it from outside the fence and moved on to Cripta Santa Eulalia. However, upon further reflection, I decided I wanted, no NEEDED to complete my card. So with just 30 minutes to spare I raced to the Circo Romano (a little ironic, I think). I made it with enough time to take some pictures from within the confines and even to read up on some of the history.

Just outside the Circo Romano was the Acueducto de San Lazaro. Here, I sat down on a bench to take a little rest. Apparently an old woman and her husband were thinking of sitting down on the same bench to rest because she made a comment as she passed to the effect of 'Look at her sitting down there, right in the middle of the bench.' And then something about a 'desgracia' that I was going to remember but alas, I have forgotten.

I went back to the hostel to rest a little and then we back out to visit el Templo de Diana and the Restos del Foro Municipal (central plaza ruins).

Templo de Diana

Restos del Foro Municipal

I went to bed at midnight, but was awoken at 3 AM to what must have been someone in the room next to me (the only other room in my hallway) (finally) recording the Spanish voice-over for the restaurant scene in When Harry Met Sally. In my opinion a hostel room in Mérida, Spain at 3 AM was NOT the place to be recording said scene. I pounded on the wall to convey this opinion. Apparently I just ruined that take because I heard nothing for a few seconds and then the 'ay's continued.  In attempt to get some shut-eye, I turned on my iPod and turned up the volume to a I-am-trying-to-cover-up-the-sound-of-something-else level. It was only mildly successful in distracting me.

Sunday morning I had to catch the train by 9:45 AM. The ride back to Sevilla was just as boring and more lonely. I counted three people on the train (and I counted in English, so I know it was right).

Tic Toc. Waiting for 9:45 AM in Mérida.

B-O-R-E-D

Lookin' good, Spain. Lookin' good.

Santa Justa Train Station, Sevilla.

This time I took the train from Santa Justa to the other train station in Sevilla (San Bernardo) and THEN took the bus back to Alcalá, just to shake things up a bit.

I found the directions to the hostel, complete with a suggested Mérida itinerary safely stowed in my bedside table. The piece of paper on which they were written was being used as a bookmark in my 'Andalucía' tour book. Mérida is not in Andalucía hence why I brought neither the book nor my notes on my journey.