Paris in Pink

My favorite week of a Parisian year. The city is opening up its spring wardrobe, and just in time. I'd been a bit heartbroken over missing this on my last spring in town, but luck was on my side: the cherry blossoms have arrived!

Look Ma, No Hands!

Still loving my new sport.

A not-so-sunny Southern Spain

After Granada, stop #2 on our half-week tour through Southern Spain was the capital of Andalucía and Spain's fourth largest city, Seville. But first, speaking of not-so-sunny, we saw a solar eclipse during the bus ride there!

A shout out to Brian for his brilliant camera work to get this shot of the solar eclipse from our bus

Seville was founded as a Roman city and, like Granada, was conquered by the Moors of North Africa in 712 AD. It was, however, reconquered significantly earlier, in 1248, following a fifteen-month siege.

Architecturally, Seville has a much more European feel than Granada. Speaking of the architecture, you can't go to Seville and not see the world's largest Gothic cathedral. Literally: it's hard to miss. The cathedral was built during the 1400s and early 1500s to celebrate the city's wealth after the Reconquista. A mosque had previously stood on this site and to some extent still does: the cathedral bell tower was actually the minaret of the earlier mosque.

The Cathedral of Seville: world's largest Gothic cathedral and site of Christopher Columbus's tomb

Just across the plaza is the Alcazar, a palace still in the hands of the royal family and a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The entrance to the Alcazar

However, my energy was waning quickly, and just a day after the Alhambra, I was all palace'd out. So I beelined it to the nearest Starbucks for my cafe con hielo (iced coffee) pick-me-up and left Brian to the official touristing business. Meanwhile I wandered the narrow streets of Santa Cruz, the old Jewish Quarter of the medieval city, and admired parks filled with orange trees and tiled benches.

An afternoon of wandering around Seville

I was just a little horrified by the multi-colored KKK-styled dolls I found haunting various tourist stores and even a chocolate shop.

Never in my life did I expect to see a cutesy purple Klansman figurine. (Spoiler: they're not actually KKK dolls.)

A chocolate shop window filled with a rainbow of KKK-garbed figurines. If you look closely, on the second to lowest shelf, there are even chocolate and white chocolate KKK-style edible men.

Turns out the KKK-style men were preparations for the Semana Santa, or Holy Week celebrations. Way before the KKK was a thing, the penitentes, or people doing penance for their sins, were dressing that way here in Spain during the week leading up to Easter.

Late in the afternoon, Brian and I rejoined forces to cross the river and explore the Triana, the old Gypsy Quarter. Here, upon stumbling into the Dulcería Manu Jara (41010, Calle Pureza, 5, 41010 Sevilla), we discovered that some non-Parisians have attained equal mastery of the art of pastry-making. Highly recommended.

A quick tour through Triana, the old Gypsy Quarter of Seville

The Mushrooms of Seville, the world's largest wooden structure (or so says wikipedia)

After a quick pass under the Mushrooms of Seville (officially known as the Metropol Parasol), the city's answer to modernist monuments, we powered back to the hostel to cash in on the free sangria hour followed by home-made paella. It was the first time in years that I can recall spending an evening just hanging out with a bunch of hostelers. Despite the shock of realizing just how out-of-touch I already am with "what's cool these days" (thanks, college kids), it was a surprisingly and unexpectedly fun way to spend a Friday evening.

Our third and final stop on the Grand Tour of Southern Spain was Malaga, but with only a few hours to see the city before our flight home, I can hardly claim to have properly visited. I did, however, thoroughly visit one delicious vinoteca, or wine bar, where we enjoyed shrimps and garlic with real spices (unlike what you can find in Paris, where nothing has a kick), shrimp skewers, and an anchovy and olive oil tostada along with a couple rounds of chilled white wine.

Worth a visit: La Barra del Soho, 4 Calle Tomás Heredia, 29001 Málaga

With just a half-hour to spare, we wandered around the park and past town hall which was surrounded by palm trees because, what else? I had a hard time understanding how this was the same European Union which I call home. Everything was just too tropical! That said, the lack of sunshine made it feel a bit like home, though not the homey feel we'd been going for.

How is this still the EU??

And there you have it. A half-week in Southern Spain: check. On to bigger and farther (and surely sunnier) travels in just a few days!

Traces from another Spain

In fourteen hundred and ninety-two, Columbus sailed... you know how it goes. But did you know that, that same fateful year, the Spanish monarchs were busy kicking out locals on their home turf? After about 700 years of Muslim rule in Spain, in January 1492 Queen Isabella rode in on her horse to finally claim the Alhambra, the last Muslim stronghold in Spain. Though the Alhambra hasn't been in Muslim hands for more than half a millennium, the modifications made since Christian occupation, like the crosses topping some of the buildings or the church which stands where once there was a mosque, do little to hide the cultural origins of the Alhambra, whose name comes from Arabic, meaning The Red, after the materials from which it was made. The traces of Spain's Muslim rule extend well beyond the walls of the Alhambra and are deeply ingrained in the local culture.

The Moors crossed the Strait of Gibraltor and began their conquest of Europe in 711 AD. Until 1492, they ruled most of modern-day Spain and Portugal. During this time, the Moors brought things to Europe like Arabic numerals (the number system which replaced Roman numerals and that we use to this day), public libraries, street lighting, and the orange (and lemon, fig, pomegranate, sugar cane, and loads of other crops). They founded universities across Spain and opened up public education at a time when most of Europe was still illiterate. Their influence is still felt in many every day words which they brought into European lexicons via Spanish, including algebra, decipher, chemistry, orange, and even (ironically, given the taboo on its consumption in modern-day North Africa) alcohol. 

Construction of the Alhambra began in 1238 under Muhammad I Al-Ahmar, the founder of the Nasrid Dynasty, and it was built up over the next couple of centuries. Muhammad XII, a. k. a. Boabdil, the last Nasrid sultan, lost the Alhambra to the Catholic monarchs King Ferdinand II of Aragon and Queen Isabella of Castile, culminating centuries of reconquest efforts which originated from the small region of northern Spain which had never fallen under Muslim rule.

After its conquest, the Alhambra was occupied by Spanish royalty. King Charles V even had an extra palace built since the three Nasrid palaces just weren't enough. (The European Rennaissance style completely clashes with everything else on site.) Over the years, the Alhambra has served as a source of artistic inspiration. Washington Irving spent time living in the Alhambra to write his Tales of the Alhambra, which massively popularized it as a tourist destination in the 1800s. (Irving is still honored at the Alhambra with plaques in Spanish noting where he stayed.) Later, M. C. Escher also created art work inspired by his visit. In 1870, the Alhambra was declared a Spanish national monument, and in 1984, the Alhambra and its neighboring Generalife were recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Today, the Alhambra is a must-see destination in southern Spain. Located in the city of Granada in Andalucia, it can be easily accessed by bus from Malaga, where several low-cost airlines fly. Granada itself is small but charming. We kicked off our visit with a stop at Las Salinas, a cozy Spanish restaurant on the Calle Elvira with simple but delicious menu.

The old town has plenty of winding, hilly roads, scenic views, colorful store fronts, and charming cafes to keep a tourist busy (and her wallet empty) for an evening.

We could hardly complain the next morning to wake up to this view just outside our bedroom door:

Sadly, blue skies weren't to be. After lunching through a brief window of sunny weather, we hiked the hillside up to the top of my travel bucket list, the Alhambra. Inside, it was quickly clear the architects had thought of every last detail, even what lay underfoot.

We began our visit in the Generalife, an area somewhat separated from the rest of the Alhambra, designed as a place to which the sultans could retreat to relax. With its multitude of garden beds, fountains, orange trees, ornate alcoves, and fantastic views over the city and countryside, all that was missing was a fresh coat of paint, some blue skies, a few less noisy French teenagers, and a sultan lounging in a shaded corner.

Our next step, after hiding on a garden bench for long enough to lose the herd of French high schoolers, was the bath house, or hammam. The interior had been somewhat stripped down since its days as a hammam. If I remember correctly, it most recently served as a hang out for locals to listen to guitar music. However, the basic structure was still preserved, and I especially appreciated the skylights.

Our next stop was the Alcazaba, a military fort and the oldest part of the Alhambra.

We couldn't quite figure out the purpose of the maze-like structures throughout the Alcazaba, and we were running out of time before our 4:30pm entrance to the Nasrid Palaces. Still, I squeezed in a shot of this gorgeous floral layout which was characteristic of the Alhambra landscaping.

And finally, we made it to the pinnacle of any Alhambra visit, the Nasrid Palaces.

The Nasrid Palaces are a complex of three palaces: the Mexuar Palace, built from 1314-1391; the Comares Palace, built from 1333-1391; and the Palace of the Lions, built from 1362-1391. During our tour, it wasn't terribly obvious where one palace ended and the next began. The palaces are all covered in extraordinarily intricate and diverse patterns in plaster, wood, and tile on nearly every inch of wall, ceiling, and even (to a lesser extent) the floors. One of the most well-known spots within the palaces is a courtyard named, for its central lion fountain, the Palace of the Lions.

The palaces were once brightly painted, and I wish even one room could be restored so that we might get to admire the palaces in their former splendor. Only traces of blue paint can still be seen in some of the crevices between the patterns, most especially in places where visitors can't easily reach. Not only did paint brighten the palace, but stained glass windows once adorned much of the grounds. Thanks to a massive explosion of a nearby gunpowder workshop in the 1590, only a single piece of original stained glass remains, hardly visible in a roped off alcove, but a glimpse of its corner of it gives an idea how light passing through such glass could have danced along the patterned walls to create a display fit for a king-- or a sultan.

Strolling through the palace grounds or looking down over the surrounding lands, it's easy to imagine how heartbreaking it must have been for the last sultan to surrender the Alhambra, but I, and countless tourists, have greatly appreciated that it passed hands without a fight.

We also spent a couple of evenings exploring the old historic center of Granada. It was somewhat surreal to walk down streets and through monuments, to peer into entryways of homes, and to find so much North African architectural elements and decor in a solidly European city. But what a fantastic experience to get to peer into this living testament to Spain's storied past.

A Biarritz-Bayonne birthday weekend

Biarritz is a town famous for its surf, but my feet never touched the water. I can, however, assure you that the soft sand cushions for a good nap. It's also famous for its casino, but we didn't get much further than its market. The cheeses, veggies, shrimp, fresh fish, and chocolate mousse cake were all fantastic. And we found the stuff for one mean (read: fantastic) sangria.

A lazy Saturday in Biarritz

The next day we discovered that we'd poorly planned: Bayonne, our Sunday destination, was recovering from the massive festival it had hosted while we lounged on Biarritz's beaches on Saturday. The remnants could be seen in the brightly colored confetti between the cracks in the pavement. Though the town was quiet, we found a very friendly (and French-- yes, it turns out they're nice once you leave Paris!) server who kept us happy with several rounds of regular and finally dessert tapas along the Bayonne riverfront. The city is rich in history, having changed hands over the centuries from the Romans to the Vikings to the English to the French, but we didn't spend so much time learning about the culture as just enjoying the scenery. And no regrets there.

Sunday afternoon along the riverbanks and through the city of Bayonne

Sunday afternoon tapas

The weekend was over far too soon, but not before we packed more party (and people) into one night-train car than I'd ever seen, making this a strong contestant for best birthday weekend ever.

To leave you on a tasty note, here is our killer sangria recipe:

Ingredients (for 15 people)

- 150 cl red wine
- 20 cl Porto
- 20 cl Cognac
- 5 oranges
- 1/2 liter of lemon-lime soda
- 15 ice cubes
-optional: bananas/apples/pears/peaches/strawberries

Instructions

Mix the wine, porto, cognac, and the freshly squeezed juice of 1-2 oranges

Wash and dry the rest of the oranges and cut them into very small wedges

Add the fruit to the mix

Right before serving, add the lemon-lime soda and ice cubes

If you choose to use additional fruits, add these now

Serve

Enjoy!

Stay tuned for my next installment of funemployment in Southern Spain!

A different flavor of Spanish Basque

I unenthusiastically dragged myself out of bed at 7 in the morning to catch an early train over to San Sebastian, or Donostia in Basque. Upon stepping off the train, I quickly realized that despite its proximity, this place was no Hondarribia or Saint-Jean-de-Luz.

The Maria Cristina Bridge looked like it belonged in Paris more than in the parts of the Basque Country I'd spent the previous day exploring. And it had some awesome lamp posts:

The cathedral also spoke to a much more recent past than the buildings I'd seen yesterday.

Turns out that a variety of fire (by accident), shelling (by the French), and ransacking (by the English and Portuguese) between the late Middle Ages and the early 1800s means that little has been standing for more than two centuries in this politically important border town. Yet the town did a good job of picking itself back up. The casino-turned-city-hall is nothing to scoff at.

Even the beaches in San Sebastian are fancy.

The Parte Vieja, or historical city center, is home to some charming, narrow, mostly pedestrian streets.

And there was some dangerously good shopping both within and beyond the Parte Vieja. 

The city, as I soon realized, is a major tourist destination and the site of many cultural events. It has even been selected, along with Warsaw, to be the 2016 European Capital of Culture. It probably merited more than a four and a half hour visit, especially when you consider that this included at least thirty minutes of half-napping on a park bench overlooking the beach, shopping, and a break to sip wine and eat some seafood. But if you have a chance, I recommend the latter. I found not only free wifi but also yummy pintxos--the Basque take on tapas-- and a warm and sunny atmosphere at the Bar Amazonas (Plaza de Bilbao I), well worth the visit. Sadly, the train schedules didn't offer me many options, so after powering through my white wine and a final set of emails, I ran off to catch a couple of trains back to France, where Nicolas will be joining me (in Biarritz) this afternoon, followed by the rest of the gang tomorrow morning.

Making the most of my youth

Taking advantage of my last day as a young person, at least according to the French national rail system SNCF, I caught one last youth-discounted train yesterday afternoon headed south. I woke to my 28th birthday in the Basque Country, hosted by a few generations of a lovely, hospitable, local family who made me feel like I was waking up at grandma's. The Basque grandmother I never had, that is. I split the day between Ciboure and Saint-Jean-de-Luz, which wrap around the two halves of a little bay:

Ciboure's claim to fame is the composer Ravel's birthplace, which still stands. (it's the cream colored one toward the right.)

On the other side, Saint-Jean-de-Luz made its mark when it hosted Louis XIV's marriage to Maria-Teresa of Spain.

This is the house in Saint-Jean-de-Luz where Louis XIV and Maria-Teresa spent their first month as newlyweds. And while I only spent time on the Saint-Jean-de-Luz beaches, both towns boasted beautifully sandy coastlines.

The Basque cross and the unusual local font immediately caught my eye. They were surprisingly modern and trendy for such traditional marks of the community. Over tea at L'Acanthe, I even treated myself to a Basque cross brownie. It paired well with my Ceylon-blend chocolate, vanilla, and rose flower tea. Happy birthday to me.

To wrap the day up, I hopped the border into Spain, about fifteen minutes away by train. Though staying in the little town of Irún, a former Roman town, my hostess (with whom I could only speak Spanish-- oh, but that was just the start of the adventure!) insisted that I use my evening to explore Hondarribia, a nearby hilltop town whose Renaissance walls still encircle the old town. Without enough Spanish to argue with my overly enthusiastic hostess that I was just looking for a simple dinner and an early evening, I soon found myself directed to the nearest bus stop after dropping off my backpack in her home. Some sort of confusion or miscommunication between us, totally plausible given my Spanish level, led to my completely missing the stop. Eventually, I hopped off the bus and wandered back in the dark along my best guess as to the route the bus had just taken. At least I had a brilliant moon to lighten the moment. (Bad pun, sorry.)

And eventually, I even managed to trace the bus trail all the way back to what turned out to be Hondarribia, whose walled hilltop city was completely charming.

I hadn't bargained on missing my stop again on the way home, nor ringing half a dozen random doorbells after 10pm to ask in my broken Spanish if my hostess were there, but I suppose these moments make the trip more memorable. Though I was much more ready to laugh after finally making it back into a warm home and slipping into some cozy pajamas. 

In between the evening's confusion, I found myself completely fascinated by the linguistic division I'd observed today. For centuries, this region was united by the Basque language, a linguistic isolate with unknown origins. However, I think my host family in Ciboure is fairly representative of the current situation: the grandmother spoke both fluent French and Basque, though a local Ciboure-variant which doesn't totally line up with the "unified Basque" since codified by the region in an effort to preserve the language. Her daughter, a middle-aged woman, spoke mostly French and just a little Spanish, no Basque at all. On the other side of the border, Spanish was clearly the lingua franca. I was shocked by the stark contrast in communication between cities which so strongly resemble each other. How is the culture of this region that straddles a national border, this region with centuries of shared history, with the same traditional symbols and architecture, evolving in response to the rise of the national languages and the disappearance of their shared Basque over the last several generations? Unfortunately, that was a question which would require more than a day and a significantly more advanced Spanish vocabulary.

This was undeniably one of my more unusual birthdays. I'm looking forward to what the rest of the week, and my 28th year, have in store.