Our 2020 travel will be to Spain, Morocco and Portugal. This year’s travel may seem a bit more subdued when compared to tracking silverback gorillas in Uganda, or looking for fossas, or climbing the Tsingy’s in Madagascar. \240However, there are a few things we have to take into account. \240Actually one big thing, Mary officiated Mike and Sara’s wedding in July. During our downtime in Egypt and throughout the spring, Mary wrote, practiced and obsessed about the wedding ceremony. That means the time she normally would have spent planning this year’s trip, she spent ruminating about the wedding, which turned out to be perfect. Eventually, we finally settled on the Canary Islands, Spain, Morocco and closing out the trip in Portugal.

Because we mostly travel during the cold New England winter months, Europe has not been a viable option. Their high and shoulder seasons are summer, late spring and early fall. Yet, despite the dilatory selection of these destinations, they were neither random nor fluky. My mother and uncles believed their father (my grandfather) came from the Spanish ruled Canary Islands, off the coast of Africa. My father had no idea where his family was from (however, that’s a longer story for another post) but thanks to the “cool kid” trend of DNA testing I discovered the predominance of my ethnicity is from Iberia, and thanks to the Moorish invasion, Northern Africa. During last year’s sojourn to Egypt, the locals thought I was Egyptian, although I tried to convince them that I was just walking like one. \240I suspect I’ll have the same issue in Morocco.

We are very excited about this trip and, for those of you interested in reading about it, we hope we can entertain you along the way.

Peace

First stop

The Canary Islands sit about 68 miles off the coast of Africa. Reportedly, when the Europeans came to the islands they found countless large dogs roaming the islands, namely in Grand Canaria. \240The original inhabitants, the Guanches, used to worship dogs and treated them as holy animals, (sort of like Jane Germond does). Some believe that the Canary Islands' dog worship and the ancient Egyptian cult of the dog headed god Anubis are somehow connected.

Culture

Gran Canaria is cosmopolitan and somewhat modern. The landscape is arid in contrast to tropical islands, (Caribbean, South Pacific, etc) which are more lush and green; Gran Canaria looks more like Nevada. The temps are in the high sixties and there are few bugs. We are spending a few days in the capitol city of Las Palmas, which, like any major city is bustling with activity. The people cover a wide spectrum of ethnicities from cinnamon colored to pale skinned residents. Much like Puerto Rico, it is an amalgamation (sorry Ron Kendall) of three cultures; Europeans, Natives and African Slaves. Throughout history, the Canaries were a stopover for ships traveling to the Americas and the West Indies. They would pick up supplies and manpower before heading west. That explains how my grandfather may have made it to the Island of Puerto Rico, yet, it still doesn’t answer the question regarding his origins. The French, British and Portuguese have all laid claim to the islands at one time or another.

One of the first things we noticed was that the islands are incredibly clean. In the past we’ve written about how clean Singapore is; however, Singapore is a modern and shinny city. The Canary Islands are older and more historic so you don’t have that artificial feel you have with Singapore. Even in the historic sections of town, there were individuals out sweeping and picking up trash.

The official language here is Spanish, or as the locals prefer to say, Castilian, which is different from Catalan, Galician or Euskara, which are the other languages spoken in Spain. The Spanish spoken by locals is a rapid-fire cacophony of truncated words. Kind of like listening to a Scotsman or a Boston Southie auctioneer.

We stayed in Gran Canaria for only a few days so we meandered the side streets and ate at small cafes near the beach. One hip-looking cafe was oddly enough called “Serendipia.” Many, many rain showers ago, on one of our first dates, we ate at a small Vermont bistro named Serendipity. So it was fitting that we stop at this one; not only did it have a neat vibe, the food was great. Eventually we made our way to the old town of Las Palmas. Our aim was to find the Cathedral of Santa Ana. \240As we walked up the narrow cobblestone street leading to the cathedral, we found a cross street named San Marcial. Eating at a place named Serendipity and finding San Marcial all in the same day was definitely kismet.

On the way back to the hotel we came across a large tent with, what initially appeared to be, a geriatric convention of older men sitting at tables. Some were playing chess, some played cards and many played dominoes. We looked on with fascination until an attendant eventually walked up and explained that this was a daily occurrence from 8:00 in the morning until 10:00 at night. The attendant also said that it wasn’t only men who played but that some women played as well. It was an activity open to anyone for a mere half Euro.

You simply chose a game and the attendant would set up your table. With Ms. Mary’s obsession with dominoes, does anyone want to guess what we did most of our afternoon?

Ferry

On Thursday morning we booked a high-speed ferry to Tenerife, although ferry is a misnomer. This was nothing like our Block Island Junks (relax, like in Chinese Junks). It looked more like an ocean liner than a ferry. When we arrived at the dock, they were loading tractor-trailers and full size buses. During the entire 40 minute ride from the hotel to the dock, the bus driver whistled eighties hits or show tunes. It was a bit discomforting to listen to him whistle the theme from “Mission Impossible” as we entered one of the tunnels.

Winding Roads

We rented a car when we landed in Tenerife so we bounced around the Island a bit. There are some major roads and highways that travel around the Island but traveling across the Island is a bit more challenging. Most mountain roads are slightly wider than a car width. Since the Island is volcanic with craggy peaks throughout, you have to traverse the Island via mountain passages with countless switchbacks. One such route took us to Benijo Beach, a secluded black sand beach that is a haven for surfers and bohemian VW style camper caravaners. Not only was the aqua colored water beautiful, the sand was so silky soft it sifted through your fingers. \240On the opposite end of the spectrum, we also visited the Teide Volcano, the highest peak in Spain — approximately 12,000 feet in elevation. We took the tram to the top and tried hiking the paths. I say tried, because the trails were comprised of jagged rock, and for the first time, we both experienced a little altitude sickness.

With our remaining time in the Canaries we immersed ourselves in typically touristy things. We darted in and out of museums, small shops and cafes and even sailed the crystal clear blue waters along the cliffs of Los Gigantes. While sailing alongside those imposing cliffs, we were entertained by a pod of spotted dolphins swimming and frolicking alongside the boat. Although dolphins, whales and other sea creatures frequent these waters, according to our captain the spotted dolphins are not native to the canaries. Reportedly, this pod had been hanging out for about four weeks.

We loved our time on the islands but are also excited to visit Madrid during the next leg of our trip. We can understand why so many Europeans retire to the Canary Islands, the weather is perfect (according to one local shop owner, it only rained once last year) and the locals are wonderful. That said, the Islands have an overwhelming population of aging Germans and Russians. We likened it to Europe’s version of Florida. The cost of living is reasonable and the weather is constant. As a result, more German than Spanish is spoken on the southern coast of the Islands.

For us, the Canary Islands produced more questions than answers regarding heritage but that impossible dream is not over. \240Also, in our quest to find the ideal long-term winter getaway, the Canary Islands are a great place to visit but not the place we’d want to spend our prolonged winter stays. So far, Capri is the forerunner in that department.

Serendipity Cafe

See Ya’ll in Madrid

Madrid Skyline & Train station in the background

Madrid, the home of Pablo Picasso, Fransisco Goya, Joan Miró and Miguel de Cervantes, is a vibrant and beautiful city. It is crisscrossed with cobblestone streets lined with an assortment of curio shops, artisans, cobblers and wine vendors. Venturing from the center of the universe (well the center of Madrid, maybe — we’ll explain later) the streets are teeming with scholars, artists, idealists, tourists and beggars. International students attending one of the many universities and conservatories in Madrid can be found at all hours (well maybe not in the morning - some things don’t change) sitting in cafes drinking wine, philosophizing and yearning to slay some windmills of their own.

Servantes with Don Quixote and Sancho below

We arrived in Madrid from Tenerife on Monday evening. We were greeted by the driver our Air BnB arranged, bearing an electronic tablet displaying our name. We wanted to stay near the city center without being encumbered by a hotel. We enjoy our “American” style breakfast which does not exist here. Typically “desayuno” is a cup of coffee and something sweet like a churro with chocolate. Their first actual meal is between 10:00 to 11:00 AM. \240The Air BnB affords us the luxury of fruit, yogurt and the occasional eggs and toast. We know it may sound trivial but who wants to wander around town trying to find breakfast-worthy food when we can sit in our jammies and watch the city wake up. However, upon arrival and meeting our host Ricardo, we realized how dangerous the Air BnB could be. Directly below is a Neapolitan style pizza joint emanating the most luscious smells. Next to that is a tapas bar with innumerable varieties of local wines. It’s hard to make it upstairs without sampling one or the other.

Air BnB

Air BnB

Ricardo was lovely and listed all of the must sees and all of the must eats in the area. One of the places he said we HAD to visit was La Plaza Del Sol. It is where the zero kilometer marker is for all the roads. We said, “ah, all the roads in Madrid?” “No Señor, not just Madrid, everywhere.” We assume he meant all the roads in Spain but it sounded like all of the roads in the universe; you have to love Madrileños.

Zero K or the Center of the Universe

The city wakes up early with the sounds of construction workers assembling scaffolding and drivers making deliveries. Most shopkeepers don’t make an appearance until after 10:00AM and everything seems to grind to a halt mid-afternoon. The hum of activity resumes around 5:00PM and continues to the wee hours. We made our way to the Prado Museum early afternoon (within walking distance from the apartment) and walked right in without a wait. After an afternoon delighting in the works of some of the Flemish, Italian and Spanish masters like El Grecco, Raphael (without the other turtles), Velazquez, and Goya ( without the beans), we walked out to find a line extending around the building — nothing like timing.

Mercado de San Miguel

There is a market just a few blocks from the apartment, El Mercado San Anton. We had some wine and tapas and stocked up on some staples for the week. Because we are a block off the Gran Via, we meandered over to the rooftop at the Cote del Ingles in Plaza Del Callao. The rooftop is another food court style marketplace with great views of the Plaza. \240Some liken the Plaza Del Callao to Times Square but is is not nearly as large or hectic. \240We had the obligatory nightcap, although one can just wander around or just sit and enjoy the views free of charge.

Mercado de San Miguel lunch Jam

Many, many years ago, our old mentor introduced us to Debi Vietri’s Instructions for Life ( from the book “A Patchwork of Life”); a list of activities for living well. \240It included things like: always over-tip a breakfast waitress — they work just as hard but make a lot less money; take one year and read the Bible cover to cover, and one of our favorites; always stop, listen and tip street musicians. As we travel, we find interesting street musicians; some you tip as a compliment, others you tip to just have them stop. On the streets of Madrid we encountered Gypsy’s playing flamenco that rivaled the Gypsy Kings (at least once in your life you have to listen to the Gypsy Kings’ rendition of Hotel California) and more impressively, a seven piece chamber ensemble (three violins, a viola, two cellos and a double bass), playing classical and contemporary music.

Puerta de Alcalá

More often than we’d like to admit, we found ourselves in El Mercado San Miguel. It’s an authentically Spanish version of New York’s Eataly. Tag-teaming is the most effective way to tackle the market. Stakeout a seat at one of the long tables in the central seating area and take turns foraging for tapas, Spanish tortillas, pinchos, small servings of paella and amazing wines for 3 to 5 euros. \240It’s great for people watching and making new acquaintances. At one point we sat next to a pilot from Chile and his newly acquired girlfriend from Kazakhstan. They claimed this was their favorite place to eat in all of Madrid.

Johnny Walker Store

We’ve written in the past about the hop-on hop-off tours. Yes they can be cheesy, yes they’re touristy but they are a great way to see the major areas of a city so one can decide where to focus one’s attention. Just beyond the historic district, we drove past a series of high end stores, Ferragamo, Prada, Louis Vuitton and even a Bentley dealership. Near the Puerta de Alcalá we spotted the Johnny Walker flagship store. Of course, that was the one place we HAD to stop. It is the only store of its kind in the world so it was like walking into Tiffanies \240or some haute couture shop. You were politely greeted at the door and offered assistance with sampling’s or questions. The brightly lit display cases featured varieties of Johnny Walker ranging from the basic Red to the rarest blends from long shuttered distilleries. The rarer the nectar the steeper the price. They also proudly displayed the entire Game of Thrones Scotch collection, including the impossible to get, Night’s Watch black Oban bottle. Yes, it was very nerdy but we own about half the GoT collectible scotches, it was exciting to see the whole collection for sale; the sampling of some of the varieties wasn’t bad either.

GoT Collection

Walking tours are another great way to explore the city. You can find them on Tripadvisor or similar websites. Many of them, like the one we took, are “free.” You sign up online and show up at a designated meeting point. The only caveat is, if you find the tour informative and enjoyable they ask that you provide a tip. We have taken walking tours in other countries and found them to be wonderful. They are usually conducted by travel and tourism students or by history majors. Adam, the guide we had, was from Salt Lake City, Utah. He completed his graduate work in International Relations in Germany, met a woman there, (who happens to be from Madrid) and has lived in Madrid ever since. He’s passionate about Madrid and has a wealth of knowledge about Madrid and Europe in general. However, when not conducting city tours, he is the drummer for a heavy Metal band called The Witch Tower. They have apparently cut a couple of albums (yes, we’re dating ourselves) and will be touring England starting next week.

Street Performers

Traveling is fascinating because it changes your perspective on things. You become an unwitting or unsuspecting student. We’ve met people in the states who didn’t realize Rhode Island was a state; yet, here we met a waiter who even knew it was the smallest state. There is an intellectual curiosity that is not pretentious. After years of fascist rule, Madrid was anxious to catch up with all of the things it missed out on. As a result, the vibe is very accepting and low key. We stayed in the Cuecas neighborhood, which is LGBTQ friendly. People; young, old and of a variety of shades, amble and stroll rather than march with attitudes. You can’t be hurried on the narrow side streets as you will often find small groups of people standing and chatting. Our \240preconceptions were definitely challenged.

Walking tour

Now we’re off to Morocco — without an itinerary, place to stay or a way to leave leave the country!! Wish us luck.

Narrow Alleys Leading to Riad

The flight to Morocco was uneventful. In contrast to the ridiculously long lines in Lisbon, we flew through immigration and customs. For our time in Marrakech, we booked a couple of nights at a Riad, which is a traditional Moroccan house with a garden courtyard. It had fairly decent reviews on Air BnB and while it was within the walled Medina, it appeared to be far enough away from the open market and the souks. The Medinas of North African cities have maze-like narrow streets and most of the neighborhoods are not accessible to cars. Our driver, which the Riad arranged, dropped us off just inside the walled city and we were met by a very handsome young Moroccan wearing a dark apron embroidered with Kbour Chou, the name of our Riad. He grabbed our bags and proceeded down the cobblestone alleyways at a fairly good clip. First thought, there goes the wheels on another set of luggage; second thought, why are we following some complete stranger deeper into this labyrinth. He walks us into what appears to be a dead end and then ducks into a completely dark, L-shaped tunnel, barely four-feet high. At this point, common sense would dictate that we slam on the brakes, right? Nope, we duck into the tunnel after him. Hell if we die, at least we’ll have the bottles of Jonny Walker. \240 (Muslims don’t drink, although drinking alcohol is allowed for tourists, locals are forbidden from drinking. Kinda like Captain Renault in Casablanca, he didn’t drink or gamble either!). The Riad is absolutely beautiful. Our room is on the third floor overlooking the garden. We knew we had picked the right place when we were greeted by one of the three mascots, (two dogs and a cat).

Greeted by our Host

We don’t want anyone to think that our assessment of Marrakech is comprehensive. We are here for only a few days and intentionally chose to stay in the Medina. There are plenty of modern hotels and restaurants along the wide palm-lined city streets. As we toured the city, we saw plenty of modern malls, high end stores and luxury cars. The Medina, like many old or historic sectors of cities around the world, is where there is a larger concentration of activity and poverty. Here there are souks selling everything from rugs to toothbrushes, and hawkers offering all sorts of foods. It is also a good place for us to experience everyday Moroccan life. The Riad we chose is perfect. The owner’s nephew, and part-time night manager, offered us an orientation bike tour through part of the Medina. We said cars can’t navigate the narrow streets, but no one warned us about the hundreds of motor scooters, bikes and tuk-tuks. There is but one rule of the road, everyone but the timid have the right of way. We spent more time dodging tourists, vendors, beggars, scooters and yes donkey carts than we did learning our way around.

View from our Room

We are accustomed to aggressive vendors from the many souks and markets we’ve visited throughout our travels. They are prime hunting ground for Mary, who is not particularly fond of shopping but is ruthless at haggling. To our surprise, the vendors were not as aggressive as we had been led to believe; unlike Egypt, where I was dubbed Egyptian Tarzan and Mary my daughter. Unfortunately, she suffered a great insult at the hands one of these shopkeeper’s. \240As she bargained for a scarf, his initial price was 250 MAD (about $25 US). She countered with 50 MAD and wouldnt’ budge. By the time he had dropped to 100 MAD he was calling her Donald Trump; “you want everything cheap!” In the end she walked away with the scarf for 60 MAD (a little over $6 US).

Rooftop Breakfast at Riad

First Night’s Dinner at Riad

Because the narrow crowded streets of the Medina are so confusing and difficult to navigate, a common scam is for young men to tell you you are heading in the wrong direction. They then lead you in the wrong direction and demand money to get you back to where you initially wanted to be. We were routinely greeted with “bonjour, hola, hello, so where you want to go”. \240A hesitation at an intersection would be punctuated with “you’re going the wrong way, I show you.” Trial and error was our best teacher. After two or three laps around the same vendors you would start to learn the route. After a few hours of left, right, right lefts, we eventually ended up in the main market square. As we traveled to and from the market, the best advice we got was, if in doubt, ask a woman or an older shop keeper, they will always point you in the right direction.

Courtyard

Spectacular Room with Large Windows Overlooking Gardens

Circus atmosphere can only describe the Market. \240The hawkers and vendors are plentiful in the market as well as in the souks, but then you have to stack on snake charmers, jugglers, acrobats and monkey handlers. Like Elmo in Times Square, everyone wants to pose for pictures and then shake you down for cash. Irrespective of how much you tip, they always want more. Knowledge is great, having been forewarned about this, we tipped what we thought was fair and just walked away.

Morocco’s wide Palm-Lined Streets

Playing Donkey-Kong in the Medina

Navigating the Souks

We taxied into town and bought first class tickets for tomorrow’s train to Casablanca, a whopping $15 US. There are plenty of hotels on the Hotels Tonight app so finding something suitable should be easy. After a day in Casablanca our goal is to make it up to Fes.

The Market Plaza

Charmless Snake Charmers

We’ll keep you posted.

Limoni, Great Restaurant for our last Meal in Marrakech

Juxtaposition of wealth & poverty in the Medina

Our luggage takes a return beating in the Medina

Our $15 train tickets were first class as opposed to paying $12 for general tickets. Tickets are punched when you leave the station, checked by a conductor before boarding the train and verified by the porter who helps load your bags onto your six-person compartment. I know this sounds like minutia but please bear with us for a moment. Once the train is underway a conductor scans your ticket and punches it again.

Trains First Class compartments

Shortly after boarding the train, I started a self pat-down looking for my ticket. I remember showing it to the porter and thought I handed it to someone but for the life of me I could not remember if I did. My travel slacks have six pockets, four of which are zippered. I double checked each pocket, my jacket pockets, my backpack, emptied out my wallet, all to no avail.

Besides Mary and me, there were two other couples in our compartment; an Indian couple from Wakefield, England and a Black man from Austria with his very attractive travel companion from, well he wasn’t sure where she was from. She was already asleep when we boarded the train.

My searching and re-searching sparked everyone’s curiosity (well all but sleeping beauty). I embarrassingly admitted that I had lost my ticket. The consensus among the group was that they would not eject me from the train as we had to undergo various checks before boarding.

The Taxi-driving Rock

Sure enough, the Peter Lorre looking conductor enters the compartment and proceeds to check train tickets. When he gets to me, I explain that I have lost my ticket. He smiles and again asks in French for my ticket. The Austrian, who was the only one in our compartment who spoke French, explains my predicament. After some bantering between the two, the Austrian advises me that the conductor wants us to keep looking. If we cannot produce the ticket by the time he returns, I will have to buy another ticket.

Mosque Hassan III

This became the perfect icebreaker, which sparks some animated conversations in the compartment (well all except for sleeping beauty). The British woman was a special-Ed teacher specializing in autistic children. Her husband loved Marrakech so they traveled there often. When she learned we were going to Tangier, she talked about always wanting to visit. The Austrian was a former DJ that fancied himself a connoisseur of nightlife throughout the world. Miami and Dubai where two of his favorite places. He had spent the weekend “partying” in Marrakech’s nightclubs (who knew). We figured that’s where he found sleeping beauty. He talked about how cool Tangier was and about a high-speed train from Casablanca to Tangier that slashed the trip from six hours to just over two.

View of Lighthouse from Mosque

We arrived in Casablanca and headed to the ticket office to purchase train tickets for the following day to Fes. Mary had the wherewithal to ask about subsequent travel to Chefchaouen. The agents went back and forth with each other until one said the easiest way to get to Chefchaouen was from Tangier. The nice thing about winging travel and accommodations is that you can be nimble and fluid. We made the decision to take the high-speed train to Tangier and figure out how to get to Chefchaouen later. Oh, and the train conductor, well he never came back. We did see him as we got off the train but he never made eye contact (like Schultz, I didn’t see anything!)

Delicious boiled chickpeas (or Peanuts)

We headed out of the station in search of a taxi, which isn’t difficult. As soon as you step out of the station with luggage, dressed like you are going on an Indian Jones expedition, drivers start to approach like moths to a light. As we walked towards the taxi stand, Dwayne The Rock approached. With his very thick French accent said, Taxi? Petit Taxi’s, which only operate within the city limits, are not metered. Before getting onboard you have to negotiate a price and whether or not it’s an exclusive ride, otherwise the driver is free to pick up other passengers going in the same general direction. We experienced that more than once. I asked how much, he says 500. I say 400, he shrugs his massive shoulders and says 400?, 500? ah! He throws one bag in the front seat, one in the truck and tries to squeeze his massive frame into the clown car posing as a taxi. We figured he stole the damn thing since he barely fit. We get to the hotel, he snatches up the two bags and drags them to the lobby. When he emerges I kiddingly ask, 300? He again shrugs his shoulders, laughs and says, 300? 400? Ah! Now we know he definitely stole the cab. I had him pose for a picture and gave him the 500.

Rick’s Cafe

There is a romanticism to Casablanca that is intrinsically tied to the Bergman and Bogart movie but not necessarily based on reality. We thank Mary’s nephew, James who told us one day in Casablanca was enough; he was right. The most notable attraction is the Hassan III Mosque, which is massive and absolutely breathtaking; however it is a fairly modern structure, completed in 1993. We’ll take Istanbul’s Blue Mosque over this one any day. The city of Casablanca is tired and gritty and Hassan III is surrounded by rundown tenements. Within walking distance of the Mosque there is a modern Mall with shops and restaurants and across the street from the mall is Rick’s Cafe. It is supposed to be a replica of the iconic fictional cafe in the movie. Like many other tourists, we popped in for the obligatory drink and photo op. We were pleasantly surprised. The interior was tastefully appointed and the prices were on par, if not cheaper than other area restaurants. You would think this type of attraction would be artificial and would gouge tourists.

No Sam but the Bartender was Cool

Enjoying Rick’s Cafe Bar

Back at the hotel as we were getting ready for bed, miraculously an extra train ticket materialized in one of Mary’s pockets. Tomorrow we head to Tangier, not sure how we’re getting to Chefchaouen but we’ll figure it out. The one thing I do know, the train tickets will not leave my sight.

Bar Menu

The Infamous disappearing, reappearing train ticket.

High-Speed Train

With respects to Morocco, only one thing was certain; we were flying into Marrakech and staying just a few days. Aside from that, we had no definitive plans of what to do and what to see. \240Ultimately, we hoped to take a ferry from Tangier back to Spain; however, how we were going to get to Tangier was a nebulous concept. We knew when and how we were getting here but only a vague notion of how (or when for that matter) \240we were going to leave. Our initial plan was to train to Casablanca then either get up to Rabat or Fes and eventually make it to Chefchaouen and Tangier. We knew if none of that worked, our fall back was to fly to Spain via Marrakech or Casablanca; we had options.

Tangier Train Station

As we previously wrote, our train encounters prompted us to scratch Fes in favor of taking the high-speed train to Tangier. The new high-speed train, which is capable of traveling 200 miles an hour, was launched in 2018 by King Mohammed VI and French President Emmanuel Macron. The new train is sleek, modern and immaculate. When we arrived in Marrakech, standing at attention, armed with vacuum cleaners, buckets and rags, an army of workers waited to clean the train once everyone disembarked. What was previously a six plus hour train ride (equivalent of Providence to Philadelphia) was a hair over 2 hours. The price for an assigned seat in a first class cabin was $30 US. Similar travel on a tired looking Amtrak train, where you have to jostle for a seat, would set you back over $300.

Royal Tulip Hotel New Town

Going directly to Tangier proved to be a wiser choice. We found an amazing hotel just a few blocks from the new ultra modern train station, The Royal Tulip Hotel. Not only was it convenient but the staff were extremely helpful with our travel plans. We had intended on staying one night but ended up extending to two. The young women at reception were energetic and loved speaking English. As a result, we were upgraded to the executive level floor and, on the first night, they sent up a fruit basket and cookies and, on the second night, a large lemon meringue pie. \240So rather than trying to stay in Chefchaouen, with their help we booked a private car for an all day tour of the Blue City. That allowed us to be back in Tangier in time for dinner.

Old Town (Medina) Tangier

The city of Tangier is strategically located, situated where the Atlantic meets the Mediterranean, about a 30 minute crossing from Gibraltar. At one time, most of Morocco was divided between France and Spain but because of Tangier’s strategic location, it was turned into an ‘International Zone.’ France, Spain, Britain, Portugal, Sweden, Holland, Belgium, Italy and the US, all had a piece of Tangier’s pie. This lasted from 1912 until shortly after \240the Moroccan independence in 1956, when the city was returned to Morocco.

Men In traditional Djellabahs

While Tangier was an International Zone, expats flocked to the city comprising half the population. As an unencumbered and indulgent culture flourished, it attracted socialites, artists, currency speculators, drug addicts, spies, sexual deviants, exiles and eccentrics. This gave the city a gritty and sordid reputation. When the International Zone period ended; socialites, artists and the culture scene disappeared. Tangier entered a period of decline, becoming a dreary port town retaining only its criminality. Street hustlers multiplied and the number of expats dwindled.

Mohammed, Guide Extrodinaire and Comedian

As a further affront to Tangier, previous Moroccan kings hated the city, so they starved it of infrastructure and national funds. However, the current King, Mohammed VI changed that and has been trying to promote Tangier. Since 2007, there has been a great deal of development in the city. There is a new port and a new train station with a high speed train rail service to and from Casablanca. \240There is a large Renault automobile plant, and countless manufacturing and construction jobs. Although we recognize we are just casual observers, it seems that twelve years of gentrification has not fully reformed its soul. Yes there are new malls, new roads, hotels and a heavy police and military presence, yet an edginess and grittiness still persists.

Woman Collecting her Breads

We have found beggars throughout Morocco, mostly the geriatric and or the disabled. They reside predominately within the medinas, as these are the poorest neighborhoods. But in Tangier, we found bands of prepubescent and early adolescent males panhandling. They seem particularly aggressive with tourists. They may shadow you for a block or so begging for money, but eventually retreat to their preferred section of real estate. The other panhandlers are men in their early twenties, appearing to be at some stage of insobriety. They are mostly on side streets or entrances to small businesses, pointing at their mouths saying “dinero, money, eat.” Although you can never let your guard down, they are relatively harmless. A stern No will usually divert their attention elsewhere. It also doesn’t hurt that every 100 yards or so there is a police officer flanked by two Uzi ladened army officers. \240As an example of how fast and loose Tangier operates, exchanging money in any country requires identification like a passport and the person executing the exchange has to sign for the money exchanged. Not in Tangier! You hand over any amount of cash, they exchange it for local currency and no questions asked. The same happens when you go to return the local currency. In fact, the ticket agent at the ferry office exchanged our local money for Euros at a better rate than the banks were offering. I believe in default cultures. As long as Tangier continues to experience an economic boom, things will improve. However, even a small deviation from its current course may prompt the old criminal culture to surge.

Traditional homes don’t have ovens, bread is baked in a communal oven

In contrast to Tangier, Chefchaouen is magical. It has to be undoubtedly the most beautiful city in Morocco. Nestled in the mountains, about 68 miles south of Tangier, it is know as the Blue City, but the name Chefchaouen, refers to two mountains, resembling two horns, which sit directly above the city. No one knows for sure why the city was originally painted blue, but ther are no lack of theories. Jews were one of the first settlers of the old city so some believe blue signified holiness for the Jews. Some, including some of the Muslim guides, theorized that the city was painted blue because blue repels mosquitoes and some Christians believe it’s blue because it is close to heaven. We’re actually glad there is no definitive reason. The city is whimsical, fun and beautiful. Definitely some of the friendliest people we’ve come across in Morocco and it’s not just because Chefchaouen is one of the world’s hashish producers, they were genuinely affable.

Iconic stairs in Blue City

The Royal Tulip arranged a driver for us who picked us up right after breakfast, waited for us until were were ready to return and drove us back to the hotel. Morocco’s primary language is Arabic, which some call street Arabic because it differs greatly from the formal style. The formal language taught in school and spoken through the country is French, but because of Northern Morocco’s proximity to Spain, many locals speak more Spanish than they do French. Although he didn’t speak English, our driver spoke fluent Spanish. On our ride up to Chefchaouen, he asked if we were going to explore the city on our own or if we were interested in a local English speaking guide. We agreed as we always appreciate having someone to educate and orient us, especially when we have a limited amount of time.

Amazingly clean city

After our long drive up the mountain, we arrived at the town square. No sooner had we pulled up to Plaza de España when a snaggle-tooth gnome, wearing a flowing hooded “Djellabah” (traditional Moroccan loose fitting robe, looks like something Yoda or Obi-wan Kenobi would wear) darts towards our car babbling in rapid-fire Arabic. Hard to tell — is he a beggar or crazed religious fanatic. Our driver turns and says — your guide!

Supporting the local ecomy

“Salamu alaykum! Hola! Hello!” Is spatted through the window, followed by, “come on - come on we go.” He is no taller than Mary with a personality that fills the plaza. Mostly gray with few surviving teeth (he’s no candidate for a corncob eating contest) he was a spitfire that effortlessly switched from Arabic, Spanish and English. He seemed to know everyone and greeted other tourists on the streets with an “Hola-Hola Coca-Cola”. The medina is overrun with cats. There wasn’t a cat he didn’t pet or call by name, or a beggar he didn’t give a few coins to. Dressed in his religious garb, he flirted with every pretty young woman he encountered, and if they were with a companion, he offered them a heard of camels for the young woman; all while pointing out places of historical significance.

Items made by local artisans are not taxed

He summarized the masculinist Moroccan culture by claiming that men and women are more alike than different. There are things women can do that men cannot and things that men do that women cannot. Women cook, clean, tend to the family and then spend their free time gossiping through windows. Men go out, fight and do heavy manual work, then they go to the cafes to gossip. As he laughed he whispered “but mostly men just look and talk about the size of a woman’s “tagine.” “Big tagine for meat, little tagine for cous-cous.” I don’t think we’ve written about tagines but it is what traditional meals are cooked in, similar to the clay pots used in Indian or Asian cooking. It is a way to slow cook fish, meats or vegetables. He winks \240and asks: “Do you like big tagine or little tagine?” As there is no safe answer to that question, I simply turned and continued taking pictures.

Beautiful Dyes for Paints

The day before we had walked about a mile to the Tangier-Ville port to buy our tickets to Spain. The ferries run from Tangier to Tarifa, Spain and then a bus would take us to Algeciras, where we had reserved a car. Although they were open tickets, we were slated to leave at 11:00 AM on Thursday, February 20th. When our driver dropped us off at the hotel, he asked if we were flying out the next day. We told him we were taking the ferry to Tarifa in the morning. With a concerned look, he said the ferries from Tangier-Ville were cancelled because of rough seas. If we wanted, he could drive us to the largest port, Tangier-Med, the next day. Good try, if ferries were not running from one port, why would we think they’d be running from one a few miles north. Suspecting another scam, we politely declined. Back in the room we went on line to confirm \240our trip to Tarifa — all ferries cancelled due to high winds and rough seas. We checked and sure enough, limited ferries were running from Tangier-Med.

Big tagine, little tagine, food is great — the metaphors dangerous

Once again, the staff of the Royal Tulip came trough and arranged a taxi for the hour-long ride north to Tangier-Med. It was a breeze exchanging our tickets, and as these ferries ran directly to Algeciras, no need to take a bus to the car rental facility. With plenty of time to spare, we headed to the cafeteria. As we were approaching the cafeteria, a slim man in a sport coat approached and asked if we had tickets. We said yes and started to walk away when he said follow me, you have to get your tickets stamped. We momentarily hesitated, looked at each-other and said, who is this guy? We wonder how many other folks he led on a wild goose chase around the terminal.

Cruise ship size ferries from Tanger-Med

After hours of delays we were finally loaded on to buses and driven to the slips, where a massive, cruise liner ship size ferry loaded dozens of tractor trailers. At last, we were headed back to Spain. Much, much later than we expected but our plan had come full circle.

Now to explore Spain’s Andalusian coast.

Aft Deck of Ferry, Tractor Trailers in the background

As we sat on the ferry waiting for them to finish loading tractor trailers, buses and even some off-road rally racing teams (returning to France from a race in the Sahara), we decided to forego picking up the car that night. The rental counter closed at 7:30 PM so, even if we were able to secure the car before they closed, heading into the countryside at that time of night with no hotel reserved, would honestly suck. So minutes before the ferry took off, we booked a hotel for that night for Algeciras. The car could wait until morning.

Rally Racers on Ferry

One of the things we had not planned for was the number of passengers that would be diverted from Tangier-Ville to Tangier-Med. Tangier-Ville has two ferry companies traveling every hour or so to Tarifa. With the closure of the Tangier-Ville port, all of those passengers were diverted to Algeciras. European holiday travelers, who had left their personal vehicles in Tarifa, now had to get back there. Because Tarifa is a small town, the ferry companies offer complimentary bus service to the larger port city of Algeciras; not so going in the opposite direction. Since it was weather related rather than caused by the ferry companies, passengers had to take taxi’s or were forced to rent a car to get back to Tarifa.

Africa on the left, Europe on the right

Under other circumstances these details would not be worth mentioning, except that they impacted our travels as well. For a relatively large city, Algeciras didn’t seem to have enough taxis. The line at the taxi stand was ridiculously long and travelers were stilled queued from a previous ferry. \240Come to find out, there were at least eleven taxis in service that night; however, eight of them were either on their way to or on their way from Tarifa. It was a goldmine for the drivers but a bummer for those of waiting at the docks. We finally reached the front of the taxi line and made our way to the hotel.

Lighthouse, Gibraltar Point

Late night salad, wine, tapas and a good night sleep and we were off to the car rental place — after an English style breakfast of course (every time we see English breakfast, we do a happy dance. What they pass for “breakfast” or “desayuno” here is sweet churros and coffee or some alcohol or some alcohol with coffee. One “desayuno” spot we landed at had lingering nightclub revelers dressed in Night At The Roxbury attire, still adorned with their favorite nightclub’s wristbands. It was about eight AM and the waiter wanted to know if we wanted Baileys or Whiskey in our coffees. But we digress.) The Rental process was unremarkable. We had reserved a Peugeot but the agent said they only had three cars left on the lot. She gave us an older model little Opel \240beater. At this point we didn’t care, we were anxious to get on the road. We had already lost a day waiting for a ferry, we just wanted to start exploring Southern Spain.

Rock of Gibraltar

We headed out of town and set our phone’s GPS for Gibraltar. Within half an hour or so, we pulled up to the line of cars waiting to go through the non EAU passport control line. As Gibraltar is a British Territory, you have an option of parking on the Spanish side and walking onto Gibraltar or driving in. As we sat in line, a man with a heavy Spanish accent approached the car and asked if were driving or walking in. Obviously we were in the driving line so we said driving! He lifted one of the wipers, pretended to put something under it and said “twenty Euro please.” If he hadn’t lifted the wiper, we probably wouldn’t have given his request a second thought. Instead we asked “what did you put under the wiper?” With a sheepish look, he turned away and kept walking. One attempted scam in the ferry building and now Mr. Spanish AC Delco tried to charge us for driving out of Spain. We watched in amusement as he walked a little further back, changed his jacket to attempt the scam again.

Rock of Gibraltar in background

We drove around Gibraltar, snaked our way up and down hills until we reached the furthest-most point of the peninsula. We were surprised that, although condensed, at how large the area actually was. There were buses crisscrossing, taxis shuttling back and forth and pedestrians just about everywhere. Cafes and restaurants were packed and parking in town was nightmarish. In the midst of all of that our rental POS started beeping incessantly — it was overheating. We let it sit in a tow zone until we could put what little water we had in the radiator’s reservoir. We eventually took off but within a few kilometers it started overheating again. A local gave us cryptic directions to the closest service station, which he readily admitted, is not always open. We zigzagged back down the hill and found a squat building on a narrow street with a gas pump on either side of the building. The street, barely wide enough for two small cars, had the added burden of hosting locals gassing up cars and scooters.

Walter showing Mary Nelson’s Scope

An older Englishman sat at a small desk in the gas station, animatedly propagating the ill of immigration to a younger customer. “Mark my words,” he said “all these immigrants coming in are going to take your job.” Fresh off a boat from Morocco, sporting a darker than usual caramel hue, I injected myself into this pleasant conversation. \240“Whata-ya-need?” followed a sideways glance my way. I explained that our rental was overheating and we could use some help. I think the northeast American accent caught him off guard. He looked at me as though he was watching a Chinese karate movie dubbed in English; what he heard didn’t jive with what he saw. He stood, said farewell to the young customer, (who happily fled from the conversation) and walked towards the car. As soon as he spotted Mary, his whole demeanor changed. Although most of the subsequent conversation was directed at Mary, he did examine the car, refilled the reservoir and proclaimed that this sad little windup toy would not make it to Barcelona.

Lurch lookalike sitting in POS Rental

As locals gassed up their scooters and tiny cars, Walter (our newfound service station friend) regaled us (well Mary) with his life story. He said he was seventy-five years old and was planning to retire the following week. He was excited to learn we (again Mary) lived in Rhode Island. He claimed he has a 99 year old aunt who lives in Rhode Island but was a Broadway actress. As a British soldier, he was detailed to Gibraltar, where he met his wife; consequently, he’s lived here ever since. We’re not sure how he ended up running a tiny gas station in the heart of Gibraltar but we suspect it had something to do with his wife wanting him out of the house. The tiny station office was chock full of photos. He claimed he was the past-president of the Gibraltar running club (photos showed him with a group of runners) and that he had won the British Navy’s version of the decathlon. Surprisingly, he was still in remarkable shape. There were photos of his son, who was also a runner, with Usain Bolt \240and pictures of Walter and his sons racing cafe style motorcycles. Walter fancied himself the best tour guide in Gibraltar and claimed he often conducted tours dressed as Lord (Admiral) Nelson (hence why the gas station was often closed). He showed us (again Mary) newspaper clippings and photos of him dressed as Nelson. He also should us photos of him with Prince Andrew. When Price Andrew toured Gibraltar, Walter was his guide (I didn’t have the heart to ask if this was pre or post Epstein). He claimed he had an original sword belonging to Nelson and brought out a carefully wrapped telescope, which he claimed belonged to Nelson. Although he claimed it was priceless, he unwrapped it because he wanted us (well AGAIN Mary) to look through it. I just wanted the freaking car fixed so we could get back on the road. Eventually, we bought a gallon of coolant and headed back to the Spanish coastline.

New Rental

Fearful that our little POS would keep overheating, we called rental’s road service. Our options were, A, sit and wait for a tow or, B, if the car was drivable, take it to the nearest Europcar office. We chose option B. Armed with a gallon of coolant, we drove towards Marbella, the nearest Europcar office. After a quick lunch at a nondescript seaside town, we arrived at the Marbella Europcar office at about 4:00 PM. The office didn’t reopen until 4:30 PM (we guess after a huge wine-laden lunch nap). We followed the car rental return signs and parked the car in one of the designated Europcar spots. Unfortunately, we exited through a wrong door and found ourselves unable to access a way out and were unable to re-enter the garage. As we looked through the small glass in the garage door’s window, Lurch (of Adams Family fame) opened the door and said “You Rang?” Actually he said “Jes?” I explained the problem with our rental and told him we needed to exchange the car. As we walked to the car, he asked for the keys. I handed them over, he opened the door, jumped in and started the car. As he he did so, Mary and I looked at each other and said, who is this guy? \240He had no identifying clothing, the only thing we knew was that he opened the garage door for us. Now he sat in our running rental, with our luggage, money, passports and two bottles of Johnny Walker. After the last two attempted scams, we should have been hyper-vigilant (or had we been). Mary stood by the driver’s door keeping it open, I stood directly in front of the car with my trusty phone aimed at the driver. If he decided to dart off, Mary’s face print would be on the door and I would have a grainy photo of the man as he drove over me. As the large man stepped out of the car, he looked at the crazed Americans and said, “tell them the car is also due for routine service.”

Malaga Sunset

Feeling a little silly, we eventually made our way to the rental office. When we arrived, a Mrs. Doubtfire looking woman was arguing with an ancient looking bohemian customer; shoulder length hair, quasi Steven Tyler dress and a scraggly salt and pepper beard. \240She finally dispatched him and turned to us to see what WE wanted. We thought “this will not be pleasant.” After explaining our dilemma, she took our keys and headed off to the garage. After what seemed like an eternity, (we imagined she was rummaging through our bags) she returned with two sets of keys. Subsequently, she graciously apologized for our inconvenience, gave us a brand new Volkswagen polo and sent us on our way. Apparently, looks can be deceiving in Marbella.

Spanish Countryside

Our goal was to to travel along the southern coast of Spain checking out points of interest until we reached Barcelona. Our first stop was Malaga. It was a beautiful seaside resort town but other than an overabundance of timeshare properties and all-inclusive vacation rentals, it lacked character. As a kid, those of us who played guitar, craved to learn how to play the Malagueña (a Spanish “Stairway to Heaven” if you will, except a lot more complicated). A Malagueña is a women from Malaga as a Guantanamera is a women from Guantanamo. The songs are exotic, however, the locations are not as elegant. We did a little exploring of the immediate area and headed to Granada.

Granada from the Alhambra

We reached Granada by mid afternoon, sat in a cafe, and booked a hotel for the next few nights. Granada, as the famous song (Granada) suggests, is La Tierra de Gitanos, the land of Gypsies. There is a sizable population of Gypsies in Granada; you will often find groups of them in various town squares playing guitar and singing a guttural flamenco (known as Zambra) or performing Flamenco dances in touristy nightclubs (however, the real Flamenco dances reportedly take place in private house parties not accessible to outsiders). There are all sorts of theories as to where these Gypsies came from. They started to settle in Granada after King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella expelled the Moors from Spain, so some suspect they are of Arabic dissent. This is further supported by the theory that Flamenco derives from Arabic music. Now I know Mary and I spent way too many years in jails and prisons, but to us, many of the Gypsy street performers appeared gruff and thuggish. When some of them performed, three or four stood further out scanning the crowd. It was like watching Latin King gang members holding court in a prison rec-yard.

Fountain built by Moors in Alhambra

Other than skiers heading to the Sierra Nevada, most visitors only do day trips to Granada. They come primarily to visit the famous Alhambra, which was built in 1333, as the Royal Palace of the Sultan of Granada. The Moors (North African Muslims) invaded \240this part of Europe around 711AD. The region remained under Muslim control until the Christian Reconquista (reconquering) in 1492. The Alhambra then became the Royal Court of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella and it is where Christopher Columbus received the royal endorsement for his expedition to the New World.

Alhambra interior

The City of Granada is charming with narrow hilly streets in the base of the Sierra Nevada. The views throughout the old city are breathtaking, with snow capped mountains in the background. There is also an undeniable bohemian vibe. Marijuana has been decriminalized in Spain but the sale of it is still illegal. Despite this, it is openly smoked in cafes or casually on the streets. For those looking to buy it, there is no absence of tie-dyed wearing, dreadlocks sporting, happy go lucky locals offering it and of course, there is no shortage of Chefchaouen Moroccans peddling their number one product.

Alhambra Grounds

The city of Granada is also know for its world famous flamenco guitars. There are numerous luthiers throughout the city creating some of the most beautiful and sought after guitars. According to some of the locals, the best guitars are made by luthier Daniel Gil De Avalle. Although his tiny shop carries an assortment of string instruments, including some reasonably priced guitars, he only makes about fifteen handcrafted guitars a year; all advance orders with at least a year wait for delivery. When we visited his shop, he said he could make me a very basic one for about €8,000 ($8,950) but the two on display waiting for delivery, were nearly €20,000 — too rich for my level of playing. The real exciting piece was getting to see his cramped workshop and getting to admire his custom handmade the guitars. For the nonprofessional guitarist, these were simply collectible works of art.

Granada Bohemian looking for Haight-Ashbury

Granada Luthier

Two Custom Guitars behind Luthier De Avalle

Leaving Granada behind, we headed for Valencia. Our sights were always set on Barcelona. There are so many things to do and see there that is has been a bucket list destination. Traveling there, we stayed in some interesting places and made numerous stops on our drive to our intended destination. Valencia was just that, a stop along the way. A place to relax before heading off to Barcelona. Because of it’s uniqueness and rich history, there is a lot we will look forward to in Barcelona. However, we have to say, Valencia by far is our favorite city in Spain. It has ultra modern structures and futuristic looking attractions while the old city is peaceful, relaxing and quiet. We stayed a block from the bullfighting arena and were within walking distance to all of the old squares. A short bus ride delivered us to the beach where we had the most amazing wood fired paella and where the staff plied us with after dinner drink concoctions. The city has a river running through it with multiple bridges crossing it. Although the bridges still stand, the river was diverted away from the city center. What was once a not-so-clean waterway, is now a beautifully designed park that runs the entire length of the city. \240 Valencia is definitely a city we would return to just to relax and feel at peace.

Valencia Science Park

Valencia ultra modern \240sites

Valencia’s Old Town

Beautiful Post Office Lion Receptacles

Valencia Street Art

Old Protective Fort leading to Old Town

Lifelong Valencia Resident reading and listening to jazz

Born one street over but lived here with her husband. She was as curious with us as we were with her.

Paella in restaurant near Valencia beach

More Funky Street Art

Great Little Wine Shop — Two great local recommendation under $5.00

Tiny Cat House Valencia

We are very excited about visiting Barcelona

Our Favorite Type of Market

We were so taken by the beauty and peacefulness of Valencia that arriving to Bacelona’s frenetic pace was jolting. Most cities we’ve traveled to warn about crime and scam artists. Vatican City, for example has one of the highest concentrations of pickpockets. Although we are entertained by scam artists, we have not fallen victim to or witnessed any criminal activity; that is until now. We budgeted an extra day of travel in the event we wanted to stay somewhere between Valencia and Barcelona, however, we realized this far off their high season, many of the seaside towns resembled Watch Hill in the winter, they were ‘mostly’ dead. As a result, we arrived in Barcelona on Saturday the 29th, a day earlier than expected. Since the hotel we booked for the week had no availability that night, we booked a hotel across from where we were to drop the car off, the very large Sants train station. As we pulled up to a traffic light a few blocks from the train station, a young teenage boy an a bicycle, grabbed what appeared to be a young Asian woman’s bag and rushed off down a hill into a neighborhood. The young woman screamed and futilely ran after him. Although we felt bad for the young woman, it served as a reminder to pay closer attention to our surroundings.

Fresh Fruit in the Market

Cabs are cheap and plentiful in Barcelona, but we found bus and metro travel to be faster and more convenient. A multi-day metro card allows you access to buses and funiculars, and google maps is excellent at identifying which train or bus route to take. Our first night we explored parts of the old city and discovered what would be our nearly daily pilgrimage destination; the very large Boqueria Market. We have nothing against restaurants but, when we travel, the ritual of finding a restaurant that offers something we both will like is sometimes challenging. For us, these large markets are goldmines, offering just about any regional food imaginable. Mary could have her fresh fruit, I could have dry cod and octopus and end at a little wine shop offering generous pours for €2. Occasionally we would venture over to the sweets area for chocolate covered macadamias.

Wine Shop in the Market, nothing like local wines for under $3.00

Our hotel for the week was the Neri, a centuries old residence in the city’s Gothic Quarter. Like parts of Venice, the Gothic Quarter is a maze of narrow alleyways emptying out into countless squares. Each square, with its own unique character, sported some fountain and or monument commemorating its history. \240Although disorienting at first, after a few jaunts in and out of the quarter, the plazas and alleyways became familiar. \240We don’t spend a lot of time in hotels or hotel rooms, but our room in this hotel was large and bright. \240The hotel lobby, with its wall length leaded glass front, was adorned in a gothic style with large wooden fortification entrance doors. The fortification doors were permanently open, giving the hotel a welcoming feeling and the leaded glass doors serve as its entrance. The common area just outside of the rooms, appointed with oversized furniture and draped with artwork, resembled a gallery’s modern art salon rather than a hotel vestibule.

Gothic Quarter plaza in Background

Despite our bag-snatching introduction to Barcelona, we found the city to be quite fascinating. \240 Until the 1800’s, most of the people lived in the Gothic Quarter but thanks to the industrial revolution, the wealthy bourgeoisie (boor-zhwah-zee - individuals that were not peasants but were not of nobility either) began to build massive homes on the upscale Passeig de Gracia. \240They were making a great deal of money and wanted to flaunt it. This time period coincided with the US’s gilded age, when huge mansions were being constructed in places like Newport. As in Newport, each wealthy family tried to outdo the other. Where the Gothic Quarter is distinguished by its narrow streets and alleyways, the Passeig de Gracia is a beautiful wide avenue resembling Park Avenue on the upper east side of Manhattan. The homes are large and stately and some, like Casa Batllo and Casa Mila are simply works of art.

Gothic Quarter

Our primary reason for visiting Barcelona was to visit La Iglesia Sagrada Familia (ironically, The Church of the Holy Family). Not because of a nostalgic connection to our old parish but because our interest was piqued after reading Dan Brown’s Origin (advertisement — a great summer read if you have not done). Architect Antoni Gaudí started working on La Sagrada Familia in 1883. He died in June of 1926 as the result of a tram accident, but his dream and vision for the church continued. The church is still under construction and is slated for completion in 2026, on the 100th anniversary of Gaudí’s death. Gaudí was a modernist who was dubbed by contemporaries a madman or a genius. Other than Sagrada Familia, three of his other famous works are Casa Batllo, Park Güell and his last commercial endeavor, Casa Mila.

Park Güell

Park Güell is a remarkable example of modern urban design, that unfortunately failed. Eusebi Güell purchased a massive plot of land atop “Bare Mountain” with the intent of creating the ideal community for Barcelona’s wealthiest residents. He hired Antoni Gaudí to design the surrounding and common areas, but the triangular shaped plots were too small for the size mansions in vogue. Additionally, the hilltop was too far from the coveted Passeig de Gracia so consequently, only four houses were built; one belonged to Güell and one belonged to Gaudí. One house on the property is still privately owned. The rest of the park belongs to the city. \240Gaudí also designed Casa Batllo for the wealthy Batllo family and, upon completion, the house was considered the most beautiful and interesting in all of Passeig de Gracia. However, in typical Smith’s vs Jones’s fashion, the Mila family wanted something larger and more grandiose. As a result, Gaudí built a masterpiece so unique and outrageous that the building was ridiculed by conventionalists and the Mila family became a laughing stock in the press. They refused to pay Gaudí for his four years of work, so consequently, he vowed not to do anymore commercial work for the \240bourgeoisie; he instead dedicated the rest of his life to completing La Sagrada Familia.

Gothic Qarter

The Kiss

Tiles composing The Kiss

Barcelona is replete with cathedrals, basilicas, churches and interesting sites (Mary’s Nana believed when you entered a place of worship you had never been to before, you could make three wishes, so we’ve been making wishes all over Barcelona). There are breathtaking murals, like “The Kiss”, museums dedicated to Joan Mirò and Picasso and all within walking distance or a short metro ride. We did take an hour-and-a-half train ride to Figueres, Spain to visit the Dali museum. Although we’ve seen some of his works in the Vatican and in Madrid’s Reina Sophia museum, we can’t seem to get enough of his art. In a previous life, a few of his religious iconographic reproductions hung in my office. For some, they sparked curiosity while others thought they provided some complex personal insight. I just thought they were quirky and fun. We still don’t over analyze his work, but rather find it whimsical as it connects us with our past life. Some of our fascination stems from the fact that Dali was as, or more interesting than his works; he came to believe in Nuclear Mysticism and Quantum Mechanics, so when interviewed sounded like Carlos Santana, somewhere out in the ozone.

Barcelona Cathedral

Arch de Triumfo

Barcelona did not disappoint — we tried to see and do as much as we could but we understand that it would take weeks to take in all of the sites the city has to offer. We choose the things we would most enjoy, Sagrada Familia being one of them. Sagrada Familia defies conventional description. We could write volumes describing it and could never do it justice. We read articles and viewed photos and videos of the Grand Canyon, yet, until we stood at the rim of the canyon, we could not fully appreciate it. The same can be said about the Sagrada Familia. It’s one thing to see its spires in the city’s skyline, it’s another to walk in and admire its magnificence. Religion, not withstanding, it is a living, breathing work of art. From the exterior sculptured nativity facade on the east side to the modern passion of Christ sculptures on the west side, it is a different structure on each side. It is also as contrasting at sunset as it is at daybreak. The stain glass on the east side has light blues and greens, catching the vibrant morning colors while the glass on the west side accentuate the yellow and orange hues of sunsets. Every turn reveals something new and every corner of the building differs from the next. If for no other reason, visiting this building was worth coming to Barcelona.

Gaudi’s Casa Mila

Gaudi’s Casa Batllo

Night light show, Casa Mila

House with Gaudí inspired design, Park Güell

In our quest to find the things we most enjoy, one evening we headed to the Magic Fountain of Montjuic, the largest and most majestic fountain in Barcelona. We had read about this spectacular fountain and the vibrant active plaza surrounding it. We took the metro to Plaça d’Espanya and walked the few blocks towards where we thought the fountain was. We laughed along the way thinking, if the fountain was as spectacular as they claimed, we should have been able to see it from our approach. We eventually reached the fountain and found it to be dark and the “lively” plaza was relatively empty. Knowing we were probably mislead but still somewhat optimistic, we asked an approaching police officer what time the fountain’s water show would start. He rubbed his chin, thought for a second then said “ah, by next month.” Apparently the fountain is shut down for certain periods in the winter for maintenance and repairs. We, apparently did not have the greatest timing. A small reminder that some day, we will have to return to Barcelona to continue exploring this remarkable city.

Sagrada Familia in the skyline.

Neri Hotel Lobby

Hotel Neri common area outside rooms

Sagrada Familia exterior

Sagrada Familia facade, Judas \240kissing Jesus

Sagrada Familia Altar

Sagrada Familia Interior

Sagrada Familia

Sagrada Familia Spire Stairs

Dalí, Man of Woman

Dali Museum

Dalí Museum

Dali’s work

We finish our travels with a five day stopover in Portugal. Not that we are overly anxious to have this trip come to an end, but we are excited about seeing Lisbon and Porto. Portugal remains on our list of places to visit and this short introduction should help us determine the areas we want to visit.

Barcelona’s Post Office

View from Lisbon Hotel

Picking a place to stay can sometimes be a challenge. Not that it’s particularly difficult, but because it becomes more of a guessing game. As you can imagine, during our five plus weeks of travel, we have stayed in many different places; some memorable, some not so much. When time allows, we book one night, and if the place is suitable, we extend our stay. We have the benefit of reviews and google maps identifies locations, but without knowing a particular city, it’s still a guessing game.

Funicular to and from Hotel

The hotel we booked in Lisbon checked all the boxes — it had wonderful reviews and appeared to have restaurants and shops nearby. What the map failed to show was elevation. The Torel was an old palace overlooking the city of Lisbon. The views were magnificent and the room had tall ceilings with French doors opening onto a small balcony. But when we tried to access the nearby shops and restaurants, it required a slalom descent down a black diamond slope.The only other option was an €8.00 funicular trip down or a taxi or Uber ride down. It defeated the purpose of being close to local activities.

Scary Burned Church

We made the best of it and paid for the short funicular ride and meandered through the town. After visiting a very spooky church (it had been destroyed by fire in the 1950’s. Rather than restoring it, they replaced the roof but left the charred walls and mutilated icons on the altar), we found a small café a few blocks from the water that did not appear to look too touristy; those places tend to have bad expensive food. It turned out to be a Portuguese barbecue and the dishes coming out seemed to look fairly decent. A cheery waitress came over, handed us multi-language menus, and stood ready to assist us with our selections. We asked, English? Spanish? She responded, “No Spanish — English.” Great, we turned to the pages displaying the British flag and proceed to ask a few questions. As we pointed to certain items, she started speaking French with an English word thrown in every once in a while for good measure. Every time we asked about a menu offering, she would turn the page to the French section and hand-signed her approval or disapproval. When we asked about the the broiled chicken, she turned up her nose, spread her arms wide and muttered, too long. \240Not sure if she meant cooking the chicken would take too long or if they just happened to have very tall chickens; either way that didn’t seem to be a good selection. Mary settled on the sea bass and I defaulted to the octopus.

Just keep Swimming - Just keep Swiming

Wine, cheese, and a warm breadbasket later our meals arrived. Grilled sea bass is usually presented sitting on a bed of something. This one happened to be sitting on a bed of greens, and this homeboy came fully dressed, head, tail, eyes and all — like the snappers served on Caribbean Islands. Although a delicacy, I don’t think Ms. Mary has ever had one. I’m not sure who looked more surprised, Mary or the fish. As hunger trumped appearance, an arugula blindfold served to protect the fish from having to observe what was happening to him.

White, Ruby or Twany? Yes, all of them

After our Nemo inspired meal, we headed to the train station and bought tickets for Porto. We wandered through the streets, peering in shops and even stumbling upon a plaza with an open air market. At the far end of the plaza, two grandmotherly looking women sat behind a lemonade type stand selling shots of Ginga (cherries fermented in brandy and sugar), for one euro. A few euros later we were on our merry way. We ended the night in a small tavern learning about ports through personal experimentation.

Plaza Market

Although there is a lot to do and see in Lisbon, we didn’t want to leave Portugal without seeing the coastline. The point at Nazaré Beach has some of the biggest waves in the world and it hosts a huge professional surf competition every year. \240Neither one of us surfs but we are still fascinated by the force of the ocean. We rented a car and drove the hour-and-a-half to Nazaré; a sleepy little town in the the winter that, despite the fact most business were closed for the season, is still dotted with tour buses. We walked along the beach scouring for sea glass and watching old women sun dry fish, as women there have done for centuries. Later we headed to the Nazaré lighthouse, where there is a small makeshift museum dedicated to surfing. We took a little tuk-tuk to and from the lighthouse and were amazed at the size of the waves breaking over rocks. A young local woman, sounding apologetic, said the waves were rather small that day. We can only image what the huge waves are like.

Ginga? Sure

After a late lunch in a tiny restaurant in a Nazaré plaza, we headed back to Lisbon. After returning the car, we headed back to the center of town — time to try one of their famous ‘pastel de nata’. The pastel de nata is a small, about a half dollar size pastry filled with a light custard type cream. Everyone, including our taxi driver insisted we had to have a fresh one. We found a little place called the Fabrica de Nata (roughly the nata factory). The line extended out the door. Through the store window you could see a production line assembling the little treats. A few gentlemen carefully kneaded dough in their palms and carefully placed them in large muffin trays while another filled the cups with the custard. At the ovens, trays would go in and trays would come out. Hot from the oven, these little guys sold for €1.00. A few of those and some port and we were off to explore again. On the way back to the hotel we found a farmer’s type market, but unlike our farmer’s markets, this one also sold sandwiches, cheese boards, sangria and of course port; that settled the question of dinner.

Nazaré Beach

Fish Drying on the Beach. Don’t be Downwind.

We tried asking her age in a few languages, she just kept trying to sell us fish

On Saturday morning we took a three hour train from the Orient Station in Lisbon to Porto, the second largest city in Portugal. Porto, among other things, is known for its port wines. So after dropping off our bags in the hotel, we headed DOWN to the river for lunch and hopefully some port tastings. Other than along the river, we don’t think there is one flat road in all of Porto. You are either toe-box shoving your way down a hill or climbing sherpa-style up a hill. Often the descent and the climb were on the same street. When someone talks about the old world charm of Portugal, Porto must be what they have in mind. Yes there are throngs of tourists along the waterfront, but a few minutes from there you’ll find plazas with small cafés, taverns and restaurants. We even had a chance to visit Livraria Lello, one of the oldest bookstores in the world. It was the inspiration for the bookstore in Harry Potter and the school uniforms worn in Hogwarts are identical to the uniforms worn by Porto students.

Signed Championship Boards

Boards in Gallery

Large Waves in Nazaré

Our Happy Tuk-Tuk Driver

Porto is also known for an odd sandwich called Francesinhas, which we (actually I) discovered by accident. We stopped for dinner at a Café near the hotel, Mary was able to discern the different salads, I found an option with two words I recognized “sandwich and egg”. After the waiter left, Mary asked, “what did you order?” “An egg sandwich” I said proudly. After a while the waiter, who spoke neither English nor Spanish, comes to the table with Mary’s salad and a plate with a mound of something bathed in a brownish gravy, covered with oozing melted cheese, surrounded by french fries and........ topped with an egg. I looked at the mess and shrugged questioningly at the waiter. He smiled, pointed to what I ordered on the menu and said, “buen provecho” (good health). I know it had bread, the other ingredients are still a mystery — some ham, some steak, some sausage and god knows what else. \240I did as much damage to the thing as I could (and probably my heart as well) and headed off to the hotel. As we stopped at a corner store for a bottle of water, on the rack of post cards was a card with the picture of the monstrosity I had just eaten, apparently it’s a thing in Porto. After that we saw it served in numerous restaurants.

Riverside Restaurants Porto

My Kind of Market

Production line of Pastel de Nata

In the few days we were there, we tried to see as much as we could and drink as much local port as we wanted. This would mark the end of our five week jaunt to Spain, Morocco and Portugal. A three hour train ride would take us back to Lisbon for a morning flight home. We miss home, we miss our family and friends and we miss waking up in the same bed everyday. A lot has happened since we’ve left; the landscape of the presidential race changed radically as we saw candidate after candidate fold their hand and what news we could watch was dominated by the corona virus and the market collapse. Life is fleeting and we know we can’t do this forever but every trip, every adventure is another pearl full memories and happy moments. These are the only things we will take with us, the brief snapshots of the world through our own eyes. For those of you patient and gracious enough to follow with us, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

More Porto, just because

Waiting for a train

One of Porto’s Train Stations

Porto’s Hilly Streets

Great Porto Hotel

However, if you’re interested, stay tuned, there are sure to be more adventures to come.

Porto’s Famous Francesinhas Sandwich. Should be called a Frankenstein.

Porto’s Famous Bookstore.