Madrid (Again) and Home

We've actually been home a few days now – since Monday in fact. Jet lag is no longer a credible excuse so it's about time I got around to covering the last days of our trip and closing out this blog. The day after our Gibraltar excursion we headed back to Madrid, which is where this journey started back in December. It was decidedly warmer this time around and the Christmas decorations were long gone.

We revisited some of the same sights – the Royal Palace, the Prado Museum, the Rastro flea market, a day trip to Toledo – for Myra's benefit, since she wasn't with us the first time around (although one could easily argue that the return to the Prado was mostly for my benefit). We even went to another flamenco performance at the same venue as before, although it was a different show this time, and just as good. We did see some new parts of Madrid as well such as the peaceful Royal Botanical Gardens, where the first blooms of spring were just materializing; the Thyssen Bornemisza Art Museum, which features the collection of a wealthy baron; and the huge Buen Retiro Park, 1.4 km² (350 acres) of green space and gardens on the edge of the city center with lakes, fountains, palaces and thousands of Madrileños enjoying a sunny afternoon. We still very much like Madrid.

Indeed, we very much like Spain. Deborah was surprised to find she likes it even better than Italy, which is saying something. And the people aren't as loud. Italians always sound like they're arguing, even when they're talking about the weather, gesticulating wildly as they shout into their cell phones. I like the more reserved French alright but Deborah finds them too snooty. The Portuguese are probably the most friendly of the bunch, and speak the best English. Weather-wise we were surprised to find how incredibly cold Italy could be. Southern Italy would be a bit warmer of course, but also more backward. Southern Spain and Portugal had the most agreeable weather and would probably be our choice for a new home if we ended up in Europe. But Europe is expensive. We can get so much more for our money in less developed countries, assuming we're okay with trading cathedrals, castles, and top notch infrastructure for a lower cost of living, warmer weather, and potentially friendlier people.

So for next winter we have our eyes on South America, especially Ecuador, Chile and Uruguay. If we can squeeze in bits of Panama and Mexico then we might try to do that as well. Stay tuned...

The Royal Palace



The Royal Peacocks


The Royal Botanical Gardens


The Royal Family


Santa Ana Plaza in Madrid


Another creative street performer in Madrid


Buen Retiro Park


Buen Retiro Park


Monument to Alphonso XII - Buen Retiro Park


The three of us say "See you next winter!"

Gibraltar

Gibraltar is a little piece of the British Commonwealth that sticks out from the southern coast of Spain. It's mostly just the big rock made famous by the Prudential Insurance Company, but a community of 30,000 manages to nestle onto a narrow shelf of land, some of it reclaimed from the surrounding sea, at the western base. Our Spanish bus stopped just short of the border, where we walked across with a disinterested wave from immigration control. Suddenly the signs were in English, we could understand what people were saying, and the ATMs were spitting out pounds instead of euros.

Our main interests were getting on top of the rock to admire the views and to see the so-called “apes,” which are actually Barbary macaques – a type of monkey. There are about 200 of them on the rock and they are fond of jumping onto vehicles and tourists, and collecting peanuts from the tour guides for whom they are the bread and butter. There are also some caves and siege tunnels worth viewing. And fish and chips.

To leave Gibraltar on foot as we did you actually have to walk across the peninsula's only runway (“Please Cross Quickly” the sign says). Another wave-through by the bored border security brought us to the bus station where we were shocked to see our bus driver for the trip home was the same fat, disgusting, emotionally volatile driver we had on our trip down from Seville. He remembered Myra and gave her a lecherous “Hola.” Just before pulling pull away from the station he bought some lottery tickets from a roving vendor, thus adding to his already considerable list of vices. For this short trip the driver at least seemed to be alert and we made it back to Tarifa in good order.

Myra and Deborah and The Rock


Lighthouse at Europe Point at the southern tip of the peninsula


Tour guide's best friend, aka Barbary Macaque


More monkey business


St. Micheal's Caves



Monkey on my back (photo by Deborah)




Deborah's new friend


Myra's new fur hat







Spain is at the top of the image across the runway



The queen is calling

Tangier, Morocco

Tuesday we placed our first steps onto the African continent in the city of Tangier, Morocco. A swift catamaran takes you across the strait of Gibraltar from Tarifa to Tangier in a bit more than the advertised 35 minutes, but still less than hour. Our guide Aziz met us at the dock where we joined a few other Americans for a combination minivan and walking tour that lasted all day. Aziz was a terrific guide, sharing with us many insights into Morocco's society and rich culture.

Morocco is a constitutional monarchy – one whose young, activist king is busy modernizing with improvements to infrastructure, increases in literacy, and expansion of women’s rights. The border town of Tangier, once the so-called armpit of Morocco, has received much of the improvement focus. It has the feel of a city on the rise.

Morocco is an Islamic country, but also a progressive one. You see many different manner of dress here. Some Muslim women are covered head-to-toe in their traditional kaftans. Others wear a head scarf but leave their faces exposed. Others leave their heads completely uncovered. Still others are in Western clothing. You also have native Berbers in their traditional clothing and men wearing long robes with pointy hoods. Arabic is the first language here, followed by French (it's a former colony, but independent since 1956), Spanish, and then English. Pot smoking, though technically still illegal, is tolerated – at least for locals. And growing marijuana is apparently a thriving industry out in the mountains. One member of our tour group bought a pipe and Deborah suggested she could probably get it filled here, but she wisely didn't try.

Shopping is an interesting experience here. There are no fixed prices, and of course the costs skyrocket for tourists. Haggling is a game and an art form, one which the merchants are expert at and you are a novice. And then there are the roving peddlers, who hover around you like mosquitoes with handfuls of leather goods or with jewelry hanging from their forearms. You can't help but laugh at how persistent they are if you show the least amount of interest in any item. They'll follow you down the street and if you duck into a cafe for a cup of coffee (and some second hand pot smoke) when you leave you will even find them waiting for you again outside to show you the items you already said “no” to several dozen times. But it's actually more entertaining than annoying. You have to remember that that extra euro means a lot more to them than it does to you. And Aziz did a good job of shooing away – at least temporarily – the aggressive beggars and the most relentless of the peddlers.

Deborah and Myra purchased huge piles of Moroccan spices, which have been scenting our luggage and hotel room ever since. They also bought two pair of colorful, bead-encrusted mule style leather slippers for 5 euros each ($7). I bought a wool hat for the same price. And Myra bought a rock for 3.50 euros ($5). Actually it was more than a rock as when you pull apart the two halves you see the beautiful array of purple crystals inside.

One of our favorite parts of the tour was the chance to see inside a dwelling that was being renovated to a very high standard inside the Kasbah, the former fortress and now residential area within the old city. We sort of lost count but it had something like eight bedrooms and nine bathrooms, plus a nice roof terrace. Seeing its simple front door from one of the many narrow lanes in the old town, you would have no idea what lay inside. Morocco is full of surprises.

Our catamaran


Our tour guide Aziz


In the old city



Me with what Aziz calls my harem



Weavers








Dos gatos



Dos mujeres bonitas








Mint tea (really good) (photo by Deborah)


One day I will dress like this











The spice merchant


The fish merchant


The olive merchant


The rock merchant, aka Myra's new boyfriend

Tarifa, Spain

We survived a bus ride from Seville to Tarifa in the care of a fat, sweaty, nicodine-addicted, bus driver who, when he wasn't displaying episodes of road rage, seemed to struggle to stay awake, or at least struggle to stay in his lane. He was also sweet on Myra. I'm fairly sure she doesn't return his affections.

Tarifa lies at the southwestern tip of Spain where the Atlantic meets the Mediterranean. In the summer months it's a popular place for windsurfing and kite surfing. For us it's the perfect base for day trips to Morocco and Gibraltar. But Tarifa is a cute little town in it's own right, with an old town within the remains of a medieval wall, a couple of castle ruins, and terrific beaches.

Tarifa



Nice sandy beaches


Myra and Deborah


You never know what you'll find on the beach.


One of the castle ruins





Me and Myra (photo by Deborah)


Across the strait lies Africa


Myra and Deborah