Meeting Folks in Alozaina

Meeting Folks in Alozaina                February 5, 2014

At home, we are pretty social folks, especially me!  On the road for long periods of time, it can be a bit constraining to have only one's spouse to communicate with.  So, now that we are settling into life in Alozaina, it is lovely to be meeting new folks.  On our first day here, last Friday, we didn't meet a soul, other than the grocery store vendors.  However, on Saturday morning, as we puttered around the casita, me still in my pj's - as usual - an unexpected knock came on the door.  We looked at each other with an air of surprise and anticipation.  Who could it be?  Being not quite presentable, I stayed out of the way, while Bruce opened the door to find two well-dressed, well-scrubbed middle-aged gentlemen, holding paper tracts.  Yep, the Jehovah's Witnesses are here in Spain, too!  This is one of the rare occasions when lack of the language is a benefit.

No more quickly had we settled back into our puttering than another knock came on the door.  This time it was a tall, lanky Brit, who introduced himself as Rod, a friend of Hugo and Mary, our landlords.  Hugo had told us about Rod and his wife Alice and what great folks they are.  We were delighted to meet Rod, who had come to invite us to attend a small market, where we could meet many of the English-speaking ex-pats who live in town.  We were so impressed that he had walked across town and down our rigorously steep stairway to welcome us.  Rod is a stained glass artist, a fluent Spanish speaker, and a musician - with a fiddle to spare!  He and Alice have lived in Alozaina for about 10 years.

When we found the market later, we met Alice, who is a painter, writer, and musician, as well as a transplanted Canadian (from Vancouver).  Alice and Rob took us under their wings and introduced us to several other ex-pats, including Jon, who is a musician from one of the Devon (England) towns that we had visited in 2012.  Jon is here for awhile, doing some writing and research on the Sephardic Jewish experience in Spain.  There was also Steffi, who hails from "the other Portland" (Oregon) and who is here for a few months, having attended a nearby retreat.  Tricia is a British organic farmer who invites workers to come and help out on her farm here.  Anna is a Dutch artist who has built a straw bale house and lives off the grid with her Irish boyfriend.  Mahree is an Israeli who also lives off the grid with her husband and is an ardent gardener, too.  There was also Alvaro, a young Spanish-British engineer who will soon bring his wife and toddler from England to live here while he builds guitars.  What an incredible community of creative, artistic, alternative life-style individuals we had fallen into!  They all welcomed us warmly.  In fact, when Alice heard that I am writing a blog, she invited us to join her and Jon and Steffi the next day for a newly formed writers support group at her house.  We went, not without a tiny bit of trepidation, and it was a delightful sharing of ideas and thoughts and even some writing.

             Bruce arriving at Alice and Rod's house

But, you ask, what about the Spanish natives?  On Sunday, just as we were preparing to leave for our writers group, Bruce noticed our across-the-street neighbor, Juan, whom Hugo has also mentioned. 

Juan is the go-to guy if you have a house problem that needs fixing - and another wonderful person, it turns out.  We had been having trouble with our wood stove, despite Bruce's expertise.  The pipe was filled with creosote and was not drawing well, often filling the house with smoke and giving little heat.  Through emails, we had been advised by Mary to contact Juan.  Well, now was the time.  When we had explained the problem - in our best bumbling Spanish - Juan took over enthusiastically, running upstairs and outside to look at the pipe, opening windows to create draft and let the smoke escape, stuffing the stove with wood.  He said (we think) that he'd get a ladder the next day and fix things up.  In the meantime, he rushed back to his house and reappeared with a box full of oranges, tangerines, and avocados from his own garden.  With a few more words, he left and reappeared with a huge jug of olive oil, from which he filled our bottle.  It, too, was the product of his own olive trees.  Sweet welcome gifts!

                Juan's sweet gift of oranges and tangerines

Juan has been back a couple of more times, and the stove seems to be working much better.  Today we met Juan's wife, Laura, who told us about her three daughters, one of whom has had to leave to work in Switzerland, due to severe unemployment here.

Tomorrow, on Bruce's birthday, we'll invite three of our new acquaintances to share some tapas treats with us.  On Friday, there's flamenco on offer at a tapas bar.  Next week, our British friends whom we met in France in 2006 will come to spend a couple of days with us.  Suddenly life is pretty full.

Alozaina at Last February 2, 2014

On Thursday afternoon we finally arrived at our rental home in the Andulusian village of Alozaina (pronounced Aloe-THINE- a). Our journey started in Ronda - a lovely and very old town in the mountains where we stayed for two days.   We were a bit uncertain of the bus schedule because the information we had was outdated but, with the help of the tourist office, we got a schedule that was up to date.   After some anxiety and uncertainty about where to find the right bus company (there were about 5 different ones), the right gate, and how to pay, we finally jumped on the correct bus.

Road from Ronda

The trip was about an hour and took us over some very narrow and twisty roads through the high hills and mountains of the Sierra de las Nieves National Park.  The scenery was desolate with lots of rocks, olive trees, and even sheep in the roads.  We hoped the driver was paying attention as he honked the bus around every hairpin turn going up and down the steep hills. The bus was very silent. We wondered if the other passengers were praying, as we were, or were just watching the scenery. Right on schedule, we arrived in Alozaina and were dropped off at the small park that serves as a bus stop.   Using our GPS, we found our way to the town hall where we were met by Hugo, the Irish owner of our rental house.   

Alozaina - a white village (pueblo blanco)

Hugo turns out to be from Dublin and is a published author and playwright.   He and his wife have owned the house for 10 years and use it for vacations and long trips during the fall and spring.    The house is close to the center of a charming white village that sits on the top of a steep hill - surrounded by orange, lemon, avocado, and olive trees.    The house is about 500 years old and built in the typical Spanish style with 2 ft  thick walls, small windows, and no central heating system. Homes here are built to shelter folks from the intense heat of summer and can be cold during this time of year.  Thankfully, we have a little wood stove that provides some comfort during the cold nights.

On our first evening here, we located some of the essential services - meat store, bread store, vegetable store, and general store.   We will try to avoid the larger chain Dia supermarket in the new part of town as we would like to support the local businesses that seem to be thriving.   Today, we made another foray into town to buy a few more groceries and learn more about the town where we will spend the next month.

It was misting heavily with spots of sun peeking through the low clouds but we took a brief orienting walk up the hill opposite our home.   The area seems very old with ancient olive trees, old stone walls, and terraced fields that could have been built during Roman or Arabic times.   The hills here are seriously steep and we marvel at how people zip up and down the painfully narrow alley ways in their cars and motor scooters.    Some streets are so narrow that you can’t turn around in your car and have to drive up and then back down - carefully avoiding houses, pedestrians, and  parked cars.   

Looking toward Alozaina from a misty mountain road

Once we get ourselves oriented to the house and the town, we hope to meet some of the local English speaking residents of town.   We are told that the 20 or so Irish, Canadian, and English folks gather at a local cafe on Tuesdays, and we plan to join them.  Meanwhile, we’re meeting a few of the Spanish residents. They all seem friendly and tolerant of our feeble attempts to communicate with them.   We plunge ahead in our painfully inadequate language skills, but we’re pleased that there is some recognition of our willingness to try which is rewarded by getting what we ask for.  Pointing and grunting helps too.

ripe olives

We’re glad to get settled into one place after being on the road for 3 weeks and having to adjust to a different city and new bedroom every few days.  It was great fun because we met many interesting  people and saw so many amazing places, but we are tired and happy to be in our “own” place for a month. We’re hoping for more sun but are content with the warmer temps and the lack of snow.  Of course, we are loving the fresh food, the gorgeous scenery and learning more about the Spanish culture and history that surrounds us.

Granada, home of the Alhambra

Granada, Home of the Alhambra               January 31, 2014

Granada, the Alhambra: such exotic names, conjuring up images of hidden gardens and Arabic palaces.  It was hard to believe that they are real places where people live real lives in a modern world - until we arrived and discovered that Granada is a lively Spanish city.   The smallest and most easterly of the three major cities in Andalusia, it's the most southerly, as well, though not the warmest, due to its location close to the mountain range known as the Sierra Nevada.   Snow on those mountains was a reminder that winter is not far away, after all.

Our AirBnB this time was the modern, spacious apartment of a lovely woman, her two sons - ages 11 & 14 - and their dog, Lucy. We had a bedroom and adjoining private bath - and delicious breakfasts every day, prepared by Rosa.  She was a delightful host, helping us with questions of train tickets, local bus travel, and admission to Alhambra, as well as broadening our ever-evolving understanding of modern Spain.  On our first day there, she had to run off to attend a futball (soccer) game of one son - and then do the same for the other son the day after.  She's divorced and does marketing work from home, but her ex-husband lives nearby and is very involved with their sons.  She could be a Gorham soccer mom. 

 

                       our room in Rosa's modern apartment

Bruce had ordered tickets for the Alhambra even before we arrived in town, as had been advised, and our appointed time was 2pm the next day.  A bus took us from bustling downtown Granada up the steep hill to where the red brick palace-fortress complex stretches out along a high ridge.

 some of the Alhambra walls with snowy mountains in the distance

Visiting in January saved us from the crushing crowds that throng this world-famous site in warmer months.  Even so, the entrance line was pretty long, most of whom were tourists from Spain.  Once we got inside, there was enough space for everyone to spread out and enjoy being drawn into the last bastion of Islamist power in Spain.  After Seville and Cordoba had fallen into the hands of the Christians, the Muslims of these cities flocked to Granada, which managed to hold onto power for another 250 years.  The arts, sciences, and humanities flourished during this time, and Granada became one of the richest cities in Europe.  The grandeur of the Alhambra speaks to this status.  Everywhere one looks, there is beauty:  intricate, dainty stucco work on the walls;  detailed, geometric carved wooden doors and ceilings; horseshoe-arch openings, dripping with lacy hangings; lush, colorful gardens, and everywhere the gorgeous tiles.  Light played on the shiny marble floors, and stately columns created shadows. And the magic of water is everywhere, with its coolness and its soft, burbling sounds and its graceful reflective quality.  It was all very sensual and other-worldly and reminded us of the uplifting power of beauty.

                                      beautiful tiles

A couple of my favorites were the Patio of Lions, where 12 stone lions surround a fountain, each spouting water out of its mouth.  Very fun. Just off to the side of this patio is a room with an amazingly beautiful ceiling, octagonal in shape and embellished with lacy stucco work.  And outside, in another area, is a simple invention that would be so great on a hot, hot day:  a channel of running water that courses down an outdoor stairway - at waist-height so that one's hand can dribble in it while climbing the stairs!

                              Patio de los Liones

       amazing octagonal ceiling with light and stucco work

The water comes rushing down at just the right height to dribble one's hand in it while climbing the stairs.

                             one of the lovely patios

We stayed as long as we could, discovering one lovely pool or garden after another in this magical place, until our stomachs were growling for food and we tore ourselves away, down the hill to the real world and a tapas bar.

Cordoba

Cordoba January 25, 2014

Can it be only 2 1/2 weeks since we left home?  Boy, it seems so much longer!  So many new experiences, so much new information to absorb, such a different culture (though, I guess, not THAT different, since it’s still western world).  

Andalusia, the southern part of Spain where we will spend most of the winter, has several key cities:  Sevilla, Cordoba, and Granada.  There’s Malaga, too, and the small town of Ronda.  Before we’re finished, we hope to have visited all of them, in addition to the village of Alozaina, where we will rent a small vacation home for the month of February.  Last week we were in Sevilla; this week it’s been Cordoba.  We had considered not hitting Cordoba, but I’m so glad that we decided not to skip it. While also on the list of World Heritage Sites, it’s less toney, less polished, half the size, a bit rougher than Sevilla - finding its way in these difficult economic times, with an amazing heritage and friendly people.   

The comparison of the two cities parallels our living experiences in each one.  In Sevilla, we stayed in the beautiful apartment of a nice lawyer and his family.  There was lovely art work on the walls and yummy treats put out for us to eat in the morning, as well as a belle epoque elevator to whisk us up to the third floor.  

Here in Cordoba, we’re staying on the third floor again, but this is a 10th century home (imagine!!), in the process of being restored and made into accommodations for travelers.  The building is owned by a transplanted German woman, very thoughtful and intelligent and worldly, and her place is definitely a work in progress.  It's amazing how she has made our little slice of heaven into an efficient space, with a bed, 2 comfy chairs, a tiny kitchen space, and a place to hang up our clothes, as well as a miniscule bathroom - all in the space that is about the size of our family room sitting area at home, or less. On our arrival last Monday, we entered a pretty, outdoor, enclosed patio with a non-functioning fountain in the middle, surrounded by lots of plants and some outdoor furniture. This is the only area where "weefee" works.  

Our Cordoba patio

We then lugged our bulging bags up two flights through a narrow, dark stairway.  We had been spoiled in our Sevilla spot with our elevator and our Wifi in our room.  But we love the ambiance, Carola's kindness, and the location right in the middle of the old city, not far from the world famous Mezquita.  There are homey little tapas bars all around, where we can take our laptop or our books and just hang out with a plate of fried sardines (boquerones, we could live on these - YUM) and a medio (glass of Cordoba white wine). There is so much antiquity to explore and absorb, just outside the gates of the house.

the old arch leading into our calle

The major draw in Cordoba is the Mezquita, the ancient 8th century mosque (turned Cathedral). Lonely Planet calls it "Andalucia's most spectacular structure" and "impossible to overestimate its beauty". I must say that I, too, was stopped dead in my tracks upon entering the "forest" of red and white arches in a space that holds a spiritual feel like a filmy scarf over all. It evoked a sense of exotic awe and joy, like nothing I've seen. Apparently, the goal of the architects all those centuries ago was to create a feeling of spaciousness and airiness, leading the eye heavenward. It was one of the largest mosques in the world, rivaling only the mosque in Baghdad. After Al-Andalus (the province of Andalucia) was lost to the "Catholic monarchs" during the Reconquista, the conquerors plunked a 16th century cathedral right into the middle of the arches! So, it's a fascinating historical creation, with a Christian church surrounded by an Islamic mosque. The two are totally different in style, of course, considering that they were built nearly a thousand years apart - and for two different religious faiths. I have never seen a marble bull and eagle in a sanctuary - or a lion, for that matter. Nor have I seen a sculpture of an angel wearing knee-length boots and showing bare leg! Anyone who can shed light on these phenomena, please let us know.

             the amazing arches in the Islamic part of the Mezquita

                                      superhero angel

bull and eagle in the Catholic Cathedral part of the Mezquita

Another interesting destination in the old city of Cordoba was the Casa de la Serafad, a house devoted to the Sephardic Spanish experience, with special focus on Maimonides, the great Jewish philosopher, organizer of the Torah rules, and medical expert. He was a native of Cordoba, but had to flee with his family during the time of the Inquisition, ending up in Cairo.

Sephardic pottery and statue of Maimonides in the old Jewish quarter

One of the characteristics of Islamist architecture, apparently, was privacy for the home. The Spaniards seem to have picked up on this concept, too, as inner patios are common. We had seen this in Guatemala, but here the patios are more often open for a peek from passers-by, while still offering protection with a lovely iron gate, designed in scrollwork. Recently, Cordoba has developed a patio competition, I read, where owners decorate their patios with plants, etc. and then open them to the public at certain times (not in the winter). We were able to get a few glimpses, even in January.

Cordoba has a beautiful new pedestrian walkway along the Quadalquivir River (same river as in Seville). In the evening, with the sun setting, it was lovely to join others who were strolling, jogging, biking, etc. Even after dark, energetic exercisers ran over its smooth surface.

The Mezquita and the walkway which runs along the river.

Flamenco: OH-lay, oh yes!

Flamenco: OH-lay, oh yes!  January 22, 2014

On our last day in Seville, Sunday, the 19th, my one goal was to see a flamenco performance.  After all, Andalusia is the home of flamenco.  In Sevilla, the gypsies - who originated this art form - were confined to the town of Triana, across the river from Seville.  It was there that they had expressed their sorrows and frustrations through this ancient tradition of song, guitar-playing, and dance.  Modern flamenco shows, geared toward tourists, can be quite expensive.   We had been steered by Pablo, the young adult son of our hosts, toward La Carboneria, a nearby flamenco bar where the only expense is for the drinks and food that you consume.  The one catch is that they don’t always present flamenco performances.  We decided to take our chances here, rather than in a more pricey alternative.  

So, at about 8:30 pm, we wended our way through a dark, narrow, empty, twisty street of the old Jewish quarter, Santa Cruz, feeling a little unsafe until we heard the sound of a child’s laughter coming from one of the houses.  A bit tentatively, we entered La Carboneria through an old, old door, freshly painted bright red.  We were met by two old men, one softly playing a clarinet, the other - even older, with a big dowager’s hump, wearing a long black coat and large flat-brimmed hat - crouched next to a tall white fireplace.  Its glowing log sent out a welcome warmth on this chilly evening.   The men assured us that a flamenco performance would take place there at 9:30 pm.  

Door to Carboneria

We entered a large, no-nonsense room, furnished with long tables and benches surrounding a plain stage, that held 3 wooden chairs against the back wall.   Along one side of the room was a bar serving all manner of alcoholic beverages - with a few tapas offerings as an afterthought. Overhead, a corrugated steel roof covered everything.  There were very few folks there at this point, so we had our choice of places to sit and selected a spot right in front of the stage.  With an hour to wait and no books on hand to read (we don’t usually leave home without a couple), we resorted to quizzing each other on Spanish vocabulary.  

Right on schedule, the trio of performers took their places on stage.   They were all in their 30’s, I would guess.  To me, the female dancer and the male guitar player looked like sibs.  She was extremely thin, dressed in a tight red dress, with traditional ruffles along the hem, and black dancing shoes.  Her black hair was pulled back into a traditional chignon at the neck, her eyes outlined definitively in black eye-liner.  He was casually dressed and seemed comfortable cradling his guitar.  Between the two of them sat a female singer, dressed in normal street clothes.  

i

Never having experienced flamenco, we were mesmerized and at the same time intrigued by the unexpected lack of melody in the singing.  There was a wailing aspect to it, ranging from low and slow to loud and fast, which gives it such a deeply felt emotional tone.   It reminded me of opera in the depth of emotion being expressed.  Of course, it was sung in Spanish and we had no clue as to the lyrics.  Several songs were performed with just the singer and guitarist.  The dancer kept her attention soberly on the floor in front of her, joining the singer in occasionally clapping the rhythm.  Off to the side of the stage, the old man in the long black coat danced a little bit, almost in spite of himself.  

Finally there was a number that involved the dancer, who took to the front of the stage, her torso stretched out tall, her arms and hands in graceful, taut poses, soon whirling in staccato fashion, her feet striking the floor decisively to accompany the guitarist in creating rhythm.  It was beautiful! 

They performed for ½ hour and then left the stage.  We didn’t know if that was the end or just a break.  We sat for a bit and then decided that we’d had our flamenco experience for that day.  As we departed through the warm outer room with the fireplace and the high walls covered in posters and paintings of dancers and guitarists, it seemed that we had been in some sort of temple to flamenco.  

As pleased as we were with this experience, little did we realize that the very next evening, in the city of Cordoba, we would stumble onto an even more inspiring flamenco gathering.  By then we had moved out of the lovely apartment in Seville, taken a train to Cordoba, and moved into another AirBnB accommodation.  That evening we were walking around the old part of the city, trying to get our bearings (and to get warm by moving around), when we heard flamenco singing coming from a tapas restaurant.  It was about 8:30 pm,  and we decided to stop for a bite to eat and to listen.  In the fairly large dining room, there were 4 people sitting at the end of a long table.  The young male singer’s plaintive song filled the room, accompanied by the skillful guitar playing of a middle-aged man.   We quietly ordered a tapas and began to listen.  Soon the small group was joined by others, mostly older gentlemen, who greeted each other warmly and took a place at the table or nearby.  The room began to fill, all respectfully paying careful attention.  Then an attractive woman shyly but resolutely began to sing in a vocal dance with the music of the guitar.  There were no actual dancers.  

the female singer and the guitarist (note the Montilla-Moriles wine on the table)

a debonair Spanish gentleman in traditional attire

When one singer finished, the guitarist would pause and then continue playing, while another guest would pipe up with a song, ending to shouts of OH-lay and appreciative clapping from everyone.  Before long, the room was filled with about 50 admirers crowded into the space, all ordering a beer or the typical Cordoba white wine, Montilla-Moriles.  We learned from someone sitting near us that these were all amateurs, who gather once a week to sing the traditional flamenco songs.  This gathering seemed to me to be a bit like a Spanish style ceilidh, with no “play set” and various people making their musical offering to the group in a spontaneous way.  It was obvious that they were passionate about this art form.  There seemed to be enough young folks so that there is no danger of it dying out in this region.  I’m sure that we were the only strangers in the room that night - and we felt privileged to be there.  

Italica: a Roman Town in Andalusia, January 22, 2014

Italica, a Roman Town in Andalusia January 22, 2014

Thanks to a PBS series on Rome a few years ago, Bruce has been intrigued by the Roman culture for some time.   When he saw that the largest Roman ruins in Spain were near Sevilla, he wanted to visit them.  After several damp, sometimes rainy days, Saturday, the 18th, looked promising, with blue skies when we awoke.   The plan was put into action:  catch a bus from the local station to nearby Santiponce, where Italica is located.  Off we went, surviving the Spanish-only directions from the information guy in the bus station and setting off in the first motorized transport that we’d used in a whole week.  Black clouds gathered as we rode out of town, and it was drizzling by the time that we arrived in Italica.  Oh, well.  As Alex, my colleague at Breakwater used to say, “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing”.  Unfortunately, we were dressed in bad clothing!  The good news was that there was no entrance fee.  And before long, the rain stopped.  

Italica was begun by the Romans in the year 206 BC.  So, it’s more than 2000 years old! Hard to imagine.  It was a city of 10,000 people, the most important city outside of the Italian peninsula - and the birthplace of Trajan, the first Roman emperor born “in the provinces”.  Trajan was the father of Hadrian, who built the wall in England.  

The first impressive site at Italica was the huge amphitheater with an estimated capacity of 20,000 spectators!  It has an oval shape - similar in shape to present-day bullrings - with a similar covered “gallery” under the viewing stadium.  The tunnel-like gallery  encircling the amphitheater is intact and can be explored.  

The Roman amphitheater

The gallery surrounding the amphitheater

Bruce is standing in the amphitheater

The other fascinating area at Italica was the neighborhood of houses, accessed by intact streets, with many of the smoothly worn paving stones still in place so that you could see how this part of the town was laid out.  The houses themselves are gone, their cut stones having been recycled over the centuries and used for subsequent buildings.  But the amazing thing is that lots of their mosaic floors have survived and are in great shape!  One of the floors depicts more than 30 birds in mosaic!  Another house mosaic features the seven Roman gods whose names are related to the days of the week.  Considering the antiquity of these creations, their exposure to 2000 years of weather, as well as to marauders over the centuries, they are in unbelievably fantastic condition.   We had actually visited a “palace/museum” in Seville in which many of the artifacts, including beautiful floor mosaics, had been taken from Italica by an archeologist in the early 1900’s - when presumably there were no laws prohibiting such a thing.  

The floor tiles of a Roman home, depicting Roman gods

             

                          close up of the mosaic of Jupiter

All of Andalusia (from Al-Andalus, the Muslim word for this region) has such a many-layered history, with the Romans, the Visigoths, the Jews, the Muslims, the Christians - and probably others - having left their legacies.  There is so much to learn about here!  

Nice Roman buns!

Sevilla (Say-VEE-ya), January 17, 2014

Sevilla (Say-VEE-ya)                    January 17, 2014

It's hard to believe that it's been just over a week since we left Maine. As always, when you are dropped into a new culture, it seems like we've been away for ages!  We are slowly adjusting to the rhythm of life here, though it is still weird to wake up at 8am and have it be dark outside.  I guess we make up for it on the other end of the day, when darkness descends again around 6:30pm.   I can't say that there has been much sun this past week.  Mostly cloudy & gray with some real rain today. Temp's are in the 60's.  Actually the temperature is pretty good for walking around (and I'm not complaining, mind you :)  The Sevilla folks continue to eat outdoors at restaurants with sidewalk tables, sometimes with heaters in the evenings.

                "the mushoom", huge outdoor construction

Seville is a university city, and there are lots of students around. They cluster at popular tapas bars in the evening, filling the tiny inside space and overflowing to tables outside.  Lots of smoking going on - by all ages.  This is Europe, after all.  But nary an overweight person.  Again, it's Europe!   One thing that surprises me is the lack of Africans, either blacks or Muslim Africans, as we would see in Portland, which has about 1/7 the population of Seville.  With the proximity to Africa, I expected to see many more.  Perhaps the "crisis" keeps them away.  Or perhaps they live in other neighborhoods.  Lots of Asians here, though, both students and great groups of tourists, all walking dutifully in line behind their guides.

Tapas are the mainstay of our diet here.  Much ham (mostly Iberico, which is very thinly sliced and includes the fat.  Angel told us that THIS fat is actually good for us :).   We've had some lovely, creative tapas offerings, too.  We may have to do another tapas dinner with our cooking group in April when we return.  Three or four little dishes, shared between the two of us, with a glass of tinto (red wine) for me and a cervesa (beer) for Bruce - and we're good to go.  

                        Our favorite tapas bar - the Europa

Our week in Sevilla is going by quickly.  So far, in addition to the Alcazar, the exotic World Heritage Site complex that I wrote about in our last blog, we have visited the massive Cathedral - the largest in the world (and they have the framed Guinness Book of World Records certificate proudly displayed to prove it!).  Large enough for Bruce and I to easily become lost from each other as we explored it.  In one area, hoisted aloft by four oversize wooden colonial figures, is the coffin that supposedly holds the body of Christopher Columbus.   Adjoining the cathedral is the Giralda, a huge minaret from Muslim days, now a bell tower and a symbol of Sevilla.  It rises high into the sky and is accessed by a long, four foot wide enclosed brick ramp.  The ramp apparently was used in the old days so that guards could reach the top by riding in a horse-drawn cart.  We modern folks troop up there under our own power!

the Giralda, the former minaret/current bell tower of the cathedral

Yesterday we upped our sight-seeing productivity a bit and actually visited a number of sites, a couple of which had been suggested by Pepe, our fluent English-speaking host, who reads the New Yorker every week!  He's a practicing lawyer and doesn't have much time to chat, but we've had a few interesting moments to share with him in this "AirBnB".  He had suggested visiting a nearby luxury hotel, the Alphonso XIII, built in 1928 for the World Expo held in Sevilla at that time.  It's very ornate, with lots of tile work, an interior garden where guests can take afternoon tea, an original piece of art work by Juan Miro for sale in one of its galleries (!), uniformed wait staff that quietly appear to bring you a coffee - at a pretty reasonable price, given the surroundings.  You get the picture.  Pepe remembers going there to meet with Orson Wells, who frequented this hotel each winter.  Apparently Pepe and a few friends were fans, and they had a chance to meet with him and talk about film.

The Jewish Museum was another destination.  It's fairly new, staffed by enthusiastic young folks, and it offers a very interesting history of the Sephardic experience over the centuries in Spain.  A sad one, but fascinating to read the brief biographies of influential Jewish citizens.  We were astonished to read that the laws governing the Inquisition (1400's) did not all get overturned until 1865!  And that the treatment of Jews by the rulers during the heyday of the Inquisition paralleled that of the Nazis five hundred years later, with a special identifying mark required on clothes and confiscation of property.  One room in the museum held old house keys, hanging from the ceiling.  We were told that the keys were passed down by families for generations, in hopes that they would one day return to their homes in Spain.

Today we visited the Plaza del Toros de la Real (Royal) Maestranza - Seville's bullring.  It's reportedly the oldest bullring in Spain - and the tour was more interesting than we had anticipated.  In fact, Bruce would now like to see a bullfight!  Unfortunately, the season doesn't begin until April.  Maybe we can squeeze it in before we return home.  The traditions, national passion, and honor of this sport, so closely associated with Spain (though it's carried out in most Latin American nations, as well as southern France) make it a bit compelling.

                Sevilla's bullring - it holds 12,000 spectators

                         proud bullfighter outside the ring

So, that's what the Webb's have been up to this week in Seville. We haven't heard the "soul ripping sound of flamenco" yet, but it's definitely on my must-hear list!  Time's running out.  Maybe tonight!

Hasta luega!