Our last day was spent in the capital of Seville.  After the “discovery” of the Americas, it became one of the economic centers of the Spanish empire with its port monopolizing the trans-oceanic trade.  As a person proud of their Native American heritage, I confess this particular city did not sit well with me.  I understand it happened in the past, but, for me at least, it still seriously rankled.  We all know Christopher Columbus set sail for the “New World” and hit land in 1492.  I wonder how many know of the heinous atrocities committed after he landed?  He and others such as Hernando de Soto and Cabeza de Vaca slaughtered thousands of innocents and enslaved the rest searching for riches not theirs to be plundered.  It sickens me.  And then there was the dreaded encomendia system which whipped Native Peoples into submission and enslavement all under the name of God, King and Country (Spain).  If you care to research this further, do yourself a favor:  they say history is written by the victors.  Do not read some glossy bio of the “great explorers”; rather I encourage you to look deeper and find reading material giving a more truthful historical account of what Europeans did to Native Peoples.  I created my own minor at SMU in Native American studies and if anyone is really interested I can send you book titles.  But I digress.  This day we would see the Seville Cathedral, the largest gothic cathedral and the third largest church in the world.  I had a visceral reaction to seeing Christopher Columbus’ crypt.  I just remember lots of gold and silver and felt I should leave because it was not good to be filled with such hatred in a house of God; really anywhere for that matter.  Outside it was hot — sweat trickling down your back hot.  I found myself worrying about the horses who were giving carriage rides at the Maria Luisa Park.  Pictured here is the Plaza de España complex, a huge half-circle with buildings continually running around the edge.  It is surrounded by a moat accessible by several beautiful bridges.  In the center is a large fountain and the walls of the plaza have tiled alcoves, each representing a different province of Spain.  Last, we visited the Alcazar of Seville.  A royal palace originally developed by Moorish Muslim Kings, it is renowned as one of the most beautiful in Spain and regarded as one of the most outstanding examples of mudéjar architecture found on the Iberian Peninsula.  The main entrance to the Alcázar takes its name from the 19th century tile work inlaid above it, a crowned lion holding a cross in its claws bearing a Gothic script.  I loved the rounded doorways and the dark blue tile work.  The gardens were beautiful, as was the reflecting pool.  I found myself idly watching the koi swirling their tails languidly in the heat of the mid-day sun and missing our own koi at home in our beautiful, tiny pond.  With this, I knew I was ready to come home.  As our van wound its way back up the sharp twists and turns of the cobblestone streets of Vejer past the white washed buildings for the final time I was looking forward to one last sangria and cigar.

“Journalism can never be silent: that is its greatest virtue and its greatest fault.  It must speak, and speak immediately, while the echoes of wonder, the claims of triumph and the signs of horror are still in the air.” ~ Austrian-born former managing editor of Time magazine Henry Anatole Grunwald

It would be my favorite city we visited on this trip.  Clearly visible from the southern tip of Spain, the continent of Africa could be seen.  And by that I do not mean Sarah Palinesque; you really could see it!  A short ferry ride later and we were in Tangier.  Morocco!  Of course they speak French so I was thrilled.  It holds a rich history beginning with being a strategic Berber town in the 5th century.  In the 19th century it was considered to have international status by foreign colonial powers and became a destination for many European and American diplomats, spies, and writers.  I have read romance novels where the heroine gets lost down some narrow alleyway.  I could certainly see that happening if one veered off the wide, main street.  But cool, narrow alleys darkened by shade shielding against the afternoon sun beckoned with the exotic.  There were spices of every conceivable sort, silks, and trinkets behind heavy rugs that covered some of the vendors’ openings.  If one gave into temptation, as did I, it was incredibly easy to get disoriented with all the twists and turns.  One shop blended into the next and before I knew it I was beset upon by three charming, very smart, very persistent little urchins.  They hit me up for money in perfect English, French, Spanish, and German before I finally gave in.  The trio could not have been more than seven and they KNEW women would soften seeing their dark, puppy dog eyes peeking up at them from beneath long black lashes.  The youngest one started crying because he said I didn’t give him any money — when clearly I did.  That’s when I realized the little stinkers were professionals.  And they were good!  I shelled out more dirhams before I realized I’d been had.  When I narrowed my eyes and told them in French that was IT the oldest gave me a knowing look and they all scampered off.  Making our way back to the main part of the medina, we sat down for some Moroccan mint tea — my absolute favorite.  I thought it was strange to be drinking hot tea in the middle of a hot afternoon but it was delicious.  When I quietly remarked to my husband how charming the little glasses were with their colorful peacocks on them our sweet server gave mine to me to keep just before we left.  I still have it and I cherish it.  We went through the old Kasbah and I found myself unwittingly thinking of the ’80’s punk rock song “Rock the Casbah”.  We also visited the Kasbah Museum; the former Sultan’s palace.  It contained a collection of artifacts from the Phoenician to modern times as well as a beautiful garden.  We were there during Ramadan and our lunch was a light one.  I remember leaning back against the velvet, colored cushions of my second story window seat looking out over the Grand Mosque of Tangier.  Listening to the beautiful, lilting sounds that were the call to prayer coming from loud speakers throughout town was one of the most moving experiences of my life.  Perhaps even more surprising was seeing the Anglican Church of Saint Andrew coexisting peacefully not too far away.  They seemed to love Americans and Morocco was the first country to recognize the United States in 1777.  Locals would stop us just wanting to talk.  I could not leave without purchasing a beautiful, cobalt blue hanging lamp.  We always keep it on with an electric “gas” light.  American writer Paul Theroux said:

“The two impulses in travel are to get away from home, and the other is to pursue something — a landscape, people, an exotic place.  Certainly finding a place that you like or discovering something unusual is a very sustaining thing in travel.”

In Morocco I found exotic wares, welcoming people, and a landscape framed by the foaming waves of the sea.  It was lovely, memorable, and sustaining indeed.

The port of Cadiz was our next day’s excursion.  Founded 3,000 years ago, it is the oldest continuously inhabited city in Spain and is situated on a narrow slice of land surrounded by the sea.  We visited an archeological museum called the Casa del Obispo.  Just outside the Cathedral of Cadiz’s eastern exterior wall there was an expansive museum of glass walkways that took us over excavated Roman ruins and spanned events in Cadiz’s history from the 8th century BC up until the 18th century.  It served as a Phonecian funerary complex, a Roman temple, a mosque, and then became Episcopal in the 16th century.  Each of the different peoples who settled the city left an important cultural imprint.  Their influence still remains in the character of its people.  What I remember most is our obese, sweaty guide attempting to lead us through the (essentially) nude beach in order to observe one of the cities ancient fortifying walls.  Something tells me it could have been viewed elsewhere and Burk and I decided to sit that one out.  Call me a prudish American but it was just too shocking with everyone exposed like that.  All the men wore thongs with the tiniest scrap holding the front of them in … sort of holding them in.  It was worse than any Texas strip club and frankly I found it traumatizing.  I was not about to schlepp in between naked people fully clothed — history lover or no.  The English poet Robert Browning said, “Perhaps one has to be very old before one learns to be amused rather than shocked.”  All I can say is it was an eye opening experience.

There is something beautifully haunting about ruins by the sea.  It’s the juxtaposition between the ephemeral and the eternal.  This day was a scorcher and we were in Tarifa.  There were only a few people wandering about as the pillars cast long shadows over the ground.  Inside a museum held all sorts of interesting artifacts unearthed in the dig.  Baelo Claudia was an ancient Roman town whose history was with the trade routes that served Europe and North Africa.  The town’s strategic position near the Straits of Gibraltar made it a crucial stopping point between the two continents.  It derived its wealth from the fishing industry and supplied garum (fish paste) to the whole Roman Empire.  Apparently it was a popular delicacy.  The ruins boasted an impressive temple, forum, basilica, and — the town’s livelihood — a large fish salting factory.  At the top was a theater and we walked along the stones against a stunning backdrop of golden sand and blue sea.  I could hear the waves crashing and I thought once again of history and time.  Nations rise and fall but the ocean remains, withstanding the folly of man and bearing testament to it all.  The 18th century French political philosopher Charles de Montesquieu said, “Luxury ruins republics; poverty, monarchies.”  But the tides roll on.

This day we headed out to see an ancient dovecote.  I thought it was so cool until I found out they raised the birds to eat them.  I figured they were used as carrier pigeons.  Apparently they were also utilized for their eggs as well as their dung.  It is in the Guiness Book of World Records as the largest dovecote in the world with 7770 clay nests.  Active until the 18th century, now it was mostly empty.  I learned something else new as well; I had always heard of the Rock of Gibraltar but had no idea we were fairly close.  Never having been on British soil, I wanted to visit.  I remember being so excited to get another stamp on my passport and they didn’t even do it!  It seemed so out of place to see the Union Jack flying everywhere, double decker buses, and people driving on the left side of the road.  There were police with their high, rounded hats and others with large guns at the border.  The highest point of the rock rises almost 1,400 feet above the strait.  Approximately 40% of Gibraltar’s land was declared a nature preserve in 1993.  I so wanted to see the famed Barbary macaques but we ran out of time.  We did get to admire the peaceful botanical gardens which were both quiet and cooling.  English novelist Graham Greene said:

“The border means more than a customs house, a passport officer, a man with a gun.  Over there everything is going to be different; life is never going to be quite the same again after your passport has been stamped.”

As our driver took us back to Vejer along the high, curving roads that lined the sea I realized that although my actual passport stamp had eluded me, I now carried with me the stamp of being forever changed and I looked forward to what else this trip had in store.

It was our first full day in Spain and we were off to visit the city known for horses, sherry, flamenco and motorcycles.  We would experience the first two on this day and began by visiting the Jerez Horse Show.  The Andalusians were stunning but I was not sure how I felt about watching the beautiful creatures “perform”.  I understand it originated for training in battle and has since become more for pageantry of heritage and tradition now.  It is dedicated to conserve classical and country dressage, the breed of the Spanish horse, and the and culture.  As a native Texan, I know hot.  I survived the heat wave of the 80’s and would carry my child during the hottest summer on record.  However, thank the Lord we have air conditioning.  It was Texas hot minus the coolant.  Next we were off to visit the famed sherry vineyards of Tio Pepe.  The lush canopy of green vines provided a respite from the heat and looked like a magical forest.  During our tour we learned the area has a long history of wine production.  Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans, and Moors all brought with them their own wine making techniques when they occupied the area.  The development of sherry reflects the development of Spain itself.  The grounds are composed of several bodegas.  One of the largest, built in 1857, is Los Apostles named for the great central cask “El Cristo”.  Smaller casks flank it, each bearing the names of the Apostles.  There is also La Concha, built in 1862 and designed by the famed Gustav Eiffel.  Flags show each country that has imported their sherry.  In addition there is the Bodega los Reyes bearing the signatures of royalty who have visited.  Others cellars boast the sketches, dates, and signatures of famous artists.  We sat down for a private wine tasting mid-afternoon.  As a vegetarian, I was coming to discover much to my horror that the Spaniards adore prosciutto.  I mean they serve it at every meal and with everything.  The trouble for me was I kept looking for some olives at least.  My husband will not eat anything cold and when he is displeased his lips turn down just like Beaker on the Muppets.  Displeasure for him is having nothing to eat — or in having it served cold.  We sat in tables of four under a tent and I remember praying our sherry tasting would at least cool me down a little.  I cannot remember our fourth other than they were not drinking along with my pouting husband.  But four different bottles later my grandmother-in-law pronounced she was more charming and beautiful than ever.  That woman matched me drink for drink and she was in her early 80’s at the time.  She also spent a considerable amount of time imitating her grandson which made me snicker.  The best part of the afternoon was visiting the final bodega and seeing a wine glass full of sherry with a tiny ladder leading up to it.  It was said there was a mouse who kept chewing through the casks so they began leaving him his own glass.  I could not get a good picture in the dark cellar but it was charming.  We made our way back to Vejer and I decided to enjoy our balcony view and indulge in a cigar.  It was peaceful and I would find myself making the nightly climb to drink in the sights pictured above and to reflect on each day.

“Humans are the only creatures with the ability to dive deep in the sea, fly high in the sky, send instant messages around the globe, reflect on the past, assess the present and imagine the future.”  American Sylvia Earle, first female Chief Scientist of the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration

In August of 2008 we got to travel to Spain for a family wedding.  I remember the flight(s) being LONG but I was grateful to be going.  First we flew from Dallas to Dulles (Virginia) and then on to Madrid.  Once there we took another flight to Jerez de la Frontera.  Pictured is our lovely room’s little private courtyard Burk and I would enjoy for the next week.  It is part of the Casa Del Califa whose origins date back to the 10th century.  Sitting in the heart of the old palm filled plaza is a big circular, colored mosaic tiled fountain.  The whole little town is washed in white and rests high on a hill with narrow winding roads leading up to it.  I remember being surprised by how much I enjoyed this trip.  I always thought I might love Italy more.  But all the Moorish influences were too beautiful for me to resist with their rounded doorways and more Eastern architecture than Western.  We did a lot and some of it is a sort of blur; but a pretty one.  I never probably would have come here if not for this wedding and it was an enriching experience.  I shall endeavor to share highlights of my trip in the hope that someone reading this will be able to visit (or revisit) some of the same places.  And, if you never go, perhaps something I write about will interest you enough to take a virtual visit.  It is amazing (and I do not ever use that word lightly) how far one can go, do, and see on the internet now.  So sit back with a glass of sangria and take a trip with me to the South of Spain.

“Spain is a fascinating mix of people, languages, culture and food, but if there is one thing all Spaniards share, it’s a love of food and drink.” ~ Chef Jose Andres Puerta

“I remember” is the official motto of Québec.  In 1895 Thomas Chapais, historian, politician and member of the Québécois legislative council said this:

“The province of Québec has a motto of which she is proud and which she likes enough to carve it on her monuments and palaces.  This motto has only three words: “Je me souviens”; but these three words, in their simple economy of expression, are worth more than the most eloquent speeches.  Yes, we remember.  We remember the past and its lessons, the past and its misfortunes, the past and its glories.”

I will remember, as well.  I will remember Québec’s beautiful blue flags with the white cross and the fleur-de-lis proudly flying.  I will remember her living history of First Nations, France and Britain.  I will remember she is the only Canadian province to have French as its sole official language.  I will remember the cobblestone streets, the majestic St. Lawrence River, cheery flowers bursting from every front, and the sense of stepping back in time.  At the end of every trip I always take a picture of my souvenirs.  Second to Alaska, I found the most wolves here.  I got a darling Christmas ornament that has Santa petting a wolf which reads “Québec” and I could not resist the plush Royal Canadian Mounted Police husky or the Canadian Grenadier Guard beaver.  Whenever I look at them now in my office or on the tree at Christmas I remember:  “Je me souviens.”

I had never seen or even heard of a funicular until I went to France.  They have one at Monmartre, the highest point in Paris.  So I was thrilled to discover one here as well.  For anyone (like me) who did not know, it is a tram-like railway with cars on a cliff attached by cable which move them up and down the steep slope.  The freaky part is the ascending and descending vehicles counterbalance each other.  Sometimes I think ignorance really is bliss.  Its name is derived from the Latin “funiculus” meaning “rope”.  We got to the bottom and discovered a whole area full of art galleries, restaurants and shops.  I loved seeing Native American things and spray painted on a wall in blue we read “Québec libre” (free Québec).  They still remain part of the British Empire but they are so French personally the American in me would like to see their ties with England cut.  In the next breath I will tell you the Episcopalian in me was thrilled to discover the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity, the first Anglican cathedral built outside the British Isles.  It is the mother church of the Diocese of Québec nestled in the heart of the Old City (Vieux-Québec) and was modeled after London’s Church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields.  It proudly houses eight change-ringing bells which date from 1830; the oldest in Canada.  They were made by the same foundry that cast London’s Big Ben and the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia.  We loved the little church and a large stained glass panel depicting the Annunciation of Mary, which was quite beautiful, is among the pictures I took that day.

And Mary said, “Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word.”  And the angel departed from her. ~ Luke 1:38

Today’s adventures would include touring the world famous Château Frontenac, visiting a working military instillation, and walking the old walls of the city.  Château Frontenac is quite dramatic, in my opinion, particularly as it is perched high atop enormous cliffs rising above the swirling St. Lawrence River.  First, I learned the château was never really a château; rather it was built in 1893 as a grand hotel with more than 600 rooms on 18 floors.  During a tour we learned it was where Winston Churchill, Franklin D. Roosevelt, and William Lyon Mackenzie King discussed their strategy for World War II.  I also found out it is where my grandmother-in-law’s parents spent their honeymoon in 1925.  I’ll bet it was grand!  Afterward Burk wanted to see the Citadel.  It is the oldest military building in Canada located on Cap Diamant.  I thought it was really neat for them to allow civilians access and also liked seeing both men and women in uniform.  We wandered our way around the ramparts and saw, among other things, a large boardwalk running between the cliffs and the Château Frontenac, old cannons, and the St. Louis Gate.  Just outside in the “newer” part of the city rock music was playing in the square, Québec flags were flying and they had big “400” numbers that lit up the night.

“We have an unknown distance yet to run, an unknown river to explore.  What falls there are, we know not; what rocks beset the channel, we know not; what walls ride over the river, we know not.  Ah, well! we may conjecture many things.” ~ John Wesley Powell, U.S. soldier and explorer of the American West