tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10587192564064818472024-03-13T08:06:32.826+01:00Writings In SpainJakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.comBlogger69125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-41222534413838515712015-12-16T20:41:00.000+01:002015-12-16T20:41:00.636+01:00Where Are The Best Flamenco Shows In Madrid?<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Flamenco purists often swear that flamenco is best heard without amplification—just the natural powers of the voice and guitar cutting through the air of a small room filled with </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">aficionados</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">. Unfortunately, it is quite difficult to witness a spectacle like this if you are not deeply involved in the world of flamenco. And it is nearly impossible to see the famous flamenco artists of today perform in such a capacity. That is why we are very fortunate to have the “Sala García Lorca,” part of the famous flamenco venue </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Casa Patas</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> in Madrid</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">.</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> This intimate room is located above Casa Patas’ restaurant and main flamenco performance venue. Unlike Casa Patas’ established downstairs </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">tablao</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">, the upstairs Sala is only in its third season of concerts.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Recently I was fortunate to see two world-class performances in this small room with a capacity of 90 people, designed specifically for flamenco singing. There are many places to see flamenco performances in Madrid and this venue is perhaps the best when one combines the intimate setting with the quality of artists who perform. One need look no further than around the room at the members of the audience to glean that these concerts are coveted—many of the attendees are either flamenco writers, serious <i>aficionados</i> or famous contemporary flamenco artists. This is a far cry from your typical tourist-oriented flamenco <i>tablao</i>. There is no dinner upstairs and there is no talking during the performance, though a smattering of <i>olés </i>might be heard from the audience.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The concerts I saw were guitar duo José María Gallardo and Miguel Ángel Cortés and singer Duquende with Chicuelo as the guitarist. Both concerts were outstanding. Gallardo and Cortés are both top tier guitarists (classical and flamenco, respectively) and as a duo they seamlessly blend the two genres, both playing intricate melodies that somehow manage to improve rather than diminish the individual parts. They sound like no other duo I have heard and together break down the long-standing barrier between flamenco and classical guitarists. They have just released an album titled <i><a href="http://www.deflamenco.com/tienda/producto/cds-de-flamenco/lo-cortes-no-quita-lo-gallardo.html" target="_blank">Lo Cortés no quita lo Gallardo</a></i> that demonstrates their unique sound and it is a work that has the power to reach anyone who takes the time to listen to it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Duquende is a highly respected flamenco artist who has toured with, am</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">ong others, the great Paco de Lucía. His preferred guitarist now is Chicuelo, and rightly so. Chicuelo is a monster player and excels both as an accompanist and a soloist. To hear them together, un-amplified in a small room is a wonderful experience and something one is not likely to witness many times. These are artists who fill large concert halls, and yet they love the art enough to perform for less than one-hundred people and make a fraction of what they normally make. You see, tickets for this series of concerts are only twenty-five euros. That price seems ridiculous when I think about how much a nosebleed ticket costs to see famous American artists. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And yet flamenco, a music with unsurpassable feeling and talent, remains largely an outsider in its country of origin and, apart from small groups of aficionados in other countries, is surprisingly unknown or unappreciated. Within Spain curious tourists make up a large percentage of flamenco’s patrons—and it is mainly to them I am talking to right now, because at least they seem to want to witness this great art. If you want to see a true flamenco show in Madrid, Sala García Lorca is the place to do it. Just remember, the room upstairs is separate from the restaurant below and the shows are different. To see if a show is programed while you are in town, check out their website here: (<a href="http://www.casapatas.com/garcia_lorca.asp">http://www.casapatas.com/garcia_lorca.asp</a>). </span></div>
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Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-48313319100096099482015-04-04T06:58:00.000+02:002015-04-04T06:58:01.016+02:00Semana Santa Trip Part 5 (Finale): RondaBetter late than never, right? This weekend makes it a year since I was last in Ronda, during Easter weekend. It is easily one of the most gorgeous villages in Spain. From the time I visited during my first trip to Europe in the winter of 2011, I swore I would go back. I happened upon an excellent quality leather belt my first time there, and have worn it nearly every day for the past four years. It was time to get some more, and at the same time witness the processions of Semana Santa.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ronda</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mmmmmm....fresh mushrooms.</td></tr>
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After sucessfully finding the same store I had visited years prior and buying belts for myself and others, I stood on the side of the street and watched the Easter procession go by, complete with Jesus on the cross, Mary, censers, men and women in uniform and plenty of music.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mary</td></tr>
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Andalusians really take these processions seriously. They happen every day throughout the week leading up to Easter, and the closer Sunday gets, the longer and more elaborate the processions are. After watching for a long while, I decided to find a place to camp before dark. I looked across the valley and saw an old bell tower in the distance, and set my sights on it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset over the mountains</td></tr>
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After a very long walk, I arrived at the base of the tower as twilight gave way to night and the music from the town turned mournful.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ronda from a distance</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the inside of the tower</td></tr>
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Camping alone in the dark outside a rural village made me quite aware of my surroundings—I wasn't sure of the security of my selected campsite, but decided it would probably be okay. I fell asleep to the sounds of crickets up close and brass instruments accompanied by percussion in the distance.<br />
At four a.m. I was awakened by the procession, still going strong. The sound of drums rang out along with the piercing voice of a singer performing a <i>saeta</i>—a religious flamenco-inflected song performed during Semana Santa. I will never forget the wonder of waking up to the song and looking out of the tent across the valley to the twinkling lights of the old town of Ronda.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pardon the length of this photo. I felt the panoramic view added context. </td></tr>
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I awoke again at sunrise and took in the lightening forms of the mountains and the town with its famous bridge, known as the <i>tajo</i>. Paco de Lucía, the famous flamenco guitarist, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wwWDDdj87II&t=31m8s" target="_blank">composed a <i>rondeña </i></a>(flamenco song form originated in Ronda) named after the bridge. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">El Tajo</td></tr>
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As the sun continued to rise I walked back into town and, that afternoon, took the train back to Madrid, thus concluding a memorable Semana Santa in Andalucía. Some experiences had such an impact on me that they found their way into the concluding song on my recently released album <i>Evening Sounds</i>. In a way, the album documents my two years in Spain. Though, perhaps more accurately, it attempts to capture the essence of a time that will remain forever at the core of my experiences.<br />
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You can listen for reference to the four a.m. drums below, as well as the influence of the <i>rondeña </i>flamenco song form.</div>
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<br />Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-40710886130652152182014-09-16T18:09:00.002+02:002014-09-16T18:09:56.681+02:00Semana Santa Trip Part 4: Zahara de la Sierra and Seteníl de las Bodegas<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZRxOmCTyLVlNh47vK8crqRhZybkyX9if3EQPqUTDs5U83mBhqKfxUtGm_gfygjOqJbOUdcZaC0Yibdr_-HdxSu5T7qNM29c4bijUPgWwB6B3hq4x_XTKPNZF05Ei_oDuyHvwKicwyN-g/s1600/DSC04430.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZRxOmCTyLVlNh47vK8crqRhZybkyX9if3EQPqUTDs5U83mBhqKfxUtGm_gfygjOqJbOUdcZaC0Yibdr_-HdxSu5T7qNM29c4bijUPgWwB6B3hq4x_XTKPNZF05Ei_oDuyHvwKicwyN-g/s1600/DSC04430.JPG" height="140" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Zahara de la Sierra</td></tr>
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Ah, it's been a while since my last post. I was very busy in Madrid the last few months I was there. That's okay, let's pick up where I left off. I was traveling aroung Andalucía with Camille, and we had just traversed part of the <a href="http://writingsinspain.blogspot.com/2014/06/semana-santa-part-3-sierra-de-grazalema.html" target="_blank">Sierra de Grazalema</a>. We visited the pueblo of Grazalema and, as the day was coming to an end, we decided to try to get to our next destination. It was about 17km away, and we started walking in hopes of getting a ride there. The only problem was, there was one road that went to our next destination, Zahara de la Sierra, and no other stops along the way. So unless we caught someone going to that pueblo of 1,500 people, we were out of luck. We walked to the crossroads that led to Zahara and waited. As it turned out, we were in luck. A family drove by—at first they said sorry, they couldn't take us, because their car was pretty full with two children in the back. But a minute later they turned around, no doubt feeling bad that we would be stranded there all night, and gave us a lift. It sure was good that we didn't have to walk, because most of the ride consisted of hairpin turns while ascending a mountain. Then there was a steep descent into the valley below. We arrived in Zahara at sunset, took a walk around and got a bite to eat.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Sunset in Zahara de la Sierra</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Fried Eggplant with José Ximénez vinegar</td></tr>
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The next morning we explored the town. As you can see from the first picture, the town is perched on a hill. At the top of the hill is a castle contructed from the 13th to 15th centuries. It overlooks the entire valley in which Zahara de la Sierra is situated. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">A look at the reservoir from Zahara's castle</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The tower of Zahara's castle and the olive groves surrounding. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Zahara at a distance </td></tr>
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Needless to say, the views were impressive and it was definitely worth a stop. I envisioned myself staying there for weeks, saturating myself with Andalusian country life. But I hadn't brought my guitar, so that was out of the question! We had places to be, and didn't know exactly how to get to them. Later in the day, we waited for a bus that we thought would take us to our next destination. It didn't. We got dropped off 7km down the road in another pueblo, Algodonales. The bus driver said another bus would come in a couple hours so we had lunch and waited. Eventually, that bus did come and we experienced a beautiful bus ride through the Sierra de Grazalema, passing white-washed pueblos and castles older than the discovery of America. I know it's a bit cliché, a bit romantic, but after a year and a half in Spain I still had not gotten over its beauty. </div>
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We arrived in Alcalá del Valle, a small pueblo outside of the park. We went there because a guide book said there was a great walking path that connected Alcalá and the town of Seteniíl de las Bodegas. There was supposed to be an old windmill and everything. It turned out to be a disappointment—that path is not worth walking. But we decided to camp for the night and set up in an olive grove a few kilometers outside of Seteníl. In the morning we walked into town. Seteniíl de las Bodegas is famous for its houses that have been constructed under rock overhangings. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The 'modern' section Seteníl de las Bodegas</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Houses constructed into the rock in Seteníl de las Bodegas</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvaVz5rUD94BfAxlZJ9PAFnnGq9NlNZyeeRVfuRwRANoLB_83bFjDe7hyWcjXOKi-eW3oiIdHZaTAyBSKx0m_T342-dotcB5tg-jy-4eWMxuaAEpmLh-Zrj3Ir4Sxm6cnHTfdCqvR4C0ee/s1600/DSC04501.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvaVz5rUD94BfAxlZJ9PAFnnGq9NlNZyeeRVfuRwRANoLB_83bFjDe7hyWcjXOKi-eW3oiIdHZaTAyBSKx0m_T342-dotcB5tg-jy-4eWMxuaAEpmLh-Zrj3Ir4Sxm6cnHTfdCqvR4C0ee/s1600/DSC04501.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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The area has been occupied continuously since at least the 12th century, when it was under Arab control. But considering nearby archaeological findings that indicate the region was populated with humans over 25,000 years ago, it would be a good bet to say that Seteníl has seen its share of prehistoric humans. The natural shelter the rock provides, coupled with the river below, would've made it a great place to spend some time back then. Since then, permanent dwellings have been built by the building of walls from the top of the rock overhang to the ground beneath. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixPYzCVHv8iuQxwLSVdEbGGMyTcpLyz_PFKfSFi3sXdtiY6-Q5GiMo9uQ-sFsFyAwT5yJRanm0n0b8m1wJj1Z65s2ktKdB-Opfn2ldvTkg1_wd43Q-ipUVDYOiIScEvLm9VWSOK536N6Ke/s1600/DSC04511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixPYzCVHv8iuQxwLSVdEbGGMyTcpLyz_PFKfSFi3sXdtiY6-Q5GiMo9uQ-sFsFyAwT5yJRanm0n0b8m1wJj1Z65s2ktKdB-Opfn2ldvTkg1_wd43Q-ipUVDYOiIScEvLm9VWSOK536N6Ke/s1600/DSC04511.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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It is a unique place and, though I couldn't see myself spending more than a day there, it's definitely worth seeing, and the food we had was tasty and inexpensive. It's not far from one of my favorite towns in Spain, the town we were to visit next—Ronda. </div>
Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-60063507744241080872014-06-14T18:23:00.000+02:002014-06-14T18:23:26.625+02:00Semana Santa Part 3: Sierra de Grazalema<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
From <a href="http://writingsinspain.blogspot.com.es/2014/05/semana-santa-trip-part-2-jerez-de-la.html" target="_blank">Arcos de la Frontera</a> we took a bus to the Sierra de Grazalema. We got off at Ubrique, a town nestled into the mountains and famous for its leather products. We bought groceries and the local sweet, called a <i>gañote</i>, and headed for the mountains. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4lzcOHJSxYV8Hn4s8L9vjLHxcYMICY1emTsPhHyza1kp6ndquNLtd86VM_vVG90w9eKITReHdhYka3o8_jxTBRzldLzEiluDoe0ZUhVLplkqWIzV7awawO9efh32twyz8RyAXYY-m2Uvq/s1600/DSC04318.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4lzcOHJSxYV8Hn4s8L9vjLHxcYMICY1emTsPhHyza1kp6ndquNLtd86VM_vVG90w9eKITReHdhYka3o8_jxTBRzldLzEiluDoe0ZUhVLplkqWIzV7awawO9efh32twyz8RyAXYY-m2Uvq/s1600/DSC04318.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roman road (<i>calzada romana</i>)</td></tr>
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From Ubrique there is a Roman road that connects Ubrique with a nearby village, Benaocaz. It's fantastic. The mountains in the sierra are of the same composition (limestone) as those in the <a href="http://writingsinspain.blogspot.com/2013/08/los-picos-de-europa-and-cangas-de-onis.html" target="_blank">Picos de Europa</a>. Their slow decomposition is evident in their jagged peaks grooved by rain over millennia.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirPRj798XSbfUtYbP9zeenQPtav6MFG_ZuoRWX9urkvfcly0YI8R0-WLBB0RR4AD0o1We82-TqSpGZxps2skPfZZd8EeLclp1BrgDE6gAN69V3amcK-BOCJZbcP3InbTBkeFySECdvGzeg/s1600/DSC04331.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirPRj798XSbfUtYbP9zeenQPtav6MFG_ZuoRWX9urkvfcly0YI8R0-WLBB0RR4AD0o1We82-TqSpGZxps2skPfZZd8EeLclp1BrgDE6gAN69V3amcK-BOCJZbcP3InbTBkeFySECdvGzeg/s1600/DSC04331.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rain grooves</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5mTx3bcKkkuiBVjP2MnYJY8tX6bD1KF656JfwMf9CgVg9mA4EN7CngwOQB00uHoVUPVYWcPDRZvUTmqIocP7Nv1Xvj_JrCMmvk7_03rTd_sJtx5EeIObT-OSFhzaFUWJ7ruZiY8ANmxy-/s1600/DSC04323.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5mTx3bcKkkuiBVjP2MnYJY8tX6bD1KF656JfwMf9CgVg9mA4EN7CngwOQB00uHoVUPVYWcPDRZvUTmqIocP7Nv1Xvj_JrCMmvk7_03rTd_sJtx5EeIObT-OSFhzaFUWJ7ruZiY8ANmxy-/s1600/DSC04323.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;">gañote</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzqSc7OZMoox61-Ls8UHjO19oCGySN0RwDFUF6-fT8l07te4JGmHmBAlbIxazGGrLXySxC1ZUaCNc6FbMSYcMkKn_9T0MNqTQFRwg2qoKoK_FkrKDigCjcmyMFCvonZPIm7fgwIC8nlcd0/s1600/DSC04340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzqSc7OZMoox61-Ls8UHjO19oCGySN0RwDFUF6-fT8l07te4JGmHmBAlbIxazGGrLXySxC1ZUaCNc6FbMSYcMkKn_9T0MNqTQFRwg2qoKoK_FkrKDigCjcmyMFCvonZPIm7fgwIC8nlcd0/s1600/DSC04340.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ubrique in the background </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ubrique in the background</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqp3a7PglB8jkgkisAJuEL8Ct1ATIQMyONZE91nePtXvIoM5xgSylAmQtJZ5ngK9D78uYN6k_q4y-q6hi1p6PoGa7WQRFZSUD5fAwaYGfykOpV9QHSap8YhVWfwwahuWPU5fswaIM8zL6z/s1600/DSC04348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqp3a7PglB8jkgkisAJuEL8Ct1ATIQMyONZE91nePtXvIoM5xgSylAmQtJZ5ngK9D78uYN6k_q4y-q6hi1p6PoGa7WQRFZSUD5fAwaYGfykOpV9QHSap8YhVWfwwahuWPU5fswaIM8zL6z/s1600/DSC04348.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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As we walked toward the next pueblo, Benaocaz, the sun set and we eventually set up camp outside of town. The next morning we had coffee (chocolate milk for me) in town and continued on toward the next destination, Grazalema, on the <i>Senda de cabreros </i>(Goat herder path). In the bar in town they had told us we wouldn't be able to make it all the way to Grazalema because part of the route went through private property and there had been a dispute that led to the owner's closing his land to walkers. It sounded a bit silly to me, so we went ahead and continued on, despite others telling us along the way that it was closed. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh9YfidEgaqC_Jq2CFNMGKm00FyDS-b26bJh7e_NDvNRoJ4tbnWOAf2PZSwNf8cSc2oIM5tB2xf9V7rS6fIWoIJN152EdllwuLXF7ZJ9l5l3hjiXuRB0U_sM9HBf2_csXKTND5hKyN4_Qi/s1600/DSC04360.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh9YfidEgaqC_Jq2CFNMGKm00FyDS-b26bJh7e_NDvNRoJ4tbnWOAf2PZSwNf8cSc2oIM5tB2xf9V7rS6fIWoIJN152EdllwuLXF7ZJ9l5l3hjiXuRB0U_sM9HBf2_csXKTND5hKyN4_Qi/s1600/DSC04360.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Benaocaz</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTk_CfkG33JWY7ZB58nQPLvSg-sXsTbt9CnNzBiaue3yLdJkB9ROww8yvS5n8_aHW9EuHugUr8S4YIzXmIepHDyMqGuLi_ZGB-lMYC4pYBrclImRf42yET1L4Up8zCHO4isPfAmiU2vR1/s1600/DSC04361.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTk_CfkG33JWY7ZB58nQPLvSg-sXsTbt9CnNzBiaue3yLdJkB9ROww8yvS5n8_aHW9EuHugUr8S4YIzXmIepHDyMqGuLi_ZGB-lMYC4pYBrclImRf42yET1L4Up8zCHO4isPfAmiU2vR1/s1600/DSC04361.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the way to Grazalema</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4KL_lXPeWE9ReMJ28y3s8PHm0yFbSJe_hWCniJZm72rzbHpfkJaDvl1tfFs1Yczgc9CgNJSunjOFCOBT3Dm6pqr4lmnA7cML6QYe3H5yJsnqy0YnM_863jfhdKCDLD089zSzLhdmteWmi/s1600/DSC04365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4KL_lXPeWE9ReMJ28y3s8PHm0yFbSJe_hWCniJZm72rzbHpfkJaDvl1tfFs1Yczgc9CgNJSunjOFCOBT3Dm6pqr4lmnA7cML6QYe3H5yJsnqy0YnM_863jfhdKCDLD089zSzLhdmteWmi/s1600/DSC04365.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ibérico pigs</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0OjcJob94P6h5R1ljWFt2kzDmyspekVT7rfLuS57BVwZYFP95gFXo6pH3x1iT9RW0E1LUHVFh4XPoH56TbYqZz5n2anUCKWvSNgPx_aL89pU3yc0_2xwSLhSzvJlylkyb8S8sGWbd0YWp/s1600/DSC04373.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0OjcJob94P6h5R1ljWFt2kzDmyspekVT7rfLuS57BVwZYFP95gFXo6pH3x1iT9RW0E1LUHVFh4XPoH56TbYqZz5n2anUCKWvSNgPx_aL89pU3yc0_2xwSLhSzvJlylkyb8S8sGWbd0YWp/s1600/DSC04373.JPG" height="140" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rocks. Outside of Benaocaz.</td></tr>
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The hike was, needless to say, stunning. We saw five people in as many hours. <div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpuiUicH-3UtMRC666wcwY0XsguXxsBInG82FNj3rWlus7NmPDE2BPEcFkmPKJaAVYDfNkMpE6xFSBie-pN8E2m5Q_8Spnvk91O6f13vDjPUWpN3unnDhlt2bVGh2yBTBEh6US6Goteg6r/s1600/DSC04388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpuiUicH-3UtMRC666wcwY0XsguXxsBInG82FNj3rWlus7NmPDE2BPEcFkmPKJaAVYDfNkMpE6xFSBie-pN8E2m5Q_8Spnvk91O6f13vDjPUWpN3unnDhlt2bVGh2yBTBEh6US6Goteg6r/s1600/DSC04388.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still on the road to Grazalema</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfK4-orbeTSDSgMslz5ygWdKcaT8qDkBkDhIn3KpHxG9f6aiNVh_jPm7xxk6mIy521aImcl328_H2nK7GP3blWuR4MtWZQ6J8oYqEqBiZJyJs3jypvcdxFYFK65JojFoFEsjs0ZAsuDcgc/s1600/DSC04400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfK4-orbeTSDSgMslz5ygWdKcaT8qDkBkDhIn3KpHxG9f6aiNVh_jPm7xxk6mIy521aImcl328_H2nK7GP3blWuR4MtWZQ6J8oYqEqBiZJyJs3jypvcdxFYFK65JojFoFEsjs0ZAsuDcgc/s1600/DSC04400.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tree </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcWiasbvegbF-uDNBZofc5JML3knsFUQ6ur9sNvSrLa3njDOv692UnIxGtf_BIY9HfKA0WJuxtY3WWhXUqX_5m6GkhJ3gZoUMl7E1g6qo4vq3u5r6zcUeFQaeqR8jZJ8nrVvqt4nNpuGYa/s1600/DSC04402.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcWiasbvegbF-uDNBZofc5JML3knsFUQ6ur9sNvSrLa3njDOv692UnIxGtf_BIY9HfKA0WJuxtY3WWhXUqX_5m6GkhJ3gZoUMl7E1g6qo4vq3u5r6zcUeFQaeqR8jZJ8nrVvqt4nNpuGYa/s1600/DSC04402.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pasture</td></tr>
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After hours of walking we arrived at the point of contention. There was a fence with a sign saying that no one could pass. But that wasn't true, because it was rather easy to hop the fence and continue on. Turned out, the private land was the most enchanting part of the hike. It is truly a shame they closed it off. We saw a mare and her colt in a pasture with the limestone mountains rising up behind. This might well have been the reason for the closing of the path. Then we came upon a house, which was surely the property owner's, and we had to scramble through two gates and walk a half mile more down the road until we were out of the property—just before a car came rolling down the long driveway.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMiGoAvIrkDWzAIjlwunYxiIPLXrdjPzW9xQ8QefHBERlDJuiooht9CB-4cd90MzSBqpOp44wzxIln1DiyNBNKo-CnGU8zZ9zvUkMrxowGP2NZiSJLeBaXJ6NAa7AZKU864czNM5vlGjxX/s1600/DSC04405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMiGoAvIrkDWzAIjlwunYxiIPLXrdjPzW9xQ8QefHBERlDJuiooht9CB-4cd90MzSBqpOp44wzxIln1DiyNBNKo-CnGU8zZ9zvUkMrxowGP2NZiSJLeBaXJ6NAa7AZKU864czNM5vlGjxX/s1600/DSC04405.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mare, colt</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUaFeZArRBbTw3jh_GwHvYyrhm8K9jzGAtiRpxKZAsQk2MlaFSD9ml6FvhPud2cuH633WOw3N6muS-OGYvfh8jLhF4A8zE4b84xxCiDYzQQSLzCrj27r6yAo9NMcUFl6mMBnti6-A_ebr7/s1600/DSC04406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUaFeZArRBbTw3jh_GwHvYyrhm8K9jzGAtiRpxKZAsQk2MlaFSD9ml6FvhPud2cuH633WOw3N6muS-OGYvfh8jLhF4A8zE4b84xxCiDYzQQSLzCrj27r6yAo9NMcUFl6mMBnti6-A_ebr7/s1600/DSC04406.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how a goat drinks from a stream</td></tr>
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After, we ate lunch on a bench before continuing on another 4km (we'd walked 9 already) to Grazalema.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The pueblo of Grazalema<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> The town itself was calm and after spending some time there we decided to try to get to our next destination before the end of the day. To be continued...</span></div>
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Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-43667449421546107332014-05-18T14:37:00.001+02:002014-05-18T14:37:45.570+02:00Semana Santa Trip Part 2: Jerez de la Frontera and Arcos de la Frontera <a href="http://writingsinspain.blogspot.com.es/2014/05/semana-santa-trip-part-1-sierra-de.html" target="_blank">From Fuenteheridos</a> we rode south with a nice couple to Jerez de la Frontera, a flamenco capital. They wanted to drive us to the hotel but we encountered roadblocks and policemen once we neared the center of town. It was Sunday, and the processions of Holy Week had began. Processions take place throughout Spain every day of Holy Week, but Andalucía does it best and takes it most seriously. Every town does things slightly differently. The general outline is that a lot people dress up, mostly in Ku Klux Klan style outfits (of course, this has been going on in Spain much longer than the Klan's existence), others in army uniforms with instruments, others in robes, and they walk around the town. All ages participate. Depending on the day, people also carry enormous <i>Pasos</i>, or floats, some with Jesus and others with the Virgin Mary. They are not light, and are usually carried on the shoulders of many men who stand beneath the floats for hours at a time.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">There is Jesus on the Cross</td></tr>
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We got dropped off near our hostel, which happened to be right in the middle of the procession. The streets were completely full and everyone was wearing their Sunday best as we walked by unshowered with big backpacks and hiking clothes. We got to the hostel, changed and went out.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">There's the Virgin Mary</td></tr>
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Processions last for a long time. The closer it is to Easter, the longer they last. More on that later. Needless to say, as we walked around the city, we kept running into the Procession and had to either wait for it to pass or turn back and go a different way.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRWb0b989xCQJWwImDrb5y5k1Jodn37vytQ7Oub0qUgPKgvYSiWZC78luHTrKqOltam3F0bpQg2iOY-sCAeSunErPArAeY6YG7BVZJDBz6FkMSrNfImrkXJOSA-VdT_yDBl5qczAue_z39/s1600/DSC04285.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRWb0b989xCQJWwImDrb5y5k1Jodn37vytQ7Oub0qUgPKgvYSiWZC78luHTrKqOltam3F0bpQg2iOY-sCAeSunErPArAeY6YG7BVZJDBz6FkMSrNfImrkXJOSA-VdT_yDBl5qczAue_z39/s1600/DSC04285.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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Above is a kid with a big candle. Kids not in the procession gather on the side and have sticks with balls of wax on the end and ask the people with candles to kindly drip the melted wax onto their balls to make them bigger. Nothing more to say here.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The same <i>Paso </i>passing through a plaza hours later. </td></tr>
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These processions move <i>very </i>slowly. Everyone walks in time to the somber music of the band playing and very couple of minutes everyone stops, maybe to give the float-bearers a rest, and they do various things. Some of the people in the parade go barefoot.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Not spooky at all</td></tr>
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I'll be talking a bit more about these Processions in the next post. Here's a picture of a sign outside of a restaurant. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">I think "papatoes" is spelled wrong but other than that it looks okay.</td></tr>
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Jerez was a lovely town I would like to visit again to see some flamenco. During Holy Week the flamenco stops to make way for other events. The next day we took a bus to Arcos de la Frontera, a white pueblo on a hill.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">A corner of Arcos de la Frontera</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">A street in Arcos de la Frontera</td></tr>
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The village was enjoyable to walk around, though very steep. Villages in the south of Spain tend to be built eiither on a hill, cliff, or in a valley. They are almost never flat. From the town we could see our next destination, the Sierra de Grazalema. We had a tasty meal while we were in Arcos, with one of the best flans I've eaten.</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixK9x_-xrKJq34flbIfRBNs2a3msnV9_WQIo95Iy4FYciM-L1tLbihZVBdGWZTpqoEKINOZTPPEgHAdGUmuEI-cIK8fa94vjTByOYxO1ULx_DMHjTf4SoQxp152hxANsXfSlRzWbIH6fa0/s1600/DSC04313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixK9x_-xrKJq34flbIfRBNs2a3msnV9_WQIo95Iy4FYciM-L1tLbihZVBdGWZTpqoEKINOZTPPEgHAdGUmuEI-cIK8fa94vjTByOYxO1ULx_DMHjTf4SoQxp152hxANsXfSlRzWbIH6fa0/s1600/DSC04313.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Flan</td></tr>
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Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-19418476170310865162014-05-03T11:13:00.000+02:002014-05-04T14:33:41.907+02:00Semana Santa Trip Part 1: Sierra de Aracena Over here in Spain our Spring Break is called "Semana Santa," or Holy Week. It's the week before Easter and we don't have school. My friend Camille and I decided to take a hiking/camping trip in Andalucía, covering less trodden places. Our first destination was the Sierra de Aracena, which is in the province of Huelva in southwestern Spain. We arranged a Blablacar ride down there. If you don't know, Blablacar is a ride sharing website, popular in Europe and still non-existent in the U.S. I've had great experiences, it's cheaper than other transportation, and many times it enables you to get to out of the way places easier. Case in point: Aracena.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh76K9WlfcebJZ6aSb1Ru2X66tBYcfkq6ykTTXLVxiUqMKHq5htrfhnowc4ZnTZNI1PPJ0xhNH79WZM0nF8nOHMenr5ZVlkV89gV0FX8HFEynXgXn3LktKkuRnRdHTyedjgVgHVC0g-lnV5/s1600/Sierra+de+Aracena.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh76K9WlfcebJZ6aSb1Ru2X66tBYcfkq6ykTTXLVxiUqMKHq5htrfhnowc4ZnTZNI1PPJ0xhNH79WZM0nF8nOHMenr5ZVlkV89gV0FX8HFEynXgXn3LktKkuRnRdHTyedjgVgHVC0g-lnV5/s1600/Sierra+de+Aracena.png" height="275" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A map of where we walked in the Sierra de Aracena</td></tr>
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The man we rode with, Óscar, had a van and there were seven of us. Everyone was very nice and we even stopped in Trujillo on the way down because I'd never been. Trujillo was a wealthy city, with palaces built by venturers who had come back from America, including Francisco Pizarro (he defeated the Incas in 1533).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8UiFkJtJa3xZ4fvBdMzh2HcZrZQriQOyWnSHI7-0UsKiNm0LzAe37_VOd-ZMf4AEYQq3rn9waXsFF9jXH5NgcC7GUBzpH-9OaNJKlqO4lr9emsq3c4DspP9NnTGpV8quCSE8SBVGIhH1e/s1600/DSC04196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8UiFkJtJa3xZ4fvBdMzh2HcZrZQriQOyWnSHI7-0UsKiNm0LzAe37_VOd-ZMf4AEYQq3rn9waXsFF9jXH5NgcC7GUBzpH-9OaNJKlqO4lr9emsq3c4DspP9NnTGpV8quCSE8SBVGIhH1e/s1600/DSC04196.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trujillo </td></tr>
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After the stop we continued on to Aracena. It was getting dark. We all picked up groceries at Mercadona (the best Spanish supermarket chain) and the driver suggested we might stay with him and his friends that night and have dinner, as it was getting late to find a place to camp. We cordially accepted. His house is down about a two mile "road" with nothing else around it, about half-way down a valley. It is rustic, with stone floors, a fireplace, solely solar powered and complete with orange, lemon and fig trees. He also has a mare. The mare seems to think it is a dog. It came galloping down to meet us as we pulled into the driveway and nearly followed its owner into the house. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Ae32AQk3SGxZyL3b3MsWNsldDW-YWwg9joH7UZ6uiw5Y5ucbY_Fm0TIvMdnPZzLzWnL5X-yaKecRsicz9vbVAav9XS9_s_FG8LDCHKI0Zlv7MWhVd_5QLMXdcQBy_Xaw-Zo0OnAuFYbJ/s1600/DSC04201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Ae32AQk3SGxZyL3b3MsWNsldDW-YWwg9joH7UZ6uiw5Y5ucbY_Fm0TIvMdnPZzLzWnL5X-yaKecRsicz9vbVAav9XS9_s_FG8LDCHKI0Zlv7MWhVd_5QLMXdcQBy_Xaw-Zo0OnAuFYbJ/s1600/DSC04201.JPG" height="492" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I call this one "Horse with Head in Front Door." It's the best photo I've ever taken. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqNCed92XrT8tAI8q3StU_PcXoREkuwnkT-ZeDzS9I5i5Ca3LxZ-d-MqMeuz3HaLW0qK6uQGZ65BUz9J3sQfyWs4E_iYpLQIEQh3nUZIS-dXOIY2LIzKQst9PKiG03G3QMTTaF7G3KSb_9/s1600/P08035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqNCed92XrT8tAI8q3StU_PcXoREkuwnkT-ZeDzS9I5i5Ca3LxZ-d-MqMeuz3HaLW0qK6uQGZ65BUz9J3sQfyWs4E_iYpLQIEQh3nUZIS-dXOIY2LIzKQst9PKiG03G3QMTTaF7G3KSb_9/s1600/P08035.jpg" height="241" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">by Martín Rico (1833-1908). You can find this in the Prado museum in Madrid.</td></tr>
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At the time it reminded me of this beautiful little Martín Rico painting. Eventually I have to do a post on my favorite Spanish painters. Spain's had some of the best in history.<br />
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Needless to say, we were fortunate to have met such a nice guy. Camille cooked dinner and we ate outside and learned a few new Spanish phrases. I am a collector of Spanish phrases. The next morning we had breakfast and took off with a borrowed map of the sierra. The hospitality we experienced will not be forgotten.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtGpWkfBz9UrWPewl_7v8QBFk516qw6PK_48kz4jqkqn_PVO5yXaT-lMQ6kDxbjfFbPuRkGXGgiM6HBCLfBS0CsX5VVLevnEaFvKI0uzMautUzw0md0FSAXR6zOuJ2rjYlIaQbDWUnNlS/s1600/DSC04204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtGpWkfBz9UrWPewl_7v8QBFk516qw6PK_48kz4jqkqn_PVO5yXaT-lMQ6kDxbjfFbPuRkGXGgiM6HBCLfBS0CsX5VVLevnEaFvKI0uzMautUzw0md0FSAXR6zOuJ2rjYlIaQbDWUnNlS/s1600/DSC04204.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Linares de la Sierra from a distance</td></tr>
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With the help of our wonderful host we found the centuries-old footpath connecting the villages of the sierra and walked toward Linares de la Sierra. It's a small white village tucked into the hills and there isn't too much to see, although the bullring/plaza is ineresting.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ZAQDLWZ095G22wv860yAgavrnSSaEzb5nkvF86dNILzHS2cBo8DtsP3K8ed5kvLv5Dfu04w0tJWFn8lDlLRs9gRRPWU_mUcOv-eamFYmjlyCh85mdXgOafSZs7ji000FwJkX7qzgvIIG/s1600/DSC04209.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ZAQDLWZ095G22wv860yAgavrnSSaEzb5nkvF86dNILzHS2cBo8DtsP3K8ed5kvLv5Dfu04w0tJWFn8lDlLRs9gRRPWU_mUcOv-eamFYmjlyCh85mdXgOafSZs7ji000FwJkX7qzgvIIG/s1600/DSC04209.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plaza that doubles as a bullring</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQQFaCkiRXQc0dsmtxLxJnly9IdWJjpTUbeXb7Ca8j5RrbT5KPaxblqDg9HbgJc04dOiNhSRu3sn_rK7EAWpCdWfIU5QqrotQZvChCMJrjyJEVThKcW2ZYShXDfNECRTix0LZh-i_RL42_/s1600/DSC04213.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQQFaCkiRXQc0dsmtxLxJnly9IdWJjpTUbeXb7Ca8j5RrbT5KPaxblqDg9HbgJc04dOiNhSRu3sn_rK7EAWpCdWfIU5QqrotQZvChCMJrjyJEVThKcW2ZYShXDfNECRTix0LZh-i_RL42_/s1600/DSC04213.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Linares de la Sierra </td></tr>
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We walked around the town and then continued on toward another village, Alájar. There was so much rosemary. The weather was perfect the entire trip, which was fortunate because April is known to be rainy, especially in the mountains.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiso1l2svvoaHW4dh_45IYgNCVcMm8ZJTSdECVtEEUHNStJk7oXWwR41nehHun2RtC3HAgV5XQMaox_bkwLLPtL3zDN7TKdC2tlEtJxoSmjMxtJoqvKnSEZBKIM2h2_-Hqd5POu1UVFGuOD/s1600/DSC04214.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiso1l2svvoaHW4dh_45IYgNCVcMm8ZJTSdECVtEEUHNStJk7oXWwR41nehHun2RtC3HAgV5XQMaox_bkwLLPtL3zDN7TKdC2tlEtJxoSmjMxtJoqvKnSEZBKIM2h2_-Hqd5POu1UVFGuOD/s1600/DSC04214.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rosemary</td></tr>
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Around this region there are a lot of cork trees. They still strip the bark every seven years to make primarily wine corks, and some of the trees are very old.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBCTkgwxJyNOD3Q88ZKw-mtzf8zWgGbBG8KRxTziPfWck8eCRnWMUT-i-1jFoqL84bFHmgJFSvfAk2ctoMrEEIB2OFQ-lxbC5cFNWqhWxD3JqoA22sbvBU-gldrLSik9_xgBE2R-KDduk1/s1600/DSC04220.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBCTkgwxJyNOD3Q88ZKw-mtzf8zWgGbBG8KRxTziPfWck8eCRnWMUT-i-1jFoqL84bFHmgJFSvfAk2ctoMrEEIB2OFQ-lxbC5cFNWqhWxD3JqoA22sbvBU-gldrLSik9_xgBE2R-KDduk1/s1600/DSC04220.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cork trees</td></tr>
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We arrived in Alájar, a pleasant village with quite a bit happening on that particular day. There was a market with many tantalizing things for sale. We ended up buying membrillo (quince paste) with pine nuts to have for breakfast.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqoGFyhE2cw_OZ55ODPPgHupP1wIEy4tcBL7RgXmS7EgYQTMO50Fd9m_C9mHKxCCR6Kf0wxsdzYPz5_M-C4HPd4Qt8Fd6oVtCQZJcOEGCWtz-yyLUDqT6WY5_64XWEoTxPZwiy5jLbXzvI/s1600/DSC04225.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqoGFyhE2cw_OZ55ODPPgHupP1wIEy4tcBL7RgXmS7EgYQTMO50Fd9m_C9mHKxCCR6Kf0wxsdzYPz5_M-C4HPd4Qt8Fd6oVtCQZJcOEGCWtz-yyLUDqT6WY5_64XWEoTxPZwiy5jLbXzvI/s1600/DSC04225.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plaza in Alájar</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVvItYTEvKt-vQdTr9UIuBi_ZthPi8dUUYVlu-ME5PNKti87nMYdQRZRhQFLuyOGhZYRdEVQW6iftdEPmrehIP6yD62diKSVkFtobroSnhannV0-U7cnRwjoSN7wJhiOZ36wox98dw9N4d/s1600/DSC04230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVvItYTEvKt-vQdTr9UIuBi_ZthPi8dUUYVlu-ME5PNKti87nMYdQRZRhQFLuyOGhZYRdEVQW6iftdEPmrehIP6yD62diKSVkFtobroSnhannV0-U7cnRwjoSN7wJhiOZ36wox98dw9N4d/s1600/DSC04230.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alájar from above<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">We walked outside the town and ascended the Peña de Arias Montano, a big rock formation named after the tutor of Philip II, for some great views of the town. We bought some dried peaches and continued on, winding up the mountains as the trees changed from cork to castaños (chestnut). After a while we reached yet another white village, Castaño del Robledo. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZgBKyIsK6iqfwWgLLAKyjTfnClvQLvtm2CWuhCgc1S4RJODlnY4s1ku52FsDd90iOsK50m8XjVkgjIq7v63_9MZwShIZH-cWmS2tfLQ5W1WcHdJkGU7DjCo8PU1Zr0hMdLj1sV2zPP8YB/s1600/DSC04237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZgBKyIsK6iqfwWgLLAKyjTfnClvQLvtm2CWuhCgc1S4RJODlnY4s1ku52FsDd90iOsK50m8XjVkgjIq7v63_9MZwShIZH-cWmS2tfLQ5W1WcHdJkGU7DjCo8PU1Zr0hMdLj1sV2zPP8YB/s1600/DSC04237.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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There really is not much to see in most of these towns—the walk is the best part. The paths were previously the only way to get from town to town.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-9BG5Ki7NhlyBZnqtbDcFqEvCZCHk6aTA6wdABkZAeACqkipxe0WWs6GXxy6QUP79jcS47UB55kaHrXLEHfo4W35Ppj4zBwR_w0pEjjzrjr-bL6aq_GLuHbfD0W6q7zVIvXg408YP0x0a/s1600/DSC04249.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-9BG5Ki7NhlyBZnqtbDcFqEvCZCHk6aTA6wdABkZAeACqkipxe0WWs6GXxy6QUP79jcS47UB55kaHrXLEHfo4W35Ppj4zBwR_w0pEjjzrjr-bL6aq_GLuHbfD0W6q7zVIvXg408YP0x0a/s1600/DSC04249.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wild Asparagus</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJV9OF3pRKjooGkvaQjcCD3NbcJhJG3I_GkdZHEIJ9Gg9_MAABbYWhl_k6ka6fzCvJNUOilXSNHLTnXhPzj53zxuXvIMCJiFnCp9Ibz6fkNhc12ZLhMhUsVyyOLGmE9zUkNSZZInqOtsds/s1600/DSC04241.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJV9OF3pRKjooGkvaQjcCD3NbcJhJG3I_GkdZHEIJ9Gg9_MAABbYWhl_k6ka6fzCvJNUOilXSNHLTnXhPzj53zxuXvIMCJiFnCp9Ibz6fkNhc12ZLhMhUsVyyOLGmE9zUkNSZZInqOtsds/s1600/DSC04241.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quince fruit with pine nuts</td></tr>
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We left Castaño and walked halfway to Jabugo before stopping for the night to camp. Fortunately it wasn't very cold, and the next morning we continued on to Jabugo.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6X7wqAqzD7tpTlp6dx4nf2vYvBHi6HrBgW8CeSdPC1RrFerVcgHKQtDmehn0LNpA4044_MdX3fgv5OuPsdFuhKT5BkRazsPuwbSmWmefqnJCHBxOVLC7UCb74upH9rcatnxkIoXFn677-/s1600/DSC04242.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6X7wqAqzD7tpTlp6dx4nf2vYvBHi6HrBgW8CeSdPC1RrFerVcgHKQtDmehn0LNpA4044_MdX3fgv5OuPsdFuhKT5BkRazsPuwbSmWmefqnJCHBxOVLC7UCb74upH9rcatnxkIoXFn677-/s1600/DSC04242.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the road again</td></tr>
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We had several pocketbooks for identifying vegetation: trees, plants, flowers, fruits. Camille correctly identified a wild asparagus plant and found a lone stalk that she cherished for a while afterward. We arrived in Jabugo, the most famous ham town in Spain. But not just any ham—they have jamón ibérico de bellota. This is the cream of the crop. The pigs, dark gray in color, are left to roam around eating acorns all their lives, getting properly fat. The legs are cured for nearly two years (or more) under strict conditions and during that time the ham becomes an absolute delicacy. One of the most famous brands of jamón ibérico is Cinco Jotas, which is what the man at the bar used to make my morning toast.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTAXCebzIDwVmN8jxBuheb1K0DM-I6yJeOqq8KeE5fpCXE-9WqdeorCGyFF4BuDo_zKySLdGbCqd2_3XZKzLxUhHoH_wTdK8os7Z_MtSNpEkkNuK5RYXdlCr3yq_W48I_81pKNCIqo0jW7/s1600/DSC04253.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTAXCebzIDwVmN8jxBuheb1K0DM-I6yJeOqq8KeE5fpCXE-9WqdeorCGyFF4BuDo_zKySLdGbCqd2_3XZKzLxUhHoH_wTdK8os7Z_MtSNpEkkNuK5RYXdlCr3yq_W48I_81pKNCIqo0jW7/s1600/DSC04253.JPG" height="247" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best tostada con tomate y jamón ever. </td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhraM714zSMPy4jThOajXRYxw1yeQOt-x3k-rS3UpvENQoU9FWI3hG3nN8cq5bnpu4lOKV01a-BFjoP_aQ2HMCrgRIs-TmgcGiWxMINKe_da7DIOcPGq0cfh5znvWb_VzWdFk-y87UaJJLz/s1600/DSC04254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhraM714zSMPy4jThOajXRYxw1yeQOt-x3k-rS3UpvENQoU9FWI3hG3nN8cq5bnpu4lOKV01a-BFjoP_aQ2HMCrgRIs-TmgcGiWxMINKe_da7DIOcPGq0cfh5znvWb_VzWdFk-y87UaJJLz/s1600/DSC04254.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Jamón ibérico is not cheap. In Jabugo it is cheaper than anywhere else, and it is over 100 euros per kilogram. We bought 150 grams to eat for lunch. It was not a mistake. This stuff is truly amazing. It is hand-sliced razor thin so that it nearly melts in your mouth. Here's a quick video about it (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IbRfdrHS3SU">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IbRfdrHS3SU</a>). And here is a poor quality clip of Anthony Bourdain eating Spanish ham and cursing Gweneth Paltrow for not eating ham (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JRWdyIAjNnA">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JRWdyIAjNnA</a>). </div>
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After, we walked back to Castaño del Robledo and toward Fuenteheridos, where we would take another Blablacar to Jerez de la Frontera. Outside of Fuenteheridos we stopped in the shade and feasted on ham, dried figs and dark chocolate with almonds. It was phenomenal. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdLmMi2N3KSZmVKgTAJf50riYVAMFee_Sq44-2A1I-3DrD4jL5DnP8ovNiLCLrEr06KdtJtGf02hk-XC4vVDHKej9OWb0T9ExRhIZdUPI5dmlHp8RkY7eHfuBaXBgpd_TSeG943eW-EjVQ/s1600/DSC04262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdLmMi2N3KSZmVKgTAJf50riYVAMFee_Sq44-2A1I-3DrD4jL5DnP8ovNiLCLrEr06KdtJtGf02hk-XC4vVDHKej9OWb0T9ExRhIZdUPI5dmlHp8RkY7eHfuBaXBgpd_TSeG943eW-EjVQ/s1600/DSC04262.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This piece of ham looks like Spain</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_vZ1uEFawBwwxViJzynujGGYnhO5K78G8LGpicqGIdAg89xsRS4bgnx1JIdjH91eDMbXQiGfx7nPqfIYS_GM-OMtsbuG8EBsu6X0VRTW70HopXQLRA7eCUSlpTXnu4827vLj5ajufwT9A/s1600/DSC04265.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_vZ1uEFawBwwxViJzynujGGYnhO5K78G8LGpicqGIdAg89xsRS4bgnx1JIdjH91eDMbXQiGfx7nPqfIYS_GM-OMtsbuG8EBsu6X0VRTW70HopXQLRA7eCUSlpTXnu4827vLj5ajufwT9A/s1600/DSC04265.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This piece of ham looks like the Spanish flag</td></tr>
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Up next, Part 2: Jerez de la Frontera and Arcos de la Frontera, along with Easter Processions </div>
Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-33806146871856405462014-04-03T23:43:00.000+02:002014-04-03T23:43:15.231+02:00Cuenca and Ciudad Encantada <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
After spending another week in Madrid and visiting some of my classes at the high school, Ben and I went on a second weekend trip. This time we rented a car with Emir and Camille and drove to Cuenca (Ben drove), famous for its "Hanging Houses." But our destination for the night was nature, and we needed to find a place to camp. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuwSBEat-r_7s4WDshj2vdchU4zdjXx36RsclkRd74anNmrMEE0VbDgz4uoWytSbvX3p-yWYvb_PktAYG0TkAGOccCqEnsknOTsR1_Cy3jd4hJGUyHaS5VKP_Y4-sxpAmRg-zDDRlDmCf7/s1600/DSC04008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuwSBEat-r_7s4WDshj2vdchU4zdjXx36RsclkRd74anNmrMEE0VbDgz4uoWytSbvX3p-yWYvb_PktAYG0TkAGOccCqEnsknOTsR1_Cy3jd4hJGUyHaS5VKP_Y4-sxpAmRg-zDDRlDmCf7/s1600/DSC04008.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben and me in Cuenca</td></tr>
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We drove along a beautiful road that wound around the rocky landscape, ate dinner on some rocks, and then looked for a place to leave the car and camp.<br />
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We wanted to see the place known as Ciudad Encantada (Enchanted City), but got to it too late that night, and ended up camping a couple miles down the road. Camping was peaceful, full of stars, and very cold. Cuenca is one of the coldest places in Spain and, as we know, I don't exactly have the warmest gear. But I survived. In the morning we set off for La Ciudad Encantada. It is famous for its enormous rock formations. They're featured in a scene in the original "Conan the Barbarian," a movie my brother loves (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DfuSFwqMIiw" target="_blank">see the clip here at 7:42</a>). </div>
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We were perplexed upon arrival to see the part with the rock formations fenced off, and an admission being charged for entry. Who owns 90 million year old rock formations? </div>
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After hopping the fence we saw some gorgeous rocks. They are enormous, and in a relatively concentrated area. Where we camped a couple miles down the road there was a rock formation or two, but nothing like what was in the park. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pine cone baseball </td></tr>
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The place was astonishing. Spain continues to impress me with its variety of topography and geological features. For such a small country (it is smaller than Texas), its diversity seems more like that of an entire continent. </div>
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After the Enchanted City, we went back to Cuenca to see what it had to offer. The "Hanging Houses" are its most popular site. They are houses constructed on a cliff, some of the balconies perilously perched over the edge.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben, Emir and me in Cuenca</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Hanging Houses</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plaza Mayor in Cuenca</td></tr>
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We were in Cuenca for the sunset, and it was a good one. Cuenca is high above the surrounding land, so you have the opportunity for a great evening sky. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben, Camille, and Emir on top of a castle dating back to the 10th century</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A street in Cuenca at sunset</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sky just kept getting better</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cuenca</td></tr>
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Back in Madrid...after nearly a month in the city, it was time for Ben to fly to China. We had a phenomenal time together. We managed to go to all the best museums, concerts (including classical, jazz and flamenco), and eat great food. For his going away dinner we cooked a lamb stew that was succulent. And if that wasn't enough, we successfully ended my seemingly endless search for the perfect flamenco guitar. More on that to come.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mmmmmm....laaaaaamb</td></tr>
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Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-85215239830342958902014-03-22T23:37:00.001+01:002014-03-22T23:37:31.169+01:00Córdoba and Almodóvar del Río with Ben! <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I found my brother Ben at my apartment in Madrid when I got home from work. He decided to come visit me on his way to China, where he will be studying Chinese at a Middlebury program in Kunming until June. (<a href="http://learninginyunnan.wordpress.com/kunming-china/" target="_blank">He has a blog about it and it is very good</a>.) Anyway, he arrived on around January 13th and, from what I knew by talking with him over Skype, he was planning on staying for two weeks. So when I walked in and he said he had booked a flight from Madrid to China for February 11th I was (pleasantly) surprised. We had a month to hang out, eat good food and travel. First up, Córdoba.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzQmx0FUnTnumBgy1pCcjXWkLwFyO-GDypwbwuhfTLBDWdP_ZPoBO1eJaUjOIA-VY1M3F6P28F8bHyU-oYjaQNSihribw7RmQl3fgSoZ0jF01usntEvinGxjDQ8GqlDmLLZqBD2ixFjtRK/s1600/DSC03970.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzQmx0FUnTnumBgy1pCcjXWkLwFyO-GDypwbwuhfTLBDWdP_ZPoBO1eJaUjOIA-VY1M3F6P28F8bHyU-oYjaQNSihribw7RmQl3fgSoZ0jF01usntEvinGxjDQ8GqlDmLLZqBD2ixFjtRK/s1600/DSC03970.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben Shane and Ben Maimonides in Córdoba (Medieval Jewish Spanish philosopher and rabbinic scholar)</td></tr>
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I don't know if you're aware, but by the time Ben arrived in Spain I had been looking to buy a good flamenco guitar for quite some time. A flamenco friend of mine has a guitar made by a guy from Córdoba, so Ben and I decided to go down there and try out a couple guitars that were at a good price. The guitars weren't as good as I had hoped, and I wasn't about to settle. But that was just an excuse for going down there in the first place anyway. The weather wasn't great, a bit rainy, but it didn't keep us from walking around.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKb-_3LXzxE9s-4368lG-jeo2XZezeEJ0D2VWi2SBoBHOE3V24_hts9hEqDJhET7deK6LdcJd1PMQOS_MOlcgfxxlB_YqyMneDyYq5N6aIBFGVEfJo8SoMMugq06ltGt6Y0h7WNUiNuVi7/s1600/DSC03965.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKb-_3LXzxE9s-4368lG-jeo2XZezeEJ0D2VWi2SBoBHOE3V24_hts9hEqDJhET7deK6LdcJd1PMQOS_MOlcgfxxlB_YqyMneDyYq5N6aIBFGVEfJo8SoMMugq06ltGt6Y0h7WNUiNuVi7/s1600/DSC03965.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outside the Mezquita</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Juuuust enough room. Typical street in Córdoba</td></tr>
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My plan was to go to Córdoba for the day and then take a bus to a nearby pueblo, walk into the country and sleep. Things didn't quite go as planned. After the day in Córdoba we took a bus to <a href="http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Almod%C3%B3var_del_R%C3%ADo" target="_blank">Almodóvar del Río</a>, a town 25 minutes away. But we arrived when it was already dark. And raining. There was a castle though. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Castle in Almodóvar del Río. Bad picture, but it was dark and raining so...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the castle</td></tr>
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We walked around the town and the outskirts for quite some time. We went up to the castle, checked it out and ate cold, tasty lentils out of tupperware while taking shelter under the castle walls. We walked back down to the town, around, went to a bar, and then decided the ground was sufficiently muddy. Where could we sleep? There was only one option, and that was to bivouac. We ascended to the castle again, in the rain, and the main portal seemed cozy enough. We couldn't pitch a tent, I only have a summer sleeping bag and it was January and raining. So we huddled under the portal, rain somehow still getting us wet, and 'slept.'<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A wall in the synagogue of <span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Córdoba</span></span></td></tr>
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Up before dawn and the roosters, we hiked down the hill, got some hot drinks, and caught the bus back to Córdoba. There, we walked around some more in the rain and saw what remains (not very much) of the old synagogue (remember when Ferdinand and Isabella kicked the Jews and Muslims out of Spain in 1492?). After a while we decided to take the bus back to Madrid, having triumphed in not buying a guitar and bivouacking in the cold outside of a castle from the 8th century. Overall, a success. Stay tuned for more cold camping adventures with Jake and Ben!<br />
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Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-22924985023587516022014-03-18T00:22:00.001+01:002014-03-18T00:22:43.283+01:00London and Brighton<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
We had a great time in London. Jack graciously let us stay at his place near Portobello Road in the North Kensington neighborhood. It's a really nice neighborhood, with all kinds of restaurants and boutiques. There was even a Spanish grocery store, with the same things I buy in Spain, the only difference being a 300% price increase! </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">A street in Jack's neighborhood </td></tr>
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We did many things. For one, we went to the British Library and saw the oldest existant <i>Beowulf </i>manuscript, the Magna Carta, the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lindisfarne_Gospels" target="_blank">Lindisfarne Gospels</a>, and many other texts of historical importance. It's free and I definitely recommend stopping in next time you're in London. </div>
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Jack, Katie and I went to the National Gallery as well, a museum I first visited with Katie over three years ago. It is home to all kinds of famous paintings. Two lesser-known ones that struck my eye this time were "<a href="http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/theodore-rousseau-sunset-in-the-auvergne" target="_blank">Sunset in the Auvergne</a>" by Théodore Rousseau and "<a href="http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/peder-balke-the-tempest" target="_blank">The Tempest</a>" by Peder Balke. Katie and I also went to the Tate Modern museum, which had some great art. The surrealism room quickly became one of my favorite art rooms in any museum. Favorites of mine there include Francis Picabia's <span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"<span style="line-height: 21px;"><a href="http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/picabia-otaiti-t11982" target="_blank">Otaïti</a>" and Max Ernst's "<a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/ernst-the-entire-city-n05289" target="_blank">The Entire City</a>," both of which were painted in the 1930s. If you don't care about this, don't worry—this paragraph is mostly so that at a later date I can easily find some paintings I enjoyed. </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Outside the National Maritime Museum</td></tr>
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How many museums did we go to, you ask? Well, without talking about the British Museum Jack and I spent time in my first day there, I will spend a couple of sentences on the National Maritime Museum in the Greenwich district. Katie and I went there to see a vast <a href="http://www.rmg.co.uk/whats-on/events/turner-and-the-sea" target="_blank">William Turner exhibit</a>. Turner, a 19th century English painter, is one of Katie's favorite painters. I first saw his art in person at the National Gallery when we were in London the first time. Above all, he is famous for his seascapes. And he was good at them. The exhibition brought together the largest collection assembled of his seascapes and it was awesome. From large scale paintings to sketches, the exhibit offered a huge range of sea paintings and was mesmerizing.<br />
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Of course, we did loads of other things in London, but we also took a nice trip to Brighton to see one of my flatmates from last year and good mate, Rue. We had some experiences with a terrible flatmate that ensured a lifetime bond. He kindly invited us down to Brighton to stay with him for a night and it was lovely. We had a nice walk around the town, ate fish and chips and reminisced. It was good to see him, and as with Jack, it was crazy to see him outside of the context we met and became friends in Spain. Hopefully one day they can both visit me on my home turf. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Rue, Katie and I in Brighton</td></tr>
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And that concludes our Christmas vacation to the UK. It only took me until March to finish writing about it. It was really a fantastic, relaxing vacation and I am very glad we decided to do it and were met with such hospitality everywhere we went. Next up: my brother's month-long stay with me in Madrid! If you want a teaser, you can <a href="http://learninginyunnan.wordpress.com/2014/02/25/madrid-to-kunming/" target="_blank">read the blog post he made about it</a>. He is studying in China this semester and has started a great, funny blog. Cheers. </div>
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Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-6976657661773356532014-03-01T21:35:00.001+01:002014-03-01T21:35:26.670+01:00Edinburgh<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So, I'm behind on blog posts. I'll try to change that this month. I've been busy with several things that I'll talk about in future entries. In any case, Katie and I were in Edinburgh over Christmas break, and it's a lovely city. It's very walkable and has distinct architecture. We got the best views from Arthur's Seat, a dormant volcano inside the city limits. It's a pretty short walk up the side of it and from the summit you can see the whole town and the Firth of Forth, which flows into the North Sea. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Arthur's Seat</td></tr>
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We walked around quite a bit, went to coffee houses, used book shops and clothing stores, and of course museums. I tried the traditional dish <i>haggis</i>, which is mainly composed of sheep organs. It was tasty. We also had some excellent Indian food at the city's oldest Indian restaurant. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The haggis is next to the tomato</td></tr>
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We went to the National Museum of Scotland, which among other things had some of the Lewis Chessmen, chess pieces discovered in the 1800s on the Isle of Lewis in Scotland and carved out of walrus ivory. They date to the 12th century. The rest of the pieces are in the British Museum in London, which I had seen the week prior. You also get great views of the city on top of the museum. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the National Museum of Scotland</td></tr>
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One night we went to an historic movie theatre and saw "All is Lost," the film starring Robert Redford that came out in 2013. I enjoyed the movie and Katie did as well, though she is always weary of would-be philosophical movies—she often thinks they try to muddy the waters to make them appear deep. In any case it was a nice experience to see a movie in a city to which we hadn't been. </div>
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We spent three days in Edinburgh and left on New Year's Eve to head back to Jack's parents and then on to London that evening. It was definitely worth the trip up. Edinburgh is unique and has a certain charm to it. And you don't feel rushed around trying to do a million things. It's a city you can visit without much of a schedule and just see what you discover. </div>
<br />Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-56524563847837230232014-01-28T23:02:00.000+01:002014-01-28T23:02:48.774+01:00Melton Mowbray, England My friend Jack, with whom I worked and played concerts last year, invited Katie and me to his family's house for Christmas in Melton Mowbray, England. We accepted. It proved to be a wonderful time. Katie and I were in Britain for two weeks and visited London, Melton Mowbray, Edinburgh and Brighton. This post is just about staying with Jack's family—more posts will come soon.<br />
We arrived at Jack's family's house on December 23rd and stayed for five days. Melton Mowbray is less than two hours north of London, located in the region known as the East Midlands. Melton is famous for being the origin of pork pies, and I was also told it was where the phrase "paint the town red" originated. Melton used to be a big hunting town, and the packs of fox hunters would arrive in their red coats and eventually get a bit out of control at night around the town.<br />
Jack's family couldn't have been nicer and his dad is a wonderful cook. We had typical British food like steak & kidney pie on Christmas Eve and turkey for Christmas dinner, as well as non-conventional English foods like lamb with rosemary and pasta carbonara. The desserts were incredible. If I hadn't been so busy stuffing my face, I would've taken more pictures.<br />
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On Christmas Day Jack and his family gave Katie and me generous gifts, including books, notebooks, socks for Katie, chocolate for me, and more. Katie gave the family a traditional painted wooden Ukranian jar and I gave them typical Spanish foods. We were overwhelmed by their munificence.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Borrough Hill</td></tr>
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After lunch we drove a few minutes down the road and took a walk at Burrough Hill, the site of an Iron Age fort. It was a clear day, though the wind was cold. Overall it was an excellent Christmas day walk. </div>
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For Christmas dinner we feasted on a 20 pound turkey, tons of other sides and delicious desserts, including chocolate cake and treacle pudding. We also opened a traditional Christmas item called a <i>cracker</i>, which contains a small drink and a crown. The name comes from the popping sound made as you open it by holding the wrapper at either end and pulling hard. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jack, Katie and I after Christmas dinner</td></tr>
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Another day we went to a quaint town with thatched houses for an afternoon walk. The weather turned from sunny to rainy as we were walking, but the countryside was beautiful and the air was clean.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On our walk</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Same walk, 15 minutes later—it was pouring rain.</td></tr>
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The time we spent at Jack's was relaxing, joyful, and full of fantastic food. Katie and I loved every minute of the English hospitality. After five days we decided to go to Edinburgh for three days before spending New Year's in London with Jack. Next post coming soon!<br />
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Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-34929318183381429542013-12-26T00:21:00.001+01:002013-12-26T00:21:13.975+01:00Hiking in El Escorial<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Early December and the weather was great for hiking, so Emir, Camille and I took a train out to El Escorial to walk some trails. El Escorial is famous for the enormous monastery Philip II had constructed during the later half od the 16th century. It's only 45 kms from Madrid but I hadn't been out there yet, and still didn't get into the monastery. Instead, we walked past it and into the hills for some nice views. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Part of El Escorial </td></tr>
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When the monastery was being constructed, Philip II would walk into the hills and sit on a seat he had ordered to be carved out of rock so he could watch it being built. You can easily hike up to it and sit there yourself, which we did. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The seat across from Philip II's, with El Escorial in the background</td></tr>
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We continued to hike up into the hills and the sun made the day nice enough to go shirtless and be very comfortable. At one point I was certain I was being burned, although fortunately I narrowly escaped it. It would be a bit embarrassing to get a sunburn in December. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Emir on a rock</td></tr>
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Later on we found some fresh oregano and after a nice lunch of chorizo and tomato sandwiches we got lost, as usual. We tried to take a different way back down but lost the path and decided the sun was getting a bit low in the sky to keep going on so we had to double back. As soon as the sun went down the temperature dropped about 20 degrees and soon we had our winter coats and scarves on again. All in all it was a nice daytrip hike. From the hills we could see the cloud of pollution settled over Madrid and it made us glad we had escaped for the day to get some fresh air.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">In King Philip II's chair</td></tr>
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<br />Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-81330784542469736892013-12-16T22:48:00.000+01:002013-12-16T22:48:25.475+01:00Flamenco en el Ateneo Last weekend I attended a packed flamenco concert at the historical <a href="http://www.ateneodemadrid.com/" target="_blank">Ateneo</a> in Madrid, a long-time cultural institution. The venue is attractive, with vaulted ceilings and gold leafed images on the wall. The show was divided into two parts. First to perform were singer Eva Romo from Granada and guitarist José María Ortiz from Jaén. Eva had a beautiful voice. They played a <i>farruca</i>, <i>tientos tangos</i>, <i>colombiana</i> and <i>bulerías</i>, but the most powerful song was a <i>granaína y</i> <i>media granaína</i>, which is a flamenco form originally from Granada. During this song it felt as if her voice "moved through the notes without breaking them," as Lorca described legendary singer Silverio Franconeti in <i>Poema del cante jondo</i>. My chest tightened, and for the first time I realized how powerful a flamenco song can be. There was something about her pure voice quivering between notes that made my eyes wet.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Eva Romo and José María Ortiz</span></span></td></tr>
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After their performance, Madrileño flamenco singer Jesús Chozas entered the stage and sang a moving <i>tonás</i>, one of the oldest and purest flamenco forms. After, Pablo San Nicasio joined him and they played a <i>carcelero </i>and <i>folía</i>. Chozas has an incredible voice—booming, crisp, gravelly yet sweet. He is one of the most enjoyable flamenco singers I have heard. Pablo's guitar work was restrained and precise, an elegant display of accompaniment that showed his deep knowledge of the art. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: x-small;">José Chozas and Pablo San Nicasio</span><br /><div style="font-size: 13px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Guitarist Alberto Espejo joined Pablo for a beautiful instrumenal and then all three played a <i>garrotín</i>, a flamenco form that originated in Asturias (a northern province in Spain) and was "flamenco-ized" like many other forms have been over the years. They finished with a fantastic rendition of a popular Spanish <i>bolero</i> from the 1940s, "Piensa en mí," which was revitalized a couple of years ago by the singer <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qt32VI6jhRE" target="_blank">Luz Casal</a>. Chozas' version is rousing and powerful, a perfect closing song. </span></div>
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The audience was left in ecstasies and demanded an encore from all five performers. They delivered, all three guitarists accompanying Eva and Jesús, who took turns singing verses.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: x-small;">From left to right: Alberto Espejo, Jesús Chozas, Eva Romo, José María Ortiz, Pablo San Nicasio</span></td></tr>
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The concert was an overwhelming success, and deepened my growing relationship with flamenco. When played well, it is an art that can produce strong feeling in both performer and listener. I look forward to following the careers of these artists dedicated to the art of flamenco. </div>
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Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-15533010875577949242013-11-30T20:28:00.002+01:002013-11-30T20:28:52.433+01:00Ukraine Recently I went to Ukraine for the first time, to see Katie. She is teaching at a university in Cherkasy as a Fulbright Scholar. I flew into Kiev and the next night we went to Cherkasy, which is three hours by bus from Kiev and located on the Dnieper river.<br />
But first thing's first. We got some Ukrainian <i>borsch </i>(a beet-based soup) at a place in Kiev called The Black Pig. It was delicious. We also ate great Ukranian dumplings, called <i>vereniki</i>.<br />
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<span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Then we visited <span style="line-height: 18px;">St. Mikhailovsky</span><span style="line-height: 18px;"> monastery. We didn't get to St. Sophia this time, because it was closed the day we were there. But next time we will certainly go. </span></span></span></div>
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We walked around the city and stopped at a place to get blini. Blini are very thin pancakes made from buckwheat flour. They are very similar to crepes and even tastier. I got one filled with mushrooms and one with apricot jam. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eating my blini with an elderly Ukranian lady</td></tr>
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After going to the Fulbright office to listen to Katie's friends give a presentation, we took the bus to Cherkasy. Katie lives with a married Russian couple who don't speak English, so it's very good practice for her. Also, her room is enormous. Another plus is that the mom makes great food! I had several servings of her borsch. I really hope Katie learns how to prepare it.</div>
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We visited the university where Katie teaches and I sat in on a couple of her classes. She mainly teaches fourth year students, and their English is excellent. Katie cooked some buckwheat with mushrooms and chicken for dinner and I decided I really liked buckwheat—so wholesome, so diverse.</div>
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On Saturday we went to the market, which sells clothes, food, plants, etc. It's huge and pretty cheap. We bought some fruit and spices. </div>
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This was not a touristy trip. It was very relaxing, we ate good food and I got to see where Katie lives and works. It's a fantastic experience for her and she is a really good teacher. There are barely any native English speakers in Cherkasy, and not very many expats, which makes communication frustrating at times. But I think in the end it is very enjoyable and beneficial—and who wants to be comfortable all the time anyway? One of the best ascpects about living abroad is the distinct absence of complacency, replaced by the constant need to improve and learn how to adapt to a different culture and succeed in a foreign country.</div>
Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-38656824249115893352013-11-16T21:50:00.000+01:002013-11-16T21:50:37.133+01:00"Flamenco Hoy" Award Ceremony<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Wednesday night I was in a room with over a hundred flamenco artists and aficionados at the 'Flamenco Today' award ceremony. Many of the best and most important contemporary flamenco artists were present to receive awards given by the <i>Crítica Nacional de Flamenco</i>, a group of influential members of the flamenco community. It is an invitation only event and my friend and I were definitely the only non-Spaniards to attend. So, why did I get to go? Long story short, I know a girl who knows a guy who I now know. Long story a little longer, I am looking for a flamenco guitar and one of my friends knows a respected flamenco guitarist. The guitarist invited the girl I know to the event, but she couldn't go and sent me the invitation. I talked with the guitarist and he said he would be happy if I attended. The flamenco guitarist, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q2YJQdYhvpw&list=UUPI6BFVtiekUTt1jhaTy93Q" target="_blank">Pablo San Nicasio Ramos</a>, happens to be on the committee who elects the winners of the awards.<br />
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The event was supposed to start at 9pm. We showed up at 9:15 thinking we might be late. I must've forgotten what country I was in. The presenters took the stage at 10:45. In the interim, we were served drinks and several tapas, and the room filled up. We got good seats at a table near the stage, which we shared with <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-XsjEkNwRho" target="_blank">José Anillo</a> and company, who won an award for best singer. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">José Anillo</td></tr>
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The presenters would give a few awards and then the 'house band' would come on stage and play a couple of songs. The room being filled with flamenco artists, I thought the audience would listen closely and shout timely olés. Not exactly so. They talked amongst themselves, probably wanting to enjoy the rare occurance of so many artists together in one room.<br />
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The winner of the best solo guitar album was <a href="http://writingsinspain.blogspot.com/2012/10/canizares-flamenco-guitar-concert.html" target="_blank">Juan Manuel Cañizares</a>, which was special for me because he started my still-growing obsession with flamenco music. He was there to accept the award.</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgKl_4AWmpY1eProwr6-jlUgmXmlW70VG-dz1wtGLx9oBV-bU97owTRcTmhMB8cA_nzBi8_vnpgCOPIGPi0-b5csOHG-bjUMRDcLs34LkG-uKg3FN65F3q_BtVEr2LqImAGM8eFKedTGPn/s1600/DSC03673.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgKl_4AWmpY1eProwr6-jlUgmXmlW70VG-dz1wtGLx9oBV-bU97owTRcTmhMB8cA_nzBi8_vnpgCOPIGPi0-b5csOHG-bjUMRDcLs34LkG-uKg3FN65F3q_BtVEr2LqImAGM8eFKedTGPn/s400/DSC03673.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Juan Manuel Cañizares</td></tr>
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Another winner was La Argentina, who I am looking forward to seeing at the <a href="http://vayamadrid.com/where-to-watch-a-flamenco-performance-in-madrid-without-falling-into-a-tourist-trap/" target="_blank">Auditorio Nacional</a> this year.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8R8iIuNYZl2TyxsX8nYKa1h5MuVgEmq06026clIsSBx8ER1hSJk9hahnzwJZMM5_yBskGH9yqFz91z-Smv_0N9mzPTr3GtIFhXhAiG8I4Ha0jM6BoNktXWPgpLDW0QWyffFAZG6NYS6A6/s1600/DSC03676.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8R8iIuNYZl2TyxsX8nYKa1h5MuVgEmq06026clIsSBx8ER1hSJk9hahnzwJZMM5_yBskGH9yqFz91z-Smv_0N9mzPTr3GtIFhXhAiG8I4Ha0jM6BoNktXWPgpLDW0QWyffFAZG6NYS6A6/s400/DSC03676.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">La Argentina</td></tr>
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After the show I met Pablo for the first time, who could not have been nicer. He is a well-respected music journalist as well as flamenco guitarist and has been generous in imparting to me some of his vast knowledge of all things flamenco. I even went to his house last week to try out a guitar he had, where I received my first flamenco <i>¡olé! </i><br />
Needless to say, the award show was a success and I look forward to continuing my flamenco education this year.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKDdaiwrlRG33SlmUsig0si_OUdNI5OPiruO7VjxbZWjbOfZDXsr8yQT1pckvWLIITpXyWsy5Edxi16iIFw09fg5nOXcg0Dt8u2sCn0zS_Ht2gjyPzNKSea-lWcryfXFlf78ozcFVg4KC_/s1600/DSC03680.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKDdaiwrlRG33SlmUsig0si_OUdNI5OPiruO7VjxbZWjbOfZDXsr8yQT1pckvWLIITpXyWsy5Edxi16iIFw09fg5nOXcg0Dt8u2sCn0zS_Ht2gjyPzNKSea-lWcryfXFlf78ozcFVg4KC_/s640/DSC03680.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The winners <span style="font-size: x-small;">(<span style="text-align: start;">All of the night's winners can be found </span><a href="http://www.jondoweb.com/contenido-1244.html" style="text-align: start;" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="text-align: start;">. )</span></span></td></tr>
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Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-24137230213220686612013-11-03T23:37:00.000+01:002013-11-03T23:37:33.678+01:00Sigüenza, Pelegrina, and La Ruta de Don Quijote<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
After a month and a half in Madrid, it was time for some fresh air. So Emir, Camille, and I took the train to Sigüenza, a small town 130km north in Castilla-La Mancha. The priest in Cervantes' <i>Don Quijote </i>was from there, and it has the typical cathedral growing out of the city's center, and the typical castle rising high above. We went there as a starting point for some hiking. As I mentioned previously, I've started a 20th century Spanish poetry discussion group, and the previous week we read two poems titled <i>Castilla</i>, by Ramón Machado and Miguel de Unamuno. It piqued our appetite to get out of the city and see the <i>"Tierra nervuda, enjuta, despejada...</i>" (Sinewy, dry, spacious land). So we picked a couple poems from <a href="http://writingsinspain.blogspot.com.es/2012/11/antonio-machado.html" target="_blank">Antonio Machado</a>'s book <i>Campos de Castilla</i> and next thing we knew we were hiking in the <i>Fields of Castilla</i>. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-u-sSmMkQUKO3DXWl4BYqpG0pUPK26PrMmyxpW-a_prdIRGxj2-MJpwmaeZLbr3mfuQBWmSjHGDqPWvdWUmmp5eOlq4Z5GyO6BeQbbYk_hTddimEujvGzWthABczvZ0z8ccReiVNFZ8jZ/s1600/DSC03556.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-u-sSmMkQUKO3DXWl4BYqpG0pUPK26PrMmyxpW-a_prdIRGxj2-MJpwmaeZLbr3mfuQBWmSjHGDqPWvdWUmmp5eOlq4Z5GyO6BeQbbYk_hTddimEujvGzWthABczvZ0z8ccReiVNFZ8jZ/s320/DSC03556.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The plan we decided on was to hike from Sigüenza to a very small town called Pelegrina, about 10km away. The way there happened to be part of the <i>ruta de Don Quijote</i>, and took us through Castilla's arid land. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjed39bQ97bh5-Hm-Zyo6loBxBb4GBd8GqAeyoxxlgt0iaISjUl0azw7J2Ss_L8706XvxkbegZ1SFN_Gy7dOpxGXJUbtBwJoKaPR2Wltca2sQ52XTRdNjWV9f9Z_FFj6VJARrIuFj4gdCSv/s1600/DSC03563.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjed39bQ97bh5-Hm-Zyo6loBxBb4GBd8GqAeyoxxlgt0iaISjUl0azw7J2Ss_L8706XvxkbegZ1SFN_Gy7dOpxGXJUbtBwJoKaPR2Wltca2sQ52XTRdNjWV9f9Z_FFj6VJARrIuFj4gdCSv/s640/DSC03563.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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After losing the trail for a while (appropriate for the Machado poem we were reading about there not being a trail to begin with), we came across a shepard who directed us in the right direction. We walked to the ridge to which he pointed and saw Pelegrina in the distance. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pelegrina in the distance</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pelegrina from the <i>campos de Castilla</i></td></tr>
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There are 19 inhabitants in Pelegrina. At the top of the village there is a XII century castle in ruins that met its demise during the war with Napolean toward the beginning of the 19th century.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flowers on the way to the castle</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWu7MZl-rUDIZhyphenhyphenT6i3hEdeOtvCzzT-8JdPMgPHh4359NzcVPToUmaVXKocmGI7vKCdU8tO2PkKna73vf5glgUzFPI2dsfW_vCf5A_JWiwKhYHvoLqrifC7D38CnOvPI_AkYIvdX6xaAaD/s1600/DSC03595.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWu7MZl-rUDIZhyphenhyphenT6i3hEdeOtvCzzT-8JdPMgPHh4359NzcVPToUmaVXKocmGI7vKCdU8tO2PkKna73vf5glgUzFPI2dsfW_vCf5A_JWiwKhYHvoLqrifC7D38CnOvPI_AkYIvdX6xaAaD/s640/DSC03595.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ruins of Pelegrina's castle<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> The best part of seeing the castle was probably the ascent, because there was a fig tree with low hanging fruit. It was just one of the edible wild fruits we snacked on during our hike. The others included blackberries, Italian plums, and rose hip. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirrc0tA3r5NsulvskcLzV-A1nAL8n8cJF-oDhFyY0iD3nfmF2ry85dvwkCBGQBnd0E41JsjwEhANQOdToJnjwrrIPvXFA4RpV7kvs1-1oB2x0Zg5dl5Sm7Hbwd9CYKLHT8GHwOEsxf3cth/s1600/DSC03644.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirrc0tA3r5NsulvskcLzV-A1nAL8n8cJF-oDhFyY0iD3nfmF2ry85dvwkCBGQBnd0E41JsjwEhANQOdToJnjwrrIPvXFA4RpV7kvs1-1oB2x0Zg5dl5Sm7Hbwd9CYKLHT8GHwOEsxf3cth/s200/DSC03644.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMp-BJJ-tLUGJ-zQkXO9wdQu3mP-nVTR3Au59lJtOlJ6Uqlqe6JgXRVHiZow0Qw1mJNrTrcw2JPZXa8_xTFBZifZ2BYRtK_4JpkZ5jcrCJTczbb02uF65K3nQxOAjVRm3ogbOSTkTB1d_e/s1600/DSC03635.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMp-BJJ-tLUGJ-zQkXO9wdQu3mP-nVTR3Au59lJtOlJ6Uqlqe6JgXRVHiZow0Qw1mJNrTrcw2JPZXa8_xTFBZifZ2BYRtK_4JpkZ5jcrCJTczbb02uF65K3nQxOAjVRm3ogbOSTkTB1d_e/s200/DSC03635.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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From the town we descended into the ravine, yellow with poplars lining the river. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ravine</td></tr>
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The sun was setting as we hiked out of the ravine and looked for a place to sleep for the night. There were goats, feasting on berries. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dining goats</td></tr>
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We had lentils, rice, muffins, and delicious figs for dinner. The night passed well, though very cold. It was worth it to see the stars. The next morning we packed up and headed back to Sigüenza to catch the train. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhikkvPwU1zboyg7rj2z9bixcJhbl5eihL1USKNmzGRiyiYlCvcPdW6z50t61uyi-WQ2kcAAyHJNlPLyVGNN8WZp6JzlNgpn5gco1Hbs6MptB67h0wBfGvOZPWk3ZYbmpGOdQKHu_da86bn/s1600/DSC03638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhikkvPwU1zboyg7rj2z9bixcJhbl5eihL1USKNmzGRiyiYlCvcPdW6z50t61uyi-WQ2kcAAyHJNlPLyVGNN8WZp6JzlNgpn5gco1Hbs6MptB67h0wBfGvOZPWk3ZYbmpGOdQKHu_da86bn/s640/DSC03638.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of Pelegrina from the ravine</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYPJZHZBFcMVwY4kz-mIvlC4S1z59Mopf_fBbajcm_CeVnSxdaid332Ty8O11p3uQDHrZwKW_U64Llq1o8D5a5rmsKCLcEjEijOTRGsPB-kDZOrfr2oVsXBoQroh7_W_A_NKr9ZySy5LZb/s1600/DSC03643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYPJZHZBFcMVwY4kz-mIvlC4S1z59Mopf_fBbajcm_CeVnSxdaid332Ty8O11p3uQDHrZwKW_U64Llq1o8D5a5rmsKCLcEjEijOTRGsPB-kDZOrfr2oVsXBoQroh7_W_A_NKr9ZySy5LZb/s640/DSC03643.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outside Sigüenza</td></tr>
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The hike was a success, as was the poetry discussion, which lasted more or less the entire trip because of our proximity to the subject matter of the poems. Below is Antonio Machado's poem about "<i>el camino</i>." In Spanish, the word for "walker" <i>caminante</i> and the path he follows is the <i>camino</i>. The direct relation of these words is much more evident in Spanish than in English, which makes for a lackluster translation. But now that you know the meaning of <i>caminante</i> and <i>camino</i>, I will give you a half-translation of the last two lines.<br />
<br />
"<i>Caminante, there is no camino,</i><br />
<i>but wakes on the sea</i>."<br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> Caminante, son tus huellas</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">el camino, y nada más;</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">caminante, no hay camino,</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">se hace camino al andar.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Al andar se hace camino,</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">y al volver la vista atrás</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">se ve la senda que nunca</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">se ha de volver a pisar.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Caminante, no hay camino,</span></div>
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<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">sino estelas en la mar. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">-<a href="http://writingsinspain.blogspot.com.es/2012/11/antonio-machado.html" target="_blank">Antonio Machado</a></span></div>
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<br />Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-12953945309291852652013-10-25T15:55:00.001+02:002013-10-25T15:55:45.067+02:00Surrealism at Fundación Juan MarchHey all, I've written another article for Madrid-based magazine <i>¡VayaMadrid!</i>, and you can read it here: <br />
<br />
http://vayamadrid.com/fundacion-juan-march-salamanca-cultural-center-overlooked/<br />
<br />
It's about a great surrealism exhibit the Fundación Juan March has right now. Below is my favorite painting from the exhibit, by Joan Miró.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE1zwe3xotux47LGf5j062z8F9oGawPzWGD6u5dzFceRbJ3Ujwj-GKAH_-ZTWPiKEYugdPfVT47d6o2jrkxRu8zFXF5mRm37vLpj4bJD4pSPB99G4JAqkddR6Ah98YeRf9QCrnWW7PMYWu/s1600/joan-miro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="327" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE1zwe3xotux47LGf5j062z8F9oGawPzWGD6u5dzFceRbJ3Ujwj-GKAH_-ZTWPiKEYugdPfVT47d6o2jrkxRu8zFXF5mRm37vLpj4bJD4pSPB99G4JAqkddR6Ah98YeRf9QCrnWW7PMYWu/s400/joan-miro.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Joan Miró's <i>Le perroquet. </i>[<a href="http://www.march.es/arte/palma/coleccion/artistas/joan-miro.aspx" target="_blank">Source</a>]</div>
<br />Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-65753046111873683322013-10-13T23:09:00.002+02:002013-10-13T23:09:38.053+02:00Reflections On My Second Bullfight<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>"The superiority...of the smiling hero over the frothing monster." </i></span><br />
<br />
This summer I read Ian Gibson's biography of Federico García Lorca. In it, Gibson quotes from a letter Lorca wrote to the Italian writer Giovanni Papini. Lorca considered the bullfight an ancient ceremony, a "religious mystery" and "the public and solemn enactment of the victory of human virtue over the lower instincts...the superiority of the spirit over matter, of intelligence over instinct, of the smiling hero over the frothing monster." The bullfight, Lorca thought, was not a sport at all.<br />
Last year <a href="http://writingsinspain.blogspot.com.es/2012/10/reflections-on-my-first-bullfight.html" target="_blank">I went to my first bullfight</a> after reading Hemingway's <i>Death in the Afternoon</i>, in which he too upheld the bullfight as as a tragedy rather than a sport. In fact, many writers and artist-types have thought highly of bullfighting. So, is it a brutal, reprehensible sport or a religious mystery, a triumph of humanity? Could it be both?<br />
The first bullfight I attended was a <i>novillada</i>, which pits less experienced bullfighters against slightly younger and smaller bulls. This year I went to a <i>corrida</i>, where ordained professionals dance with mature bulls. The afternoon had ups and downs. I find the hardest part to watch is when the bull gores the horse, nearly lifting it off the ground, leaving blood stains that show through the horse's protective padding. The fact that it takes so many people to kill the bull seems to detract from any sense of triumphant victory of man over bull. First the bull is let into the ring, run around by several <i>banderilleros</i> with capes, then the <i>picador </i>on horseback gores the back of the bull's neck with a lance, after which the <i>banderilleros </i>stab six sharp metal sticks into its neck. Only after this does the matador face the bull alone. Granted, the bull is still extremely dangerous and with one twist of his head could gravely injure the bullfighter. But the nobility of the sacrifice somehow seems lessened.<br />
Then there is the "public." The fans (and tourists) who attend the bullfight do not, for the most part, seem to consider the <i>corrida</i> sacred or spiritual. They shout obscenities, talk amongst themselves, and sometimes seem generally disinterested. This atmosphere does not lend itself well to the observance of a religious mystery. I imagine a mostly silent audience, completely involved in and fixed on the act before them, would better fulfill Lorca's poetic rendering of the <i>corrida</i>. Indeed, the audience sometimes seems more akin to the frothing monster than to the smiling hero.<br />
And finally there is the importance of "killing well", as Hemingway puts it. I don't believe I have ever seen a bull die well in the ring. I suppose it is the most difficult thing for the bullfighter to do. I thought it might happen last time I went, because by all accounts of the aficionados around me, and the entire rapt crowd, Manuel Jesús "El Cid" was working the bull flawlessly. Each pass drew robust shouts of <i>olé</i> from the crowd, and as he proceeded there was an energy in the air. It came close to the end. Someone next to me mumbled that El Cid must not try to kill too soon. Another hoped the bull would 'die well'. And so Manuel drew his sword, held it high in front of him, and thrust it between the horns. The sword didn't go in. The spell was broken and he knew he had come so close to triumph. After another pass he tried again. No good. And after a third, tortuous attempt, the bull fell. He was visibly upset that he had ruined such a good bull, that it had not died well. Even so, the crowd rebounded from the disappointment and urged him to make a pass around the ring so they could throw flowers, hats, jackets his way to honor such a great performance. Reluctantly, he did, but he knew very well that the victory had been marred.<br />
And so, after reflecting this past week, I am of the opinion that the theory of how a bullfight should be and how in practice it is carried out are two very different things. Certainly Lorca would agree that not all bullfights are as he describes them, but in fact only on rare occasions one might have moments of likeness. This is one reason why the practice of bullfighting is often abhorred and condemned by so many, yet others continue to dream of the smiling hero and uphold the ancient tradition based on the triumphal heights it could reach. At least in Lorca's case he created something beautiful out of such tragic events.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
From Lorca's <i>Llanto por Ignacio Sánchez Mejillas</i>, his friend and bullfighter who fell in the ring.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>...Díle a la luna que venga, ...Tell the moon to come out,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>que no quiero ver la sangre I don't want to see the blood</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>de Ignacio sobre la arena... of Ignacio on the sand...</i></div>
Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-88810989252315428042013-10-09T22:02:00.001+02:002013-10-09T22:02:42.384+02:00Writing For ¡VayaMadrid!<span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I recently joined the writing staff of the Madrid-based magazine ¡VayaMadrid!<i> </i>It "<span style="line-height: 23px;">was founded in 2012 by Anna Bitanga and covers culture, style, people, cuisine, entertainment, travel, tech and innovation in Madrid. Our mission is to offer local information, expat insights and community content to the English-speaking residents of Madrid." My first article was published last month, and is about Madrid's great concert venue, the Auditorio Nacional. Here is a link to the article: </span></span></span><div>
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://vayamadrid.com/where-to-watch-a-flamenco-performance-in-madrid-without-falling-into-a-tourist-trap/">http://vayamadrid.com/where-to-watch-a-flamenco-performance-in-madrid-without-falling-into-a-tourist-trap/</a></span></span><div>
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><div>
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; line-height: 23px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hope you enjoy it! </span></span></div>
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Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-6159626427245619652013-10-06T23:13:00.001+02:002013-10-08T14:43:06.451+02:00Rubén Darío: Two Translations Last week a friend and I decided to start a Spanish poetry discussion group. Three members and going strong. We had our first meeting this Sunday, at which we cooked delicious chicken tacos and talked about a couple of poems by the Nicaraguan poet Rubén Darío. He was very influential in 20th century Spanish poetry, and as we plan on going through the major figures of last century's Spanish language poetry, he seemed a good poet with which to start. I chose two poems; "Sinfonía en gris mayor" from his 1896 book <i>Prosas profanas y otros poemas</i>, and "De Otoño" from <i>Cantos de vida y esperanza</i> published in 1905. The two poems are strikingly different in style and subject, showing the evolution of Darío's poetics from one decade to the next. I've translated the two poems. You can read them below along with the original Spanish. What do you think?<br />
<br />
<br />
<u>Sinfonía en Gris Mayor</u><br />
El mar como un vasto cristal azogado<br />
refleja la lámina de un cielo de zinc;<br />
lejanas bandadas de pájaros manchan<br />
el fondo bruñido de pálido gris.<br />
El sol como un vidrio redondo y opaco<br />
con paso de enfermo camina al cenit;<br />
el viento marino descansa en la sombra<br />
teniendo de almohada su negro clarín.<br />
Las ondas que mueven su vientre de plomo<br />
debajo de muelle parecen gemir.<br />
Sentando en un cable, fumando su pipa,<br />
está un viejo marinero pensando en las playas<br />
de un vago, lejano, brumoso país.<br />
Es viejo ese lobo. Tostaron su cara<br />
los rayos de fuego del sol del Brasil;<br />
los recios tifones del mar de la China<br />
le han visto bebiendo su fracaso de gin.<br />
La espuma impregnada de yodo y salitre<br />
ha tiempo conoce su roja nariz,<br />
sus crespos cabellos, sus bíceps de atleta,<br />
su gorra de lona, su blusa de dril.<br />
En medio del humo que forma el tabaco<br />
ve el viejo el lejano, brumoso país,<br />
adonde una tarde caliente y dorada<br />
tendidas las velas partío el bergantín…<br />
La siesta del trópico. El lobo se duerme.<br />
Ya todo lo envuelve la gama del gris.<br />
Parece que un suave y enorme esfumino<br />
del curvo horizonte borrara el confín.<br />
La siesta del trópico. La vieja cigarra<br />
ensaya su ronca guitarra senil,<br />
y el grillo preludia un solo monótono<br />
en la única cuerda que está en su violín.<br />
<br />
<br />
<u>Symphony in Gray Major</u><br />
The sea like a vast quicksilver crystal <br />
reflects the sheet of a zinc sky;<br />
distant flocks of birds tarnish<br />
the burnished pale gray background.<br />
The sun like a round and opaque glass<br />
with an ill pace walks to the zenith;<br />
the marine wind rests in the shade<br />
having for a pillow its black bugle. <br />
The waves that move their belly of lead<br />
below the jetty seem to groan. <br />
Sitting on a cable, smoking his pipe,<br />
is an old sailor thinking about the beaches<br />
of a vague, distant, misty country. <br />
This old man is a wolf. His face toasted<br />
by the rays of fire of the Brazil sun;<br />
the harsh typhoons of the sea of China<br />
have seen him drinking his flask of gin.<br />
The impregnated foam of iodine and saltpeter<br />
has long known his red nose, <br />
his frizzy hairs, his athlete biceps,<br />
his canvas hat, his cotton blouse.<br />
In the middle of the tobacco smoke<br />
the old man sees the distant, misty country,<br />
where one hot and golden afternoon<br />
the brig set off with stretched sails...<br />
The siesta of the tropic. The wolf sleeps.<br />
All is now enveloped by the scale of gray. <br />
It looks as if a soft and enormous stump*<br />
of the horizon curve erases the limit.<br />
The siesta of the tropic. The old cicada<br />
rehearses its senile guitar snore,<br />
and the cricket preludes a monotone solo<br />
on the only string that is on his violin. <br />
<br />
*The Spanish word is not confusing, just technical. A stump is an art tool, “a cylinder with conical ends made of rolled paper or other soft material, used for softening or blending marks made with a crayon or pencil.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<u>De otoño</u><br />
Yo sé que hay quienes dicen: ¿por qué no canta ahora <br />
con aquella locura armoniosa de antaño? <br />
Ésos no ven la obra profunda de la hora, <br />
la labor del minuto y el prodigio del año. <br />
Yo, pobre árbol, produje, al amor de la brisa, <br />
cuando empecé a crecer, un vago y dulce son. <br />
Pasó ya el tiempo de la juvenil sonrisa: <br />
¡Dejad al huracán mover mi corazón!<br />
<br />
<br />
<u>Of Autumn</u><br />
I know there are those who say: Why not sing now<br />
with that harmonious madness of long ago?<br />
Those do not see the profound work of the hour,<br />
the labor of the minute and the prodigy of the year.<br />
I, poor tree, produced, for the love of the breeze,<br />
when I began to grow, a vague and sweet sound.<br />
The time has now passed of the youthful smile:<br />
Leave it to the hurricane to move my heart! Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-12142812045881608942013-08-30T03:50:00.001+02:002013-08-30T03:50:18.976+02:00Oviedo: Or, A Personal Encounter With Spain's Healthcare System<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i style="background-color: #cccccc;">“Oviedo is a delicious, exotic, beautiful, clean, pleasant, tranquil and pedestrianised city. It is as if it did not belong to this world, as if it did not exist ... Oviedo is like a fairy-tale.” -Woody Allen</i></span></div>
<br />
After two days in the <a href="http://writingsinspain.blogspot.com/2013/08/los-picos-de-europa-and-cangas-de-onis.html" target="_blank">Picos de Europa</a>, Katie and I went to Oviedo, the capital of Asturias. Oviedo is a nice city to visit, preserving its long history while being a modern city. Among other things, the annual Príncipe de Asturias awards are held in Oviedo, which are presided over by Prince Felipe, heir to the Spanish throne. The awards range from the sciences to the humanities, and past recipients include Woody Allen, Bob Dylan, and Leonard Cohen (who gave an <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VIR5ps8usuo" target="_blank">acceptance speech that everyone should see</a>). Woody Allen was awarded the prize in 2002, years before he filmed part of "Vicky Cristina Barcelona" in Oviedo, but which no doubt influenced his decision to film there.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkZ2wQB3K4Cju9hyphenhyphenemfI1XDghmOxitVsPvllkzVfUPStNB8S4ZzgbxQ7ONbNUNhyhZsriv6o9INjwY6bkLWqGVl7XrpEZSApx1pOn21dZjHhgOqsnkShBBJ82_Q8ihRIo4MZps_rQ-lLy/s1600/DSC03395.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkZ2wQB3K4Cju9hyphenhyphenemfI1XDghmOxitVsPvllkzVfUPStNB8S4ZzgbxQ7ONbNUNhyhZsriv6o9INjwY6bkLWqGVl7XrpEZSApx1pOn21dZjHhgOqsnkShBBJ82_Q8ihRIo4MZps_rQ-lLy/s320/DSC03395.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Woody Allen statue in Oviedo</td></tr>
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The old part of town is typical Spanish, with small cobblestone streets, several plazas, and big churches. In one plaza we happened upon a wedding with traditional Asturian music (almost like Irish music).<br />
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We were really looking forward to seeing the two pre-Romanesque churches located on a hill outside of town. Built in the 9th century, the churches have been very well preserved and are beautifully shaped. The first one below, Santa María del Naranco, was originally a palace but was later converted into a church. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYOuxwBlKfQgKmYJh0a7SV4mtkJABc0YEvtCKkI5rOt40M43WvTekQ-Byv54sW9yYJjYuy5cDFx60UWdzBTbPbubMz_YHwHZH0YvDoEg-_p-YLoLag-QcLF-RdyuMJ-mRAncGE8bXPb_y7/s1600/DSC03408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYOuxwBlKfQgKmYJh0a7SV4mtkJABc0YEvtCKkI5rOt40M43WvTekQ-Byv54sW9yYJjYuy5cDFx60UWdzBTbPbubMz_YHwHZH0YvDoEg-_p-YLoLag-QcLF-RdyuMJ-mRAncGE8bXPb_y7/s640/DSC03408.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Santa María del Naranco</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7qkSeE3Hmazct_MKJ4Zp7ilcjhCr1vhqwG7WHZnBfN0Ik4X-tWBZgY0VISwJdTZDFKEkJnxM84YaQZ0rXRkJvQt4oXAlBBJfg6tXJvOyHJo5BTo9clR9-WDx62AKzV3hEDwDXdOoBKopp/s1600/DSC03412.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7qkSeE3Hmazct_MKJ4Zp7ilcjhCr1vhqwG7WHZnBfN0Ik4X-tWBZgY0VISwJdTZDFKEkJnxM84YaQZ0rXRkJvQt4oXAlBBJfg6tXJvOyHJo5BTo9clR9-WDx62AKzV3hEDwDXdOoBKopp/s640/DSC03412.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Side view of Santa María del Naranco</td></tr>
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San Miguel de Lillo, a few minutes away from the former palace, is even more beautiful and has a few original stone carved windows (covered now by plexiglass). It is wonderfully symmetric and, aesthetically, is one of my favorite churches.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAyxkQoBpFKg_AeL4LTMnLk446L8XKDwc5U48gxBIjvYZQU3mEBXbsCtOS1pdiKF4slzDA_bfPm_sV6DUxs3176sCJVrVX7DgegM7hMPn6Qu5mbExhI9ZuWFO8BqMHSi7qCGb2zQy7_MEY/s1600/DSC03425.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAyxkQoBpFKg_AeL4LTMnLk446L8XKDwc5U48gxBIjvYZQU3mEBXbsCtOS1pdiKF4slzDA_bfPm_sV6DUxs3176sCJVrVX7DgegM7hMPn6Qu5mbExhI9ZuWFO8BqMHSi7qCGb2zQy7_MEY/s640/DSC03425.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">San Miguel de Lillo</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_aGW4AFU6TlXzFrH6LMkaKMY4n6BGOscR1NUnmCZ62bQ915i8EP4eCbM3hV8aY8xgaf19YEuHHbCAxuOYZ_9NdKf5PGWLlrGa7IeHuccZaJcnzKTQbjxdovLc6PEej3P4fxWBwZdmSuaq/s1600/DSC03422.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_aGW4AFU6TlXzFrH6LMkaKMY4n6BGOscR1NUnmCZ62bQ915i8EP4eCbM3hV8aY8xgaf19YEuHHbCAxuOYZ_9NdKf5PGWLlrGa7IeHuccZaJcnzKTQbjxdovLc6PEej3P4fxWBwZdmSuaq/s640/DSC03422.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Side view, San Miguel de Lillo</td></tr>
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Back in the city, there is an old fountain called La Fonclada, which is the only surviving "<a href="http://www.spainisculture.com/en/monumentos/asturias/la_foncalada.html" target="_blank">example of civic construction</a> intended for public use dating from the High Middle Ages" (9th century). </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnE_Sl4py7OrwfGvEAgE7P-mQXXLhbuWPCgHOBZO6_PhUpg3415J0D4ue-Wz-w_nBZijSZ-P-X5T2lTih1kO0HuzlpV-YwU-F1WW4OmazpSvH3ma39_P64nwgXijeIaS3Z3t_nGlAf2byX/s1600/DSC03432.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnE_Sl4py7OrwfGvEAgE7P-mQXXLhbuWPCgHOBZO6_PhUpg3415J0D4ue-Wz-w_nBZijSZ-P-X5T2lTih1kO0HuzlpV-YwU-F1WW4OmazpSvH3ma39_P64nwgXijeIaS3Z3t_nGlAf2byX/s320/DSC03432.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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A few blocks from where we were staying is the famous Hotel de la Reconquista, which we wandered into after having a chicken empanada from a bakery. It was very nice inside. So nice, in fact, that the guy in front did not want to let us inside because we weren't staying there. I told him we might have a coffee from the café, so he let us in. I wanted to see the hotel because it looked great in "Vicky Cristina Barcelona." It was also the hotel where Scarlet Johansson's character in the movie was laid up for two days with food poisoning. Foreshadowing? </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLCyhHyPUgCAKlWkE8iQTaC_P36v_xUzAG4uBPK6CbDLvnWyC3B88ueBv8YTclakKkaWymMm4ZBE6Ac6DGANLiP03PRczvUVvHUaCNNGLbkXEQURmy-gVfM6Pa0eMUwvBbbD81ywkzpAYZ/s1600/DSC03434.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLCyhHyPUgCAKlWkE8iQTaC_P36v_xUzAG4uBPK6CbDLvnWyC3B88ueBv8YTclakKkaWymMm4ZBE6Ac6DGANLiP03PRczvUVvHUaCNNGLbkXEQURmy-gVfM6Pa0eMUwvBbbD81ywkzpAYZ/s400/DSC03434.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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A couple hours later, as it was time for bed, Katie mentioned she felt a little sick. I concurred. The next eight hours were the worst eight hours ever. When 8am rolled around and I was still on the bathroom floor, Katie said,</div>
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We have to go to the hospital.</div>
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No. </div>
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Yes.</div>
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Okay. </div>
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I called a cab and stumbled out of the building, my body so devoid of water I couldn't feel my legs. We got into the cab. Ten minutes later we stumbled into the emergency room. I put my government issued private insurance card on the counter (it was to expire the next day) and was directed to lie on a bed. Apparently Katie gave them any necessary information and sat down next to me. The doctor said I needed an IV. I said I had never had one. There's a first time for everything. Katie said she had to go to the bathroom. She didn't make it out of the door. The nurse caught her as she fell and she was put on a bed too. </div>
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Four hours later the doctor told me we should stay overnight. That sounded ridiculous to me. Doesn't it cost a fortune to stay overnight in a hospital? </div>
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Maybe in the United States. This is Spain. The insurance will pay for everything. </div>
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Okay then.</div>
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Twenty hours later, we woke up, feeling better. The doctor came in.</div>
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So we can go now?</div>
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Maybe this evening. You have to eat something.</div>
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I'm hungry. </div>
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Katie was no longer on an IV (both because she didn't have Spanish insurance and because she is stronger than I am, probably due to her stint in Moscow). She went to get a few things at the hostel and came back. Long story put out of its misery, we left around 8pm on the second day and decided we should call the trip over, even though we had two more places to visit. </div>
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I learned a couple of things from this misfortune. 1) Don't eat chicken empanadas that have been sitting in bakery windows. 2) My private Spanish health insurance is great. I had private insurance (with Mapfre, a big Spanish insurance provider), given to me by my job. Only around 18% of Spaniards have private health insurance. Principally because few can afford it, but also because there is universal health care in Spain. Part of the deal of the job I have as a Language and Culture assistant is that I am given private healthcare, which in hindsight is a great thing. I was admitted to <i>urgencias </i>(the emergency room)<i> </i>without any wait, was given a plethora of IVs for 36 hours, had a private room, and everyone was really nice to me. (Factor not taken into account: Spanish hospital not wanting an American to die in its care). So, for any <i>auxiliares de conversación </i>out there reading this, rest assured that the insurance given to us is good, and the hospital care provided is as good as in the United States, with the added bonus that you probably will not pay a dime. </div>
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As for the public healthcare in Spain, I can't speak about it because I have no experience of it. Has anyone out there experienced Spain's public healthcare system? </div>
Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-3785254689267240522013-08-20T00:17:00.000+02:002013-08-20T00:17:41.689+02:00Los Picos de Europa and Cangas de Onís We left <a href="http://writingsinspain.blogspot.com/2013/08/ramales-de-la-victoria-and-cave-of.html" target="_blank">Ramales de la Victoria</a> and took a bus to Laredo, twenty miles north on the coast. The next bus to Ribadesella was full, so we bought some cherries and spent the afternoon on beach, which is a nearly four mile half circle. At some point I had to help some kids get a shoe out of a tree.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZBtsfokO60WZD5xv-CDOHUvZFB2QnJEvCUB_QoVjar1tv80dz2lHFzQsWCzWYyGRdGwydjePSZmMinvUyBPqO0-ZbmvFvMN2h2xfBi7JjvKwzL8_XhYwDgYwdkdgJHRfozvwqEWJEcYht/s1600/DSC03290.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZBtsfokO60WZD5xv-CDOHUvZFB2QnJEvCUB_QoVjar1tv80dz2lHFzQsWCzWYyGRdGwydjePSZmMinvUyBPqO0-ZbmvFvMN2h2xfBi7JjvKwzL8_XhYwDgYwdkdgJHRfozvwqEWJEcYht/s200/DSC03290.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm the one in the tree.</td></tr>
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Later, we took another bus to Ribadesella, a couple hours west on the coast. We arrived before sundown and stayed in a nice albergue on the beach.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boats in Ribadesella</td></tr>
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The next morning we took two buses to a roadside motel where we would take trips to the Picos de Europa (Peaks of Europe), a mountain chain split between the regions of Cantabria Asturias, and Castilla y León. We were in Asturias, home to the most famous sites of the Picos.<br />
After unpacking we got a ride into the nearest town, Cangas de Onís. This is a nice little town—more on it later. From there we took a bus to Covadonga, a hilltop town (population 58) and the site of the first Christian victory over the Moors in 722AD, making it the beginning of the long <i>Reconquista </i>(which lasted nearly 800 years). The town has a Christian shrine built in a cave on the side of a mountain and a modern church. Finally, we took a bus from there up to the Picos, climbing several thousand feet in a huge bus on a steep, one lane road with blind turns and two lane traffic. The bus would go careening around a tight turn, honking its horn to warn any oncoming cars to get out of its way. It was an impressive feat of driving. After about 25 minutes we arrived at the trailhead to walk to the Lakes of Covadonga.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Los Picos de Europa</td></tr>
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The trail was easy and along the way we stopped at a visitor's center and some abandoned iron and magnesium mine shafts before arriving at the lakes. A bunch of cattle graze along the shore at the foot of the mountains, making the setting both pastoral and immense. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cows at Lake Ercina</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Ercina</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Panoramic of Lake Ercina and Lake Enol<br /><br /><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span style="font-size: small;">After walking for a couple of hours we headed back down the mountains and found a ride back to Cangas </span><span style="font-size: small; text-align: -webkit-auto;">de Onís. </span><span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">There, we bought food for dinner. Asturias is famous for its cows. It boasts the best meat, milk, and cheese (some made from goat milk), so we loaded up on Asturian products to cook for dinner. These people are really proud of their meat. We saw a large billboard that had a picture almost identical to the one above of the cows that said something to the effect of "Raised in paradise, brought to your plate." </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I'm not like the rest. I'm Asturian beef."</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Cangas </span>de Onís was the capital of the kingdom of Asturias until 744 (Asturias has its own language, very similar to Spanish and a minority of the population there can speak it.) It has a Roman-Medeival bridge (completely rebuilt), and the first church constructed after the start of the Reconquista, built in 737. The church has been built a few times, most recently having been destroyed during the Spanish Civil War, and only the foundation stone remains. But the ancient dolmen on which it was built can be seen inside the church.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "Roman" bridge in Cangas de Onís.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Santa Cruz church in Cangas de Onís.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside Santa Cruz church, looking down. The ancient dolmen, several thousand years old. </td></tr>
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The next day, we walked the two miles to Cangas de Onís and took a bus (of course) to Las Arenas, a village less than an hour east of Cangas de Onís. We were on our way to La Ruta del Cares, a famous hiking trail along the Cares river in the mountains. From the town it was several kilometers straight up to get to the trailhead, so after walking for a little while we got a ride up there. The trail is about seven miles one way through the mountains, and crosses from the region of Asturias into Castilla y León. We were visiting about a week before high season, which meant that our transportation options were limited and, in this case, nonexistent if we were to walk the whole trail. Our only option would have been to walk all the way back to Las Arenas, and we didn't have enough time. So we walked a few miles of the trail before turning back. The trail is beautiful. You are surrounded by the limestone peaks with the clear blue river below. </div>
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At the beginning of the trail, we saw some mountain goats on the trail. What a nice thing to see. Until they started surrounding Katie and this enormous, wild-eyed, long haired black and white goat appeared (not pictured) and we realized there was a baby for him to protect. I'd say he was about like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Witches'_Sabbath_(The_Great_He-Goat)" target="_blank">Goya's <i>El gran cabrón</i></a>. Eventually the light-hearted situation turned into Katie screaming and I picked up a baseball-sized rock just in case and made a move toward the three goats and they scrambled off, more out of pity than fear. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mountain Goat on the Cares trail</td></tr>
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So, after a rough start we continued on, rising in elevation and looking at the mountains around. The mountain range is formed from limestone, which is the reason for its craggy appearance, having been slowly eroded over the millennia. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the Ruta del Cares</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking back from where we came, you can see the winding trail, which flattens after a couple of miles.<br /></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9bbgHDfYKrccobY-i77pppTfz1FJQBpZxwByTQOfcg1HTBeQY_zBbRk2cK9XTl3TK653SEyuEJ0wpElvJkS5kEfb5FXCnR3lA0P3_sMyPBWZa3DdtDFg_peFm3RURi019q7n3V64qK2-u/s1600/DSC03368.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9bbgHDfYKrccobY-i77pppTfz1FJQBpZxwByTQOfcg1HTBeQY_zBbRk2cK9XTl3TK653SEyuEJ0wpElvJkS5kEfb5FXCnR3lA0P3_sMyPBWZa3DdtDFg_peFm3RURi019q7n3V64qK2-u/s640/DSC03368.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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As you can see, the trail is really incredible, and I wish we'd had time to do the whole thing. But it was just as well that we turned back after a few hours, because it was hot and we were hungry.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Cares river below</td></tr>
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Visiting the Picos was a great choice, even without a car. The buses really can get you almost anywhere, although Spanish skills are highly recommended and we caught a few rides along the way and walked a fair amount. The history of Cangas de Onís just added to the beautiful scenery we were there for, the food was good and the region is more economical than the Basque country. The two routes we picked, the Lakes of Covadonga and the Cares Route, were distinct and breathtaking. On a trip to the north of Spain, the Picos de Europa are a must see. </div>
Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-19782772283346425952013-08-07T19:33:00.000+02:002013-08-07T19:33:04.025+02:00Ramales de la Victoria and the Cave of Covalanas<br />
Possibly my favorite stop on the trip was Ramales de la Victoria, a small village in the region of Cantabria (west of the Basque region). We took a bus from Bilbao to Laredo and then to the village. There wasn't much in the village itself, but I was drawn there because of the caves. Cantabria is full of caves, with more than six thousand discovered in the region. Along with your everyday caves, the region has some very special caves—ones with cave paintings. I had never seen cave paintings, and was very excited to see some that were over 20,000 years old. The oldest known existent cave paintings are in Cantabria, and are somewhere around 40,000 years old, but they are not open to visitors.<br />
The first cave we saw is located ten minutes outside the town. On the way there, we passed a bar with an interesting name.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Taberna Nashville, in Ramales de la Victoria.</td></tr>
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That's right—in a town of 2500 people in northern Spain, there is a bar called Nashville. Apparently, several years back a few Americans settled in Ramales to live the Spanish dream, bought the bar and some horses, and eventually rode into the sunset. The bar is now owned by a Spaniard. <div>
We reached the cave of Cullalvera and found we were the only visitors. The tour guide told us all about the cave as we walked through it and brushed up on our Spanish geological vocabulary. I guess the last time I learned about stalactites I either didn't understand or didn't care how they were formed. But when he told us that the water drips through a hole in the rock and, as the droplet falls, minerals in the water cling to the rock, slowly accumulating and over tens of thousands of years form a thin hanging rock, I was impressed. </div>
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The cave, though it is large (its opening is 120ft high and it is over 5 miles deep), is only the sixth largest in Cantabria. It has some cave paintings, but they are deep within the cave and inaccessible even to the tour guides. At nearly three quarters of a mile in, the paintings are some of the deepest in the world. The cave was also used by the rebels during the Spanish Civil War to store vehicles.<br /><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Cueva de Cullalvera</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Cueva de Cullalvera</td></tr>
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I was very glad we went to the cave and learned a lot. But Katie had been in bigger caves, and was harder to win over. Luckily, we saved the best for last. The next morning we hiked along the mountains a couple of miles until we arrived at the cave of Covalanas.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Hiking near the Cueva de Covalanas.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">La Cueva de Covalanas.</td></tr>
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The exterior of the cave is unassuming. It is the inside that is spectacular. Upon arrival we again found ourselves alone. So, with flashlights in hand and a tour guide eager to practice her English, we entered the cave. She explained that the first part of the cave had been excavated so that people could walk in it. In prehistoric times, in order to enter one would have had to crawl on one's back for several meters until the cave opened up to a height where one could stand. 200 feet in, you see the first painting. The striking oxidized iron red forms the outline of a doe. The paintings were done by one person around 20,000B.C., and it is obvious they were well planned and executed. The artist used the tips of his fingers to make dots that he formed into lines and eventually into animals. This technique is called stippling. On the right side of the cave, the animals face inward, and on the left, outward, indicating a circular motion. The artist used natural curves and lines in the rock to imply backs and hooves of some of the animals, and placed the animals so that they were best viewed from a certain angle. Seeing these paintings was incredible. There are over 20 figures, mostly hinds (female deer), but also a couple of stags, a horse, an aurochs (prehistoric bull), and some dots and lines. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgfY7URkOY5sizyhNejAakBmZdEohVMBZ2AONkgJQ-7Jh_4ZzYyWYaKZjE20AdMDU9sUt_CZ-r5xkqlgPO-SZ37iLM2lGg96qXZLJxMCPE35CfhjLnyMVzUG55arBaUK-DjOhlneNhFwC-/s1600/gran_covalanas_03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgfY7URkOY5sizyhNejAakBmZdEohVMBZ2AONkgJQ-7Jh_4ZzYyWYaKZjE20AdMDU9sUt_CZ-r5xkqlgPO-SZ37iLM2lGg96qXZLJxMCPE35CfhjLnyMVzUG55arBaUK-DjOhlneNhFwC-/s320/gran_covalanas_03.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Detail of a doe.</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: left;">You are not allowed to photograph the inside of the cave due to preservation concerns, but fortunately there are some good photos on the cave's website.</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPb7zv78G9PgA8Xpk7LqILcrYmDHk1CdFGYxxK9AD0VqgJNEcmTk_UckPZtrhpom3aGqf-EiclSNz23w1xI_3oY8NzV5ZHZtgkBqStL_hNkat-A5Hu8ZSrVFmtc4dqQzju2Ocy19o-fYDK/s1600/gran_covalanas_04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPb7zv78G9PgA8Xpk7LqILcrYmDHk1CdFGYxxK9AD0VqgJNEcmTk_UckPZtrhpom3aGqf-EiclSNz23w1xI_3oY8NzV5ZHZtgkBqStL_hNkat-A5Hu8ZSrVFmtc4dqQzju2Ocy19o-fYDK/s400/gran_covalanas_04.jpg" width="375" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The aurochs. Notice its back is formed by the cave rock.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIaKytZbpJ90ckDJMsCBdLO_yhI-dEAdXANBY0e2W0nZXRMdZbbdzzZLtwx27PGP2CTNeSCDAhhBhEnbhVP41HpBzuFBOWKR3aipe77bxsbBhyphenhyphenuVQbF1gv_rocQk6JjqkNA46-Ho31yFGY/s1600/gran_covalanas_06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIaKytZbpJ90ckDJMsCBdLO_yhI-dEAdXANBY0e2W0nZXRMdZbbdzzZLtwx27PGP2CTNeSCDAhhBhEnbhVP41HpBzuFBOWKR3aipe77bxsbBhyphenhyphenuVQbF1gv_rocQk6JjqkNA46-Ho31yFGY/s400/gran_covalanas_06.jpg" width="375" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Here you can really see the stippling technique.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS-fBB3VAoic0WEU7v3lwp6R6Vv55sMBxWpsRSfdDkIwUdiT6F1Gm4B_Czg-ogNi-BUEpdr28SXCueiPTIkSmJitWGa2JY1xAuy3LtUklvtr3w4a_BqbeZk9ZYHeFjHq0vhFWphU_k3D2p/s1600/gran_covalanas_07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS-fBB3VAoic0WEU7v3lwp6R6Vv55sMBxWpsRSfdDkIwUdiT6F1Gm4B_Czg-ogNi-BUEpdr28SXCueiPTIkSmJitWGa2JY1xAuy3LtUklvtr3w4a_BqbeZk9ZYHeFjHq0vhFWphU_k3D2p/s400/gran_covalanas_07.jpg" width="375" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The horse.</td></tr>
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The artist used indirect lighting to illuminate the cave while painting by burning bone marrow that would have flickered around the cave walls. We arrived at the deepest of the paintings, which are clustered in a space where the left side of the cave splits into two walls, forming a small oval-shaped dome (or, more technically, a diverticulum). Here there are hinds circulating the walls. The guide imitated the bone marrow lighting by waving the flashlight around the cave ceiling. This resulted in a phenomenal sight, the deer shimmering, seemingly moving along the cave walls. This was not an accident, said the guide. She mused that the artist, probably a shaman, would come to this place, drink some hallucinogenic drink, and sit here watching the red deer move along the walls. Of course, the reason for the artist's painting these beautiful animals is unknown, but the guide thought it was a religious one. We will never know, but it is certain that these paintings were expertly executed and planned, and were most certainly not just to practice painting. This is a high form of art. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMgd6wEtUr6n6IoJpHjLGuHO7f34l74wNd-txbFxkaxsfI57teWbPMglus_SFnVPuEtAl7tovVv_RIhpPVOQtlzz753oLIZ0_kr-0S9SUFVkgQx2STgChiW4rfWqarO-URMs2BpKbgxG8F/s1600/gran_covalanas_09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMgd6wEtUr6n6IoJpHjLGuHO7f34l74wNd-txbFxkaxsfI57teWbPMglus_SFnVPuEtAl7tovVv_RIhpPVOQtlzz753oLIZ0_kr-0S9SUFVkgQx2STgChiW4rfWqarO-URMs2BpKbgxG8F/s400/gran_covalanas_09.jpg" width="375" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Part of the diverticulum.</td></tr>
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After this visit, Katie was thoroughly impressed and glad I had dragged her into the middle of nowhere, taking three buses, walking miles, and staying two nights just to see this cave. If you go, you must book online in advance. <a href="http://cuevas.culturadecantabria.com/english/covalanas.asp" target="_blank">Here is the website of the cave system throughout Cantabria</a>. It was certainly a highlight of our trip across northern Spain. </div>
Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-88582297791902228792013-08-03T05:23:00.000+02:002013-08-03T05:23:31.169+02:00San Juan de Gaztalugatxe<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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San Juan de Gaztalugatxe is a 10th century hermitage in the Basque region. It is different from most hermitages because it is built on a small island that has been connected to the mainland. To get there, you must walk down. Far down. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrcO2oY93DiE76YG9GLwawtKA5cBcZzmH3CDGIuLGwk0rx8i5AgmbWv-LqZS8t8bSxVyBBSFdgFnywAhGMsHywvNQ_T9TQ36oRaR3DrWkXm6sIKZooP9K4zczWuX24MDAh6cvX_T1gr0UN/s1600/DSC03200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrcO2oY93DiE76YG9GLwawtKA5cBcZzmH3CDGIuLGwk0rx8i5AgmbWv-LqZS8t8bSxVyBBSFdgFnywAhGMsHywvNQ_T9TQ36oRaR3DrWkXm6sIKZooP9K4zczWuX24MDAh6cvX_T1gr0UN/s640/DSC03200.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before the descent.</td></tr>
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The hermitage is dedicated to St. John the Baptist. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYmSBuJy52I7pI1el_Lh1TyiFR5jawwGjHdhptxLFPd0zvWlIF4uoIrOpTNNod-KyFk61D56kYaTqQ8hX4jT5iw9cc1K9VqD4LuyYifwLkHKt9PF9GP5iTmgQ3-gVv45p76LV-Othp1IYs/s1600/DSC03207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYmSBuJy52I7pI1el_Lh1TyiFR5jawwGjHdhptxLFPd0zvWlIF4uoIrOpTNNod-KyFk61D56kYaTqQ8hX4jT5iw9cc1K9VqD4LuyYifwLkHKt9PF9GP5iTmgQ3-gVv45p76LV-Othp1IYs/s640/DSC03207.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Descending.</td></tr>
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The sea is constantly eroding the small island, evidence of which can be seen by the rock archways formed by thousands of years of waves. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDinhhYLprOKVvntswE8lsatzITBp0R8c1MZwUFjI4pyTWsAvPXzZIlTH14OpIxw7IqMESW3IF6q7lDCfFrixbcSsn0aXpn6N8dbL7G4enri3aicGfT8DQSb2SpizlfVo5M2ZBf0XNjmVf/s1600/DSC03208.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDinhhYLprOKVvntswE8lsatzITBp0R8c1MZwUFjI4pyTWsAvPXzZIlTH14OpIxw7IqMESW3IF6q7lDCfFrixbcSsn0aXpn6N8dbL7G4enri3aicGfT8DQSb2SpizlfVo5M2ZBf0XNjmVf/s640/DSC03208.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqvnkmqMZFE0wfX9nCNPQH4A9tF7Rkq3911a9qIqqSKUqvPHXwdkgL1K8mrBWTGVUJGLAPuK4Lv7sWciPoyO9537UD4geb9vYDn-w7ZQS68Lfr5auwlx3ioNSlCXW6Fwoj-7zDXEAa269b/s1600/DSC03218.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqvnkmqMZFE0wfX9nCNPQH4A9tF7Rkq3911a9qIqqSKUqvPHXwdkgL1K8mrBWTGVUJGLAPuK4Lv7sWciPoyO9537UD4geb9vYDn-w7ZQS68Lfr5auwlx3ioNSlCXW6Fwoj-7zDXEAa269b/s640/DSC03218.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before the ascent. </td></tr>
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At the top, there is a church and a church bell, which you are supposed to ring three times when you reach the top. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Katie ringing the bell.</td></tr>
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The surrounding Bay of Biscay is breathtaking. Sitting on the far side of the church, you can't sea anything but blue and white, with no sound of civilization. I fell asleep for a while. Eventually we began to descend the hundreds of stairs. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The descent. </td></tr>
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At the bottom of the stairs you can get closer to the water, which is cold and clear.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1gXLPFBD-EdgsgZuASH0C3Tpgi9xX8r8ZVUj1uUtpF1JMhbF7ebzZyr13BdXtDeq84FWxu7XIazA0wqSws1FTUvAzSBIT7sOsR6oQ-vuYkgwf_Hvk_ilbZLanHYJW-5WduwdT9Ak1yti8/s1600/DSC03250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1gXLPFBD-EdgsgZuASH0C3Tpgi9xX8r8ZVUj1uUtpF1JMhbF7ebzZyr13BdXtDeq84FWxu7XIazA0wqSws1FTUvAzSBIT7sOsR6oQ-vuYkgwf_Hvk_ilbZLanHYJW-5WduwdT9Ak1yti8/s640/DSC03250.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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The hermitage is a little out of the way, but you can get there by taking two buses from Bilbao as long as you ask the second bus driver to stop there. That is what we did—we stayed in Bilbao for two nights, but this excursion was the highlight of our time there. </div>
Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058719256406481847.post-35516716685304925222013-07-12T21:31:00.000+02:002013-07-12T21:31:58.146+02:00San Sebastián San Sebastián is a beach town in the Basque region. So, what do you do there?<br />
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Beach.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6pm. Crowded. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">9pm. Not crowded.</td></tr>
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Eat.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGSuAgqj2KnbZBDAKgxbqgnvE_7-CQgPrSyeGWUczF_D3Wy0ooS15_jzPM7HfDiFIe2bEK4srX-dgFghQJhGOQoZbc9qXEOg_JDl3Bk7V7-K5ufAflkfXbhvB_mhNv3VqFheKRqUEHSIQM/s1600/DSC03190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGSuAgqj2KnbZBDAKgxbqgnvE_7-CQgPrSyeGWUczF_D3Wy0ooS15_jzPM7HfDiFIe2bEK4srX-dgFghQJhGOQoZbc9qXEOg_JDl3Bk7V7-K5ufAflkfXbhvB_mhNv3VqFheKRqUEHSIQM/s400/DSC03190.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ham, mushroom, pepper, cheese, bread...</td></tr>
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Repeat.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3tSO6m_nkWL_MKljpH7yI-22xcbZqbINykcd5SOK__MndoxF-fctQI7zi2Ay9ytbjckgPgWik3VYW0_HF8v3zhOqQZ0cjoIp54O814fVGxBpiyF236-2DTdBIpDMfFMaXpYQA-rVHJcMd/s1600/DSC03172.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3tSO6m_nkWL_MKljpH7yI-22xcbZqbINykcd5SOK__MndoxF-fctQI7zi2Ay9ytbjckgPgWik3VYW0_HF8v3zhOqQZ0cjoIp54O814fVGxBpiyF236-2DTdBIpDMfFMaXpYQA-rVHJcMd/s640/DSC03172.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFv9ib2FWkpSEyQMEnkRRxtYdmS4-UT4bbyi2g-uckHMTdNL9JEQJ_qufkSbFH_a-qEA-lLiplyoU_WrvG3-6pmsjGXShpTrc3QQjZCtNcObXj0ZontzRDNSdpx2VWygZm_jCe1v9EKSeJ/s1600/DSC03155.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFv9ib2FWkpSEyQMEnkRRxtYdmS4-UT4bbyi2g-uckHMTdNL9JEQJ_qufkSbFH_a-qEA-lLiplyoU_WrvG3-6pmsjGXShpTrc3QQjZCtNcObXj0ZontzRDNSdpx2VWygZm_jCe1v9EKSeJ/s400/DSC03155.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Favorite ice cream flavor: leche merengada </td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxLVQoOpv2LAvj4-Ql7s5cgj4mU1GiPt5bHrxqGDcQVKv9PeBHsUk2-UWMFIk_MJWvew2u5jJM2NVkrBr7_sKcpie90538LgFrPOkrqmnmn3HnnL1gSDqsFBNiqYetARKxjDgVTdcloyK3/s1600/DSC03153.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxLVQoOpv2LAvj4-Ql7s5cgj4mU1GiPt5bHrxqGDcQVKv9PeBHsUk2-UWMFIk_MJWvew2u5jJM2NVkrBr7_sKcpie90538LgFrPOkrqmnmn3HnnL1gSDqsFBNiqYetARKxjDgVTdcloyK3/s640/DSC03153.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<br />Jakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15176584651688129743noreply@blogger.com2