Tom’s Travels

TRAVELS IN JUNE 2011

Sunday, June 12, 2011 Prague, Czech Republic

Colleen and I had the month free and decided to plan one last big trip in Europe before I returned to the USA. Didn’t now when I would return so I wanted to see some countries I had not previously visited as well as see some friends whom I might not see again soon. The result being a trip that included Italy, Spain, Portugal and Morocco.

The adventure began at 8:15 in the morning when we left the apartment for an 11:15 flight. After breakfast at McDonald’s at the airport (a treat we often enjoy when leaving Prague), we boarded the plane which left early and arrived early in our first stop, Naples, Italy. This is where the adventure really began. We were headed to Praiano, a small town on the Amalfi Coast, south of Naples. I asked about the direct bus to Sorrento, where we would have to change buses to get to Praiano. Unfortunately, it had left about 5 minutes before and the next would not depart for three hours. I was informed of alternatives and we opted to take a local bus to the Garibaldi Station where we could catch a train to Sorrento.

The ride through Naples was revealing. I had heard stories that the city was not well run, perhaps ruled by the Mafia, and that garbage was not collected on a regular basis. This is true. From the bus we saw piles and piles of garbage next to overloaded dumpsters lining the street. Litter was everywhere. The buildings were run down, paint was chipped and there were visible cracks in the walls. There was no evidence that any of the buildings had been restored or renovated in years. Granted, we weren’t in the best parts of the town but I didn’t see any area where I would have felt comfortable living.

We got off the bus at Garibaldi Station, which is simply a large open area which seems to be the end of the line for a lot of buses, an open air terminal. I didn’t see a train station so I went into McDonald’s to ask directions (McDonald’s always has someone who can speak English). I asked a security guard who gave me a totally blank stare and shook his head. I asked a young lady behind the counter who called over one of her coworkers who told me, in broken English, to go outside, turn left and go straight. I turned to leave and the security guard, with a very serious expression and using hand signals, indicated that I should go outside, turn left and go straight. I smiled and started to leave. Then the guy moping the floor, with a big smile, yelled something in Italian, which I took to mean go outside, turn left and go straight. Everyone seemed happy to give me directions when they had the answers.

We walked through litter, dodging traffic and pedestrians, the two hundred meters to the train station. We searched through the station to find where to buy ticket to Sorrento (different train lines go different places). Bought the tickets and got to the platform with four minutes to spare. In Europe, trains are usually on a very precise schedule. They arrive, you have a very short time in which to get off or on, and then they depart. It turned out that this was a local train and made 34 stops before getting to Sorrento.

We passed Mount Vesuvius along the way. It had been visible from the train station and remained so for about half the trip. It’s a tall, cone-shaped mountain with its head in the clouds (at least, I thought they were clouds. Maybe it was smoldering). One side seemed to show the result of a long ago lava flow, otherwise, it was green.

In Sorrento, we had to catch a bus to Praiano, our final destination. I bought tickets in the train station which serves both trains and buses and was told that the bus would leave at 4PM. The bus arrived, we got on, and waited until 4:30 without air-conditioning until the bus finally departed. The ride from Sorrento to the Amalfi Coast is exciting. Sorrento is on the north side of a narrow peninsula that juts out like a finger from the mainland. The Amalfi Coast is on the south side and the two are separated by a rugged, rocky mountain range that rises out of the sea and forms the spine of the peninsula. Our bus climbed the narrow, two lane road that twisted and turned up the mountain and then down the other side. When we descended to the sea, we turned left and followed the coastline and the contours of the mountain. I spotted an island in the distance which I thought should be Capri, according to the map I had seen, but it looked too small. It was Capri, distance can be very deceiving. The coast road features sharp curves and spectacular views, many of them straight down to the water which is clear, blue and beautiful. The road was so narrow and the curves so sharp that often when we met oncoming traffic, the bus had to stop and someone would have to back up out of the curve in order to allow us to pass. Even on the infrequent straight stretches, two buses would pass each other with only inches to spare, literally.

After an hour of curves from Sorrento, the bus stopped in the road in a small town, the sign on the side of the road said Praiano, and we got off. There was no bus station, just a small area on the side of the road with a bench where the people could sit. Traffic piled up behind and as soon as we got our luggage, the bus pulled away. It was Sunday and most of the stores were closed. I asked in a small grocery store how to find our hotel. He said “one kilometer” and pointed down the hill. We started down the hill, our bags rolling behind us, happy that it was downhill. We walked along the narrow road with spectacular views of the sea about a hundred yards below us, but no sidewalks and no bike lanes. Outside the town, cars were parked along the road and we occasionally had to find safe haven between them to avoid passing traffic.

At 6PM, we found our hotel, Open Gate, a lovely, little place overlooking the Mediterranean. It’s high on a hill, right on the main road and there are no buildings below, no roofs to distract from our view. A great location, somewhat isolated. Colorful flowers and plants abound, bright colors tiles on the walls and floor, and the people are very nice and friendly.

At 7PM, Colleen’s Aunt Caroline arrived with her sister-in-law, Edie, and their friend Diane. The women are taking a tour of Italy ending in a cruise on the Mediterranean. Evidently, they had made several trips together. Nothing had been pre-arranged but it happened that they were staying in Amalfi, six kilometers from Praiano, the night that we arrived and leaving the next day. When Colleen discovered this, she arranged for us to get together for dinner. They told us that they had driven by Open Gate the night before, thought it was cute and decided to have dinner there. They were happy to eat there again. We selected a table across the road from the hotel on a terrace overlooking the sea. We talked, drank wine and generally enjoyed the evening.

Monday, June 13, 2011 Praiano, Italy

We were awakened at 6AM by fireworks several kilometers away in the direction of Amalfi and high in the mountains but still loud enough to wake us. It seemed early for fireworks and I decided to find out what the occasion was. Our room faced the sea and the roof of the patio beyond our balcony was covered in vines with beautiful purple flowers. We had breakfast on the patio, coffee, juice, bread, butter and jam.

After breakfast, we walked up the hill to Praiano to get supplies. Along the way, I took pictures of the rugged coastline, something I would repeat over and over again. The Amalfi Coast reminds me of Provence and Cinque Terre. The rocky hills come charging up out of the sea. There are many cliffs and few beaches, and these only where there is a small protected cove. As we rose higher up the mountain, we looked down at the clear water and the sea gulls which were flying below us. There is color everywhere, purple bougainvillea, deep blue morning glory, red and white oleander, orange honey suckle and red geraniums.

In Praiano, we went to the local church just off the main road and slightly down the hill. In front to the church, there is a large plaza with a huge design in the tiles. The four brass entry doors had bas relief portraits of the four apostles, Mathew, Mark, Luke and John. The church is a beautiful, old facility with colorful tile floors, and lots of art and statuary. I’m always amazed that a small village can have a magnificent church. The people may be poor but they always give what they have to the church. The Catholic church is a rich and powerful organization and I hope it gives as much as it takes.

In the little market, we bought drinks, crackers, cheese and wine. We hoped to cut down on food costs. We also bought 24 hour bus tickets which would allow us to travel anywhere between Positano and Amalfi at any time.

It was a hazy day so we decided to go to Amalfi rather than the beach, a twenty minute bus ride along the coast. Took pictures along the way. The road wove in and out of deep gorges as it clung to the hillside. The driver had to stop several time to let other vehicles get by. Sometimes, when there was an inlet, like a finger of water coming in from the sea, we could see a small beach and winding stairways down from the road or from one of the houses clinging to the mountainside. The stairs were either poured concrete or cut into the rocks or stones held together with concrete. Often there was no beach as the mountain dropped straight down into the sea.

Amalfi is a hillside village, as are all the towns on the Amalfi Coast. Houses are stacked on top of one another. But the mountain is so steep that the house behind is so high that it usually has an ocean view. According to the guide book, Amalfi was founded by the Romans in the 4th century and has been a “rich and opulent” city ever since. It was an important trading power between 839 and 1200. It was famous for “taw cotton paper” which was used to replace parchment in official documents. In the year 1000, the population was estimated to be 70,000. Today, it’s 5,353. Not sure where all those people lived in 1000. The town is not that big. The town is full of narrow, winding streets leading up the hill away from the sea but few that run parallel to the sea and connect the major arteries. The streets are lined with tourist shops and clothing stores selling the typical tourist items, t-shirts, souvenirs, etc. But there are also ceramics shops offering beautifully decorated, bright colored pottery. The colors reminded me of Provence again, blue and yellow predominated.

Of the nineteen items of “cultural and environmental interest” listed in the guidebook for Amalfi, ten are church related, a cathedral, several churches and cloisters. The church is omnipresent and very powerful, more so in the Middle Ages than today. The Cathedral of Amalfi is an impressive structure at the top of a long, wide stairway leading up from a piazza just off the beach. It has a Moorish design with alternating bands of black and white in the arches. Attached to the Cathedral is the Cloister of Paradise, a squared, columned walkway around a central courtyard full of plants. Inside the Cathedral, there is a small museum featuring the “Angevin Mitre” (that pointed hat that cardinals wear) covered with jewels and produced in 1297. Near it is a 13th century gold chalice encrusted with precious stones. The origins of the Basilica date from 596 and there are original frescoes on the wall, though in poor condition. The crypt contains the “head and other bones” of Saint Andrew, Jesus’ first disciple, which were moved from Constantinople to Amalfi in 1208. No reason was given for the transfer. All over Europe, I’ve seen bones of the Saints and pieces of the True Cross. Why shouldn’t this little town in southern Italy have some bones.

Amalfi is like so many other villages I’ve visited in Europe. The church is the dominating building, the tallest, on the highest site, the most splendid, the best preserved. Narrow, twisting streets abound and are lined with shops selling everything from groceries to t-shirts with vulgar sayings on the front. I must be getting jaded. I’d seen it all before. But the guidebook quotes Renato Fucini (whoever he is) as saying “for the Amalfitans who go to Paradise, it’ll be a day like any other.” High praise for the area and I could agree if there weren’t so many tourists.

Back at the hotel, we watched the ferries pass by below, carrying tourists from Amalfi to Positano or vice verse. These are the two gems of the Amalfi Coast and are on opposite ends. Some of the boats were headed to Capri in the distance. There were also fishing boats and boats with people just out for an afternoon ride on the sea. For supper, we had cheese, crackers and wine, the perfect meal. We watched “Who Wants to be a Millionaire” in Italian and guessed what the questions were and the answers. An exciting but restful evening. Throughout the evening, there were sporadic bursts of fireworks, including a full, colorful display at about 10PM. I made a note to find out why.

The guidebook states “The steep rocks hanging over the waves” as Homer described them in the Odyssey, “seem to fly off and rise up towards the sky.” There are also other references to the Odyssey in the area. Hotel names like “La Sibilla” and “La Sirene”. Ulysses evidently came through here.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011 Praiano, Italy

A quiet and lazy day. Great! Breakfast at the hotel, croissants and coffee. I asked the waitress/owner about the fireworks. She said it was Saints day at one of the small villages in the mountains. Each village has its patron Saint and the celebration could last two or three days. So far, we had seen fireworks from two different locations. Would love to have seen the celebration in one of the villages but wasn’t sure how to get there.

We caught the bus to Positano, described as an “ancient sea village. It was the holiday resort of the noblest and wealthiest of the ancient Romans. This character of elite tourism has remained unchanged throughout the years.” I can believe it . I had tried to book a room in Positano but quickly discovered that I couldn’t afford it. The bus let us off on the side of the road high above the water. We wound our way down the hill toward the beach, taking pictures as we went. The streets got more and more narrow and more and more crowded until the streets were no more than six feet wide, obviously the oldest part of the town. We were walking in single file going down and passing those coming up. If anyone stopped to look at a blouse or piece of pottery, there was a traffic jam. The closer to the beach, the more exclusive and expensive the shops. Suddenly, the little street opened up into a wide piazza in front of the church, another example of the wealth and majesty of the Catholic church.

The beach was only a few steps beyond. The beach is a rock beach, as are most along the Amalfi Coast. Thus the water is clear and beautiful. There was sand away from the water’s edge but I suspect that it was imported. You could rent a beach chair and umbrella for 15 Euros or lie on the sand. We spread our towels. We timed our stay in the sun to avoid getting sunburned and swam a little to cool off. The Mediterranean always seems cold at first splash. You can get used to it in a few minutes but it never feels warm. When our time was up, we stopped at a little cafe with a terrace and lunched on Pizza and water. Beer was 5 Euros per glass while wine was 3 Euros. This is definitely wine country. It’s the opposite in the Czech Republic.

Positano is a very crowded village. The surrounding hills are so steep that every house seems to have a balcony and a view of the sea. Some are high on the mountainside and far from the sea but must have spectacular views. Positano was also founded by the Romans. It’s logical that, in order to establish a town, there had to be access from the sea, a cove or a harbor and a beach. Positano and Amalfi offer both. Most of the coastline consists of rocky cliffs, very inhospitable, and impossible to get ashore from a ship. The harbor at Positano is not protected other than being the deepest point in a wide “V” notch cut into the land, but it is filled with boats of all sizes moored in the water. The only landing area is used by commercial vessels, cruise ships and ferries that run to Amalfi or the Isle of Capri. Capri is visible from almost anywhere along the coast. It looks very small but that is deceptive due to the distance. There are two villages on the island, one high and one low, with a funicular connecting the two. It’s a day trip by ferry but we didn’t try it.

The Italian manner of speaking is very interesting and entertaining. And very animated. Saw a man holding his mobile in one hand and gesturing with the other. Not sure this added to the comprehension of the person on the other end of the line. Saw four taxi drivers talking all at once, arms flailing about. The conversation got louder and louder, fingers pointing, arms waving. Just when I expected them to exchange gunfire, they laughed and went their separate ways. They say the Italians are “hot-blooded” and I agree. They can become very excited and loud very quickly. But, unlike Americans, volume does not necessarily mean anger. And unlike French, in which every word should be given the same emphasis, Italian is very sing-song, up and down, with strong emphasis on certain syllables. Similar to the way Indian Indians speak.

Back to the hotel by bus with many stops to let cars back up so our bus could get by. No one ever seemed to get upset, there was no yelling or honking of horns by the “hot-blooded Italians”. And, as far as I could tell, there were no scratched fenders. Cars parked at the side of the road folded in their mirrors, a good precaution. We rested and read at the hotel and then I walked up the hill to town to get wine, cheese, crackers, salami and drinks. On the way back, I stopped and marveled at the landscape. There is something calming about the mountains. There’s a feeling of strength, power and permanence. They’ve been there for thousands, maybe millions, of years, impervious to everything except the forces of nature. Granted, man has cut holes in them for tunnels and leveled areas to build houses, but this is only a scratch on the surface. Given time, and the mountains have plenty of it, they will heal and could, ultimately, remove any traces of man’s existence here.

During dinner and “Millionaire” in the room, we were treated to a heavy thunderstorm with brilliant flashes of lightening and loud crashes of thunder that rolled down the mountain. It was if Zeus was angry and hurling lightening bolts down from Olympus. The thunder was the ominous growl of his bass voice threatening destruction. I could see why the Romans feared their gods. Later, after Zeus had calmed down, another round of fireworks was set off, this time directly up the hill behind our hotel.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011 Praiano, Italy

We had the usual breakfast at the hotel. The coffee in the morning is served in a metal container, and you have large (normal) cups, and you can get refills free. Since it is free, I suspect that it is cheap, filtered or instant coffee, which I prefer to the expresso they serve at other times of the day. I asked again about the festival days. The owner said she wasn’t sure when they were for each village, too many to try to remember. She explained that the celebration would probably include a procession through the village with men in native costume carrying a statue of the Saint in question on their shoulders. Sorry I missed that.

We went into town to check our messages on the internet. Nothing of importance. I wanted to check out the beach at Praiano so we started down the hill following the signs. We wound back and forth down stairways between houses. After about ten minutes of walking and realizing that the sea was still a good distance below us and we had not had a glimpse of a beach, we turned back. We didn’t have our swim suits and if it was going to be so difficult to even get to the beach and even harder to get back, I wasn’t interested in coming back and making the climb again. We climbed back to the town ( a tough climb) and headed back to the hotel.

Praiano was and is a small fishing village. “It was the summer residence of the Doges (the only Doges I know are the ones who ruled Venice years ago) and was chosen by King Carlos I d’Angio to be the seat of the university.” Well, somewhere something went wrong. There’s no university and I’m sure the Doges haven’t been here in quite some time. Today they would want to be in Positano or Amalfi. Praiano is just a quiet village, not crowded with tourists which is nice. 8 kilometers from Positano and 11 from Amalfi and the bus runs every thirty minutes. Open Gate, our hotel, is one kilometer down the hill and thus somewhat isolated. The only noise is from the traffic on the road which runs right in front of the hotel. There’s a bus stop five minutes up the hill and Praiano is 10-12 minutes away. It’s a great location!

About a quarter of a mile outside Praiano is a young man in an orange vest holding a walkie-talkie. I assume he is talking with someone on the other side of town in order to control the flow of the big buses, maybe only one in town at a time. Once he held up our bus but let cars and motorcycles pass by. It was amazing to see how close the vehicles came to each other, literally, often only inches apart.

In the afternoon, we decided to go to the beach nearest our hotel. It was in the opposite direction from town and thus downhill, a deciding factor. We walked 2 or 3 hundreds yards and then left the road, following a narrow, winding stairway. (Have I said “winding” before?) Back and forth down the hill, we finally came to a small cove protected by cliffs on both sides. The rocky beach was no more than fifty yards wide and featured two different sets of beach chairs that could be rented. In this small area, their were two restaurants that served drinks and meals and rented the chairs which were distinguished by their bright colors, one blue and one green. The chairs were only about one third full as some people simply spread their towels on the rocks. Small boats kept coming into the cove offering rides to the tourists. Some people went into the water but usually only to cool off. We settled into our chairs (5 Euros each per day) and read. Within an hour, the sky became cloudy and the wind picked up. There was no reason to stay so we left along with most of the others.

Walking back to the hotel, we saw a ceramics shop that specialized in large items, huge vases covered with brightly colored scenes and table tops 3 or 4 feet in diameter, suitable for the patio. After another episode of “Millionaire”, there was another late afternoon summer shower and then a beautiful rainbow appeared. It was spectacular, complete, with one end rising out of the sea and the other rooted in the mountain. Dinner in the hotel, lasagna, pizza and wine.

Thursday, June 16, 2011 Praiano, Italy

A day from Hell !

Had breakfast, packed, and walked up the hill to catch the bus to Sorrento. We had an early flight from Naples the next morning and I knew we couldn’t make it if we stayed in Praiano another night. So, the plan was to go to Sorrento, spend some time looking around the town and then go on to Naples and spend the night there. I had already booked a hotel near the airport in Naples. The bus ride to Sorrento is only about 24 kilometers but takes over an hour because of all the stops and the winding roads. We got on the bus and within five minutes, I was nauseous, not sure why, I usually have a strong stomach. During most of the trip, I held a plastic bag in my hand just in case and kept my eyes closed a lot. Colleen said she wasn’t feeling well either. We left at 10:00 and got to Sorrento at 11:30. For me, it was a very difficult trip.

Looking around Sorrento no longer seemed like a good idea so we decided to go on to Naples and caught the noon bus. 20 Euros for two people. 48 Kilometers but still another hour and a half. A pleasant drive, beautiful sights but slow. We arrived at the Naples airport at 1:30 and then the fun began. I asked at the information desk how to get to our hotel and was told that we could take a shuttle since it was so close. Then another lady informed me that there was no shuttle to that particular hotel but a taxi would not be expensive since the hotel was only three kilometers away. She wrote down the hotel address and phone number and told me it was in Casoria (not officially in Naples).

I went out to the line of taxis and asked how much it would be to the hotel. He said “30 Euros”. I pointed out that it was only three kilometers and he explained that Casoria was not in Naples and would be twice the meter price. Other drivers tried to explain that this was a good price. I walked away and went back to the information booth. The lady looked surprised when I told her the price. She told me I could take the bus to Garibaldi Station and then the train to Casoria. Went back to the taxi queue knowing that there would be different drivers there. This time the price was 35 Euros. Caught the bus to Garibaldi Station. 6 Euros for one stop. Again passed piles of garbage. No evidence that anything had been picked up. Naples is a nasty city.

At Garibaldi, we got off the bus and asked what bus to catch to get to Casoria. Was told to take the C19 in front of the train station. Made our way through the rubbish to the train station but couldn’t find a bus stop. Went into McDonalds, that haven of peace and serenity for the traveler, to calm my nerves. I saw a ticket office in front of the train station and went there. Bought two tickets for 3.20 Euros and was directed back to where we had gotten off the bus. Couldn’t find a bus stop so asked one of the drivers standing around where to catch the C19. “In front of McDonald’s at the train station.” Back to square one! Found a bus stop but not the one for the C19. Back to McDonald’s to figure out what the hell to do.

Colleen suggested calling the hotel and asking them. An excellent idea! They told me to take the train or a taxi. Decided to try the taxi queue since it wasn’t the airport. Now the price was 38 Euros! I was losing ground, to say nothing of my patience or my mind. Back into the train station where I bought two tickets to Casoria, 3.20 Euros. But they looked just like the bus tickets I had already bought. I asked if the bus tickets were good for the train. “Sure,” he said. Got on the train which left within 5 minutes of our arrival on the platform. One stop later, we got off in Casoria.

I called the hotel again because they had said they would pick us up at the station. Now they said they would send a cab to get us. When we got in the cab, the meter already showed 6.50 Euros. In fact there were two meters, one showing about twice the amount shown on the other, a base price and a supplemental price. However, the list of prices on the back of the passenger seat in front of me didn’t show any price above 5 Euros. My distrust and hatred of taxi drivers continued to mount. At the hotel, after about a ride of five minutes, the two meters showed 8.20 and 8.40. I expected to have to pay 16 Euros, but he said 8. I asked him how much a ride to the airport would be and he told me 40 Euros. I found out later that if the hotel calls for the taxi, you get the regular price (they have a deal), otherwise, you get screwed.

So, we arrived in Naples at 1:30 and by 5:30, we had traveled the 3 kilometers to our hotel via bus, train, and taxi at a cost of 17.20 Euros. Not a good day, and more to come. Told the man in the hotel that the taxi driver told me the ride to the airport the next morning would be 40 Euros and he said, “That’s too much. The airport is right here.” He immediately called the taxi company and was offered a price of 20 Euros. Still too much, but I accepted, reluctantly, bitterly.

The Meeting Hotel is in an industrial zone close to the airport. It’s decorated in tacky bordello – lots of red. I had a feeling they rent rooms by the hour. We showered and rested and watched “Millionaire” before going to dinner. We planned to eat in the hotel as I knew I didn’t want to walk around in the area. For dinner, the person at the desk (I was never sure if it was a very unattractive man or a very unattractive woman) told us we had two choices. We could eat in the hotel or go to a restaurant. If we wanted to go to a restaurant, the hotel would call them and they would send a car to pick us up and then bring us back. If we chose to eat in the hotel, they would call the restaurant and the restaurant would deliver our meals. We went to the restaurant just to get out of the hotel and split a pizza. The ride to the restaurant only enforced my opinion of Naples. Trash was piled along the street and there was litter everywhere. The only reason to go to Naples is to catch a train or bus in order to go somewhere else.
Friday, June 17, 2011 Naples, Italy

Breakfast at the hotel consisted of coffee and a couple of prepackaged snacks that I could barely get down. Decided to get something to eat at the airport. The taxi arrived on time, same driver as the day before but for 20 Euros not 40. Seeing him only reminded me how much I detested Naples taxi drivers. Ten minutes later, we were at the airport. Because I had booked all our flights on discount airlines, it always took two flights to get to our destination with a long wait at each airport. Our travel days filled the entire day. The schedule called for a flight to Barcelona, another to Malaga, and then a bus ride to Granada, our final destination, where we would meet our friend Chris Robinson. Chris had taught with us in Vietnam and then in Prague. The flight to Barcelona was uneventful, but the wait in the airport was long.

While we were waiting, I got an SMS from Chris asking if we had already bought our bus tickets to Granada. I told him “no” and he said he would pick us up at the airport. I envisioned the three of us on Chris’ motorcycle. We texted back and forth working out details and arrival times and I quickly ran out of phone credit and told him so. Well, the one hour delay that had been announced and that I had told Chris about ran into two hours before we got on the plane.

When we got to Malaga, Chris was there waiting. Thankfully, He had rented a car. He explained that by the time we arrived in Malaga the last direct train to Granada would have left and we would have had to bus into the center of Malaga and then catch another bus to Granada, if we weren’t too late for the last bus. Thanks goodness, he had the forethought to take care of us. It would have been another disastrous day. As it was, it hadn’t been a very good day so far.

The ride to Granada was interesting. Spain is a big country but parched. We went through hills and mountains and you could get panoramic views of the countryside. You seldom felt closed in. There was very little greenery except for olive trees, which were everywhere. North of the Pyrenees, the land is lush and green, but the minute you cross to the south, everything is brown. I remember how brown everything was around Madrid.

We found our hotel with no problem (Chris is a good driver) and checked in. Very nice, four star, but the price was not bad. We showered and changed and rejoined Chris in the lobby. We had dinner in a restaurant near the hotel. The downtown area is filled with narrow streets that all have little restaurants with tables outside. The Spanish eat late, often 10PM or later, and things were in full swing when we got there. All the restaurants were crowded and loud. There was constant noise in the street. We chose one but had to eat inside. We were joined by two other teachers Chris had invited, one Polish and one Portuguese, both girls, of course. We ordered beer and several tapas dishes and shared. My favorite was cooked red peppers. I ate most of them and could have had another plate. The food was good. The beer was awful. After you drink Czech beer, that becomes the yardstick for comparison. Few other beers stand up. This certainly didn’t. Colleen and I turned in after dinner, it had been a long day. Chris and the girls stayed out until 4AM. Ah, to be young again.

Saturday, June 18, Granada, Spain

There was no coffee maker in the room so I went out to get coffee, something without which Colleen cannot begin her day. Went to Burger King a block away only to find out that they don’t open til 11. What Burger King doesn’t serve breakfast??? It must have something to do with the Spanish culture. They eat late at night and thus maybe don’t eat breakfast. It did seem that the stores and shops opened their doors a little later than I expected. Found a little shop that had coffee and pastries at reasonable prices.

Chris arrived at 10. I’m always amazed at how he can function on so little sleep, but I’ve seen it time and time again. It was going to be a leisurely morning just wandering around. I needed to get some money, but when I tried an ATM, my card was refused. In fact, all my cards were refused. I had failed to inform the credit card companies that I would be traveling, so when they saw a transaction from a country other than Czech Republic, the turned me down. The next step was to find an internet cafe and call the credit card companies. Found the internet and called the companies and was told there would be a wait of ten minutes. I waited, got connected, began to tell my story, and mysteriously got cut off. Didn’t want to make Chris and Colleen wait so we went exploring.

Had coffee at an out-door cafe in sight of the Alhambra, which is very close to the center of town on a high hill overlooking the city. We were in the old Moorish section of the city. The area was hilly and the streets were narrow. On the tourist streets, shops lined each side of the road, all selling essentially the same items. Each shop was about 8 feet wide and 12 feet deep. There was no door, the entire front was open to the street. Usually, the owner or a salesperson was standing in the street encouraging you to enter and view their wares. If there was no one there and you entered the shop, someone from one of the other shops would come and try to sell you something. They all knew each other and worked together. I kept looking at the boxes with intricate designs made from tiny pieces of different colored inlaid wood. I had seen a man actually making one on my previous trip to Granada and I had not bought it. I’ve always regretted not buying it. This time I hesitated because I didn’t want to carry something that large (maybe 6 x 8 inches) the rest of the trip as I only had one bag and knew that I would buy souvenirs in Morocco. And I felt certain I could find inlaid boxes in Morocco. The only other thing I was looking for was a shot glass for my granddaughter, Sarah, who collects them.

The area was very interesting, full of bright colored tiles on the building. Some of the walls and doorways were decorated with intricate carvings, usually into white stone, maybe marble but more likely some material less precious. The carvings were like huge bas relief sculptures, but not of people, just complex designs, not exactly geometric but very detailed and repeated. Maybe they were religious symbols, but nothing was emphasized, more like the design on a Persian carpet that is pleasing to the eye but varied and not monotonous. It was fascinating to look at and, at the same time, sad to realize that very little of this kind of expert craftsmanship goes in to the building of today.

We had lunch in a little cafe called Boabdil, which is the name of the last Moorish ruler who surrendered the Alhambra to the Christians. A beautiful place with lovely tiles inside. And it had what Chris referred to as the “Holy Trinity”, a lock on the bathroom door, a seat on the toilet, and toilet paper. Our travels had taught us to never go to the bathroom without taking toilet paper. Anything else, we can handle. We had a great lunch. Chris was able to help us with the Spanish. I had a chicken sandwich on a baguette, which doesn’t sound like much, but instead of mayonnaise or mustard, they had poured olive oil on the baguette. Fantastic!

After we had finished, the waiter brought us a small dessert, a cup of yogurt with strawberries. But he only brought two and placed them in front of Colleen and me. We took a few bites and then shared with Chris. He was just taking a bite when the waiter walked by and in perfect English said, “Stop, boy!” We weren’t sure what he meant but a moment later he showed up with a dessert for Chris. His command of the language wasn’t great but he got his message across.

We walked to the Cathedral, a huge structure in the heart of town. We walked all the way around it but were unable to go inside. We knew we could come back later so we decided, in the best Spanish tradition, to take a siesta. W e were hot and tired. Spain is much hotter than Italy. And I’m sure Chris was happy to get some rest. We planned to meet again at 6.

At 6, I tried to free up my credit cards again. This time the wait was going to be over thirty minutes. I decided to try later. We walked past beautiful fountains and statues. In the courtyards in front of important buildings smooth, round rocks are used to form designs such as a coats-of-arms in the walkway. We continued to a cafe near Chris’ apartment. Along the way, we passed an old style Spanish church. It was made of stone, not adobe as those I’d seen in western movies were, but it has a church bell that was visible hanging in an arch on the roof. There was also a huge picture of the Virgin painted on tiles on the front of the church. I stepped inside but there was a wedding in progress so I couldn’t stay or get any pictures. It seems like everywhere I go I see a wedding or a bride and groom getting their pictures made.

At a little outdoor cafe, one of several side by side facing an open courtyard and all with tables and chairs outside in the open air, we ordered beer and, of course, were given small plates of tapas. They bring you whatever they want, you don’t get to request a specific tapas. For dinner we shared a plate of eight different tapas (tapases?). Cheese, tuna and tomato, chorizo (a Spanish sausage), garlic and something, and four others, all good. Our waitress was from Belgium and knew Chris. No matter where he goes Chris meets people easily and seems to know someone in all the pubs and cafes. Our dinner was occasionally disturbed by the shouts of diners who were watching a TV. Granada was playing an important football (soccer) match that, if they won, would enable them to move to the Premier League. Our waitress brought us samples of three different after dinner drinks which we all sampled.

After dinner we moved to a nearby pub. The waitress was Polish and the waiter British. Chris knew them both. We had beer and tapas and the waiter brought us a sample of fish pie. While we were there the game ended and the people in the pub across the street poured out into the street cheering and shouting. We walked back to our hotel and the center of town was filled with fans waving their colors, yelling, honking their horns and simply enjoying the celebration. Luckily our room was away from the street and we were able to get to sleep. Chris celebrated til 5:30 AM.

Sunday, June 19, Granada, Spain

Went out to get coffee but, being as it was Sunday morning, nothing was open. Got coffee in the hotel and took it to the room. Dreaded to see what they would charge me for two cups of coffee but, for some unknown reason, the coffee never appeared on the bill. Chris met us and we walked to where he had left the car. The center of town has beautiful open squares and many fountains and statues honoring some important figure in Spanish history. And a river runs through it. A river, well actually, in the center, it’s more of a concrete canal. The walls and bottom are poured concrete and the water is very shallow. Have no idea why they would do this. It’s not attractive and half a mile from the center, the river has natural banks and large rocks creating rapids as the water descends from the mountains making a very beautiful scene but only about thirty feet wide. More a mountain creek than a river.

We drove into the Sierra Nevada Mountains, which Chris told us are the second highest mountain range in Europe. I tend to doubt this but I haven’t checked. We climbed to a height of 2500 meters and the road ended. We stopped along the way and took pictures of the vast expanse of Spain. It seemed that we could see forever. The mountains in the distance were either brown and dry, or covered with olive trees. We were passed often by motorcyclists zooming by, both up and down, leaning into the curves. They didn’t seem to be as interested in getting to the top as feeling the thrill of the speed and the danger, one slip and you’re gone. My first experience with motorcycles was when I was in college and hitching back to Sevierville. It was cold and he drove fast, leaning to make the mountain curves and weaving in and out of the traffic. I promised myself I would never get on another motorcycle. And I kept that promise until I got to Vietnam where several of the teachers had motorcycles and it was the preferred method of transportation.

At the top there were several small ski resorts, primarily places to rent skis and get something to eat. A couple had lodging but I felt that most of the skiers would be making day trips to the area. There were small patches of snow where we were but in the distance the tops of the mountains were still white. We had breakfast in a little roadside stand, tables set up in the parking area. Eggs, churizo, and bread served on paper plates with plastic forks and knives that broke under the slightest pressure. It was great. A lot of bikers in their thick leather outfits were also having breakfast. Some Austrians struck up a conversation with Chris. The were also cyclists, though they weren’t as loud and outgoing as the bikers. After that climb, I’m surprised they were able to talk at all. The climb could have been included in the Tour de France.

On the way down, we took a different route, less traveled. Passed a small lake that was absolutely emerald green. There must have been some chemicals in it. Back in Granada, we had coffee and tapas at the same outdoor cafe. I went to the internet cafe and got my credit cards unblocked and then got some cash. Chris printed out our tickets to the Alhambra at the ATM. He had purchased the tickets on the internet but had to go to an ATM to get them printed. First time I had seen that but it was a very efficient system. Our tickets were for 5PM that day.

We climbed up the hill toward the Alhambra, passing tourist shops along the way and checking for shot glasses. The Alhambra (The Red One) is a walled, hilltop fortification with only two gates. It is a huge complex and contains structures from both the Muslim and Christian religions. There are churches, a mosque, a convent, and several palaces. The Moors entered Spain in 711 and gained domination of the country all the way up to the Pyrenees. Charlemagne prevented them from entering France, as told in the famous French epic, “The song of Roland”. The Reconquest began in the far northwest of Spain and slowly reclaimed the country for the Christians. Construction of the Alhambra was begun in 1237 by Muhammed al-Ahmar, the founder of the Nasrid dynasty. The Nasrid Palaces, the part of the Alhambra for which you need a ticket, consists of three palaces built over the centuries, all by Muslim rulers. The Mexuar Palace, the Comares Palace and the Palace of the Lions, the last completed in 1391. The Catholic Monarchs (Ferdinand and Isabella) led the Reconquest. The Alhambra was the last stronghold of the Muslims. The Christians blockaded the Alhambra and, finally, on January 2, 1492, Boabdil, the last Nasrid ruler surrendered the keys to the Alhambra. It was at the Alhambra that Columbus received the commission for his voyage to the New World. 1492 was also the year the Jews were expelled from Spain if they did not convert to Catholicism. During the Spanish Inquisition, all the books in the Alhambra were burned in an attempt to remove all evidence of the Muslim presence. The result was that the knowledge of the Arab world was lost. Charles V of Spain built the Palace of Charles V in 1526. Churches and the convent were added later. (The convent is now a Parador, a very nice and usually very expensive hotel.) Washington Irving paid a visit in 1829 and was inspired to write “Tales of the Alhambra”. It was declared a World Heritage site in 1984. Definitely worth a visit.

As we neared the entrance, we were confronted by a life-sized statue of Washington Irving, and we took turns posing with the author. We entered through the Puerta de las Granadas (Gate of the Pomegranates), an exterior gate, and then the Gate of Justice, which is part of the wall. The entrance is key-hole or horse shoe shaped, a typical Muslim motif, and covered with carvings and tiles and topped with a line of windows with lattice work shutters. It would be easy for someone behind the windows to look out and not be seen by those entering. We tried to get oriented and then just wandered around taking pictures, walking through gardens and fountains and pools and admiring the view from the hilltop. Finally, we got in line to enter the Nasrid Palaces. It was extremely hot and I actually thought some of the people in the line might pass out.

Immediately upon entry to the Nasrid Palaces, you are struck by the amount of work that went into the decoration of the rooms. Every surface is covered with tile or carved stone or inlaid wood. All the walls, all the pillars, the floor, even the ceiling, nothing is left plain. Rooms that are thirty and forty feet high have designs all the way up to the ceilings. The most interesting to me were the carvings in the stone. It looked like writings in Arabic, very beautiful, flowing letters. Interspersed with the words were carvings of flowers or vines that wrapped around the letters, like the illuminated manuscripts of the Middle Ages. I wondered if you could correct a mistake carved in stone, a misspelled word or a broken letter, or did you have to start again. I take my hat off to the craftsmen of that day. Outstanding work using primitive tools. We passed through room after room, each one spectacular.

We entered a courtyard with a long, narrow reflecting pond and then a room where the Fountain of the Lions was being restored. Twelve almost life-size, stylized lions surround a central fountain. The fountain was originally outside and when I saw it in 2001, the faces of the lions were barely recognizable, almost eroded away by nature. There was a slide show showing the progress of the restoration and it appears that they had to cut the lions into pieces, take casts, build another piece replicating the original design and then put the pieces back together. Of those that had been completed, we could barely detect, if at all, where the pieces had been cut. When the restoration is compete there will be six pairs of identical lions and, I hope, the fountain will be returned to the courtyard. Unfortunately, no photos were allowed where the restoration was being done.

We continued, room after room, past construction that was to replace the old water system to the fountains. Some of the rooms and some of the archways had enclaves with intricately carved ceilings that reminded me of stalactites in a cave. There was depth to them, but also a complex, repeated design. The last room was square and the entire ceiling had the stalactite design. The walls were covered with designs and the high windows had the lattice coverings. This was where the Sultan held court.

My words don’t do justice to the Alhambra. It is magnificent and you are in awe of the effort that was required to design and construct and decorate such a magnificent structure. I was incredibly impressed and only wished I could understand and relate to the Muslim culture and know what the words on the walls said. The Alhambra is a must see.

We walked down the hill to the restaurant near Chris’ flat where we had beer and gezpacho as the tapas. Got to go into the church this time. Beautiful. Lots of statuary, lots of art, and lots of gold. Found shot glasses. Went by the Cathedral and again it was closed. But I looked into an attached chapel, small but ornate, where the were having a service so I didn’t stay or get any pictures. Supper was at a restaurant near the cathedral in an open courtyard where several restaurants had tables set up. We had several beers and with each we got a tapas. Then we split a pizza. We made it an early evening and were back at the hotel by 10PM. Even Chris turned in early.

Monday, June 20, Granada, Spain

Got up early and went out for coffee. This was a travel day. Chris picked us up at 9:15 and we headed for Malaga. We had plenty of time so we stopped for breakfast in a small town. We found a little side walk cafe that was obviously frequented by the locals. Everyone seemed to know each other and talked from table to table. Newcomers joined those already seated and the waiter/cook seemed to know what they wanted without asking. We were obviously outsiders and the locals cast looks at us from time to time. We had ham on a baguette. Delicious. Instead of mayonnaise or mustard, he used olive oil on the baguette. A great and tasty idea.

The drive from Granada to Malaga is through olive country. Groves of olive trees covered the hillsides. Again, I was impressed by the size of the countryside. You could see for miles in all directions. The flight to Madrid was uneventful though I didn’t care for the airline, Vueling. In Madrid we had to change terminals, which required a bus ride of about fifteen minutes. I began to think we had gotten on the wrong bus but we got there. I had failed to print out the boarding passes so we had to stand in a long, long line at Easy Jet. Luckily we got through security quickly and caught our plane to Lisbon, Portugal, our next destination.

We landed in Lisbon and I asked how to get into town to our hotel. They told us which bus to take, where to find it and where to get off. We descended just across the street from the bull ring, a huge, round, red brick structure. Someone told me that the difference between bullfighting in Portugal and Spain is that, in Portugal, they don’t kill the bull. An excellent idea, though I don’t see the attraction of a bullfight in the first place. I saw a bullfight in Madrid and it was disgusting. The bull had no chance. They ran him around and tired him out before the Matador even stepped forward. By the time he kill the bull, the bull could hardly stand up. I watched three “fights” and left, choosing not to watch the last three.

According to the map we had, we should have seen our hotel from the bus stop but it wasn’t true. A young lady stopped and asked if she could help. She said, “It’s right there,” and pointed down the cross street. We found the hotel about two blocks away.

The hotel was nice, though not near the center, and we had a nice room. We were tired, too much time spent in airports. We went out looking for a place to get some supper and decided on the Pizza Hut next door. It was cold as ice inside. Don’t know why they keep restaurants so cold. We could barely stay inside. We ate our pizza quickly and went back to the room. Watched “Millionaire” in Portuguese. Didn’t do as well as we had in Italian. It was a travel day, we didn’t get much done and turned in early.

Tuesday, June 21, Lisbon, Portugal

Got off to a late start. Coffee and muffins at a little cafe right across the street. Very inexpensive, which was surprising. Asked the man at the hotel what we should do and see. He suggested the hop-on/hop-off bus to see the city, so we bought tickets. It really is a good way to see the major attractions. However, the bus stop shown on the city map was not the place to catch the bus. We had to ask random people on the street and were finally directed about a block and a half from the spot on the map. It was on the other sight of the bull ring but we finally found it.

The bus took us past monuments, a basilica, parks, a monastery, and along the waterfront. The monastery, built in the 15th century, looked very interesting but it was a long way from the center of town and we never got back. We thought of getting off when we first saw it but it seemed that about ten tour buses had just unloaded their cargo and it was going to be too crowded to enjoy. Sorry I missed it. Maybe next time. The bus continued along the waterfront past the Belem Tower, a 15th century fort built to protect the city from any ships coming up the Targus River from the open sea. We got off the bus downtown.

Lisbon was founded in the 12th century by the Phoenicians. It was inhabited by the Romans and later by a German tribe which gave the area it’s name, Galaecia. In 711 the city was conquered by the Muslims from northern Africa. The Reconquest of the Iberian Peninsula began in this area in in 1147 and was completed in 1492 when the Muslims surrendered the Alhambra in Granada, Spain. The Portugal became a powerful seafaring nation and in 1494 signed the Treaty of Tordesillas with Spain. This treaty divided the world so that all new discoveries to the west would be claimed by Spain while those to the east would be claimed by Portugal. Bartholomeu Dias was the first to round the Cape of Good Hope and Vasco de Gama went all the way to Japan. In 1755, the city was laid waste by a tremendous earthquake which killed 30,000 to 40,000 inhabitants.

One of the major streets of the downtown area, Rua Augusta, runs perpendicular to the river. There is a huge open square next to the river dominated by a statue of King Jose I on horseback. Behind him is the monumental Gate to the City. Rua Augusta is a pedestrian zone and the street seems to be paved in marble inlaid with mosaic designs. We passed the Santa Junta Elevator about a block off the main street. It is a free standing steel structure designed by a protegee of Gustave Eiffel. It’s an elevator to nowhere. Atop the structure is an observation tower that gives a good view of the city. It looked very crowded so we didn’t go up. This is the main shopping area and cafes have tables in the middle of the wide street. We walked until we came to another large square featuring a large statue of someone important. Got a sandwich standing in one of the cafes and I found a shot glass, a flag pin and a patch. The flag pin and the patch were for me. My trip to Portugal was complete. We walked back toward the river on another street and went into a church. Interesting but nothing special.

We decided to take tram 29 which the guidebook said went to all the major attractions. I got my ticket out of my billfold and put the billfold back in the side pocket. The tram was crowded and we had to push past some people to get on. Just as the tram doors began to close. A man pushed by me and got off. And my billfold went with him. I didn’t feel a thing and didn’t discover the loss for about ten seconds. Obviously, he had seen where I had put the billfold and selected me as his victim. I had noticed that he was acting strangely and had placed himself in a position so that he could get off. I just didn’t think fast enough to protect myself. We got off at the next stop and went back but had no hope of finding him or getting my billfold.

We went back to the hotel and had a new key made and I called and canceled my credit cards. All I really lost was some cash, my drivers license and the billfold, but I was upset and depressed.

We rode another hop-on, hop-off bus but I just wasn’t interested. Don’t remember what we saw. We bought sandwiches for supper and went back to the hotel. Not a good day for me.

Wednesday, June 22, Lisbon, Portugal

Had coffee at the little cafe across the street and then went to get money. Took the bus downtown and got on the 28 tram. I had nothing to lose, my billfold was gone. We got off at the basilica we had seen from the hop-on/hop-off bus.

The Basilica Estrela is very impressive with a white, marble facade featuring twin bell towers with clocks just below the bells. There are four bas-relief pillars surmounted by large statues (probably the Big Four: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John). The interior is a rich golden brown, a warm, comfortable feeling. It’s a very old church with alcoves lining each side of the nave, but not the usual tiny chapels. The niches are only a few feet deep and each has a large painting. The floor is filled with geometric designs from large pieces of colored marble. The ceiling also is covered with geometric designs. Over the altar is the obligatory dome with encircling stained glass windows allowing in lots of light (making it hard to get a good picture of the dome). Behind the altar is another huge, dark painting. The Basilica has a very welcoming atmosphere but, at the same time, a feeling of quiet and piety, unlike many of the baroque churches I have seen which are so crowded with statues and gold framed paintings that there seems to be no room for God. It was a very pleasant visit.

Back on the 28, we made our way to the center passing statues and monuments to famous long dead Portuguese. The buildings are covered with intricate designs in the tile wall or landscape pictures in tile. There are designs in the cobblestone sidewalks. Some of the sidewalks are slick and shiny, and look like marble.

From the center, we caught the train to Estoril, a small town about 45 minutes away on the beach. The train stopped right at the beach. We got sandwiches which were surprisingly cheap for being on the beach. We found a spot and spread our towels and ate lunch. Estoril has a big, sandy beach, large enough that it was not crowded. Unfortunately, it was a windy day and the water was cold. That is, it was cold to me. Others were going in and swimming around. I stood knee deep until a wave suddenly knocked me over and I got completely wet. I splashed around for a few minutes and got out. Colleen, being from Michigan, was able to stay in a lot longer. I was happy just to get some sun on my body. It was a good day at the beach.

We got on the train to head back to town. Several stops later a group of blacks got off the train in order to switch to another train. They were standing on the platform between the two trains when suddenly, I noticed a wallet in the seat they had left. I grabbed it and knocked on the window to attract their attention. A young man turned and I held up the wallet for him to see. He grabbed his empty back pocket and immediately his shoulders dropped realizing that his wallet was gone. I knew the feeling. I tried to make some kind of hand signals to him just as our train was pulling away to indicate that I would wait at the next station. But I don’t think he understood. Several people had seen what had happened and I asked what to do. Most of the people in our car were black and they were able to speak enough English that we could communicate. One friendly lady said she would get it back to him. None of the others seemed to object, so I gave the wallet to her. I hope the young man got his wallet back with the money inside. Lose one wallet, find another, but I still didn’t have mine.

There seemed to be a lot of blacks in Portugal and I was told later that Portugal was one of the easier European countries in which to become a citizen. We got sandwiches in the train station and headed back to the hotel. We’re not much for night life so we spent the evening trying to watch TV in Portuguese and reading.

Thursday, June 22, Lisbon, Portugal

It was very cold and windy in the morning. The little coffee shop across the street was closed as were many other shops. We decided that it must be a holiday but which one? Our plan was to go to Sintra, a hillside town about an hour away and a major tourist attraction. We caught the metro to the train station. The metro is very clean and neat, no graffiti anywhere. The people were very helpful and friendly. Mass transportation in Europe is very efficient. You can get anywhere you want. No need for a car. Each system is a little different, but in Portugal you get a ticket which can be recharged. You can put 20 Euros of credit on a ticket and ride until that runs out. Then you can simply add more credit to the ticket. No need to buy a new one for each individual trip and no searching for the exact change of a single trip. And the ticket can be used on the tram or the train. A good system.

On the way to Sintra we saw an aqueduct built by the Romans which stretches for 160 kilometers. It’s amazing what the Romans were able to accomplish. Most of the buildings were cream colored with red barrel-tiled roofs.

Sintra is a hillside village and I do mean hillside. It’s on the side of a mountain rising up from the flat valley floor far below. We got off the train and began a slow trek up the mountain following a winding road cut into the side of the hill. We stopped for coffee and a treat before we even got to the town itself. Several times we thought about catching a bus but we weren’t sure where or when they stopped. We rounded a curve and the historic center opened up before us. The most imposing structure is the Palacio Nicional de Sintra, a huge white building built in the 15th and 16th centuries. In front of the Palace is a large open area surrounded by balustrades from which you can get a good view of the countryside below. On the right side of the building are two structures that look like inverted ice cream cones, maybe twenty feet or more at the base and tapering to two feet at the top. Maybe they were chimneys, I have no idea. Strange looking. We walked around the town climbing up one narrow, winding street and descending another. The streets were lines with tourist shops selling everything a tourist might want. I wanted a flag patch.

We got maps at the tourist center and asked if it were a holiday. She said yes but she wasn’t sure what they were celebrating. “There are holidays all the time,” she said. Later, I found out it was Corpus Christi, an important Catholic holiday, at least in Europe. I think it is when young people take their first communion at the age of 13, but I’m not sure. We asked how to get to Castelo dos Mouros (Castle of the Moors) which we could see high above on the mountain. She said we could walk or take the bus for 2 Euros each. We took the bus. Best money I ever spend. The road was a succession of hairpin curves and switchbacks. And steep, very steep. It reminded me of driving across the smoky Mountains before the interstate. We passed people walking up and I felt sorry for them.

The Castelo dos Mouros is simply the ruins of a fortress built by the Arabs in the 8th century. Obviously, it held an important military position and was practically impenetrable. About all that remains today are the stone walls. Much like the Great Wall of China, you could walk along the walls, either walking along the walkway or climbing or descending stairs depending on the contour of the mountain. It was the remnants of a fortress with watch towers at intervals and crenellated walls from which to fight off an enemy. I can’t imagine that an enemy could surmount the walls and conquer the fortress. Since the terrain was so steep and the walls were built right on the cliff sides. I would have taken one look and said, “Ah, well, you can keep it,” and I would have left with my army. It was a very, very windy day and we were often exposed, standing on the walls. A couple of times I thought I was going to be blown off. Sometimes the steps were narrow and you had to give way to someone coming from the opposite direction. I can’t imagine how but somehow the fortress fell to the Portuguese in 1147.

From the Castle of the Moors, we caught another bus to go further up the mountain to the Palacio Nacional de Pena, the most unique palace I have ever seen. And by unique, I mean strange, weird, bazaar. Rather, I should say, since it was built by a King, the castle is eclectic. Billed as “the consummate specimen of Portuguese Romantic Architecture”, it includes a little bit of everything. To get into the palace, you have to walk through a tunnel that makes a 180 degree turn as it ascends. The tunnel is rather narrow and would be very easy to defend. Built about 1840, it stands on the pinnacle of the mountain 500 meters above sea level and offers a spectacular view of the surrounding countryside. On a clear day, you can see the Atlantic in the distance. The Palace has a Moorish arch, geometric patterns in tile, crenellated walls, both square and round towers, and, over the main entrance, a naked Poseidon (probably) squatting on a seashell glaring down on those who enter. There were so many shapes and patterns and colors “blended” into the building that I cannot describe them all.

No photos were allowed inside but the palace had been the home of Kings and had the requisite ornate furniture, gifts from other kings, etc. Actually, the inside was somewhat normal, a vast change from the exterior. Evidently, Portuguese Romantic architecture means you can do anything you want. There was no continuity in design or color, no uniformity, but, as a result, a very interesting building. We caught a bus back down the mountain and walked around Sintra again. Then caught the train back into town. Another good day.

The subway stations in Lisbon have beautiful tile work on the walls, either pictures or simply designs. One had several life-size statutes of women in what looked like togas, each holding something which represented her function in the community. Colleen, holding up her purse, joined the line of women and I got a picture. I’m not sure what she was trying to represent. Public transportation in Portugal is quick, good, efficient and cheap.

Friday, June 24, Lisbon, Portugal

Another travel day. Headed to Morocco to see Jen and Kristian, teachers who had taught with us in Prague. They now had jobs in Rabat, Morocco. The alarm went off at 4AM and we caught a cab to the airport. It was a short trip and the fee was $6. I gave the cabbie a twenty and he placed a five in my palm, hesitated and looked up at me as if he expected to keep $15. I gave him a look and he put another five in my hand and looked up at me. I was in a hurry so I let him keep ten. I hate cabbies! In Europe they seldom use the meter and always try to overcharge. They always make me angry.

I was concerned and in a hurry because when I bought the tickets, I had registered Colleen as Colleen Klachik instead of Kalchik. I was afraid we would have a lot of trouble. Luckily, no one seemed to notice. We flew to Madrid (I know it’s not the most direct route but it was the cheapest). There was no problem in Madrid with the name but there was a one hour delay due to the fact that eleven people did not get on the plane and they spent time looking for their luggage. They kept calling the names but no one answered.

We landed in Casablanca. Yes, that Casablanca. Rick’s Cafe Americain, Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman, Sam. But we had been told that it was no place to visit. There is a Rick’s but only for tourists. The town was once a sleepy fishing village and, though larger, is not an important or interesting city today. We walked through the airport toward customs. The walls were covered with pictures of the Kennedys. Jack and Jackie, Bobby, Ted. Pictures when they were young. Pictures when Jack was President, his wedding, Pictures of his funeral. No explanation was given as to why there was such homage to an American President. We stood in line for about fifty minutes at Passport Control. The other line always moves faster. From the airport, we took a train to Rabat. Most of the people spoke French and/or English and were very friendly and helpful. They told us where to change trains and which one to take. Morocco had been a French Protectorate between 1912 and 1950 so I got to practice my French.

We took a Blue Cab to our hotel. Kristian and Jen were just about to leave. We were about an hour and a half later than I had told them we would be. Unfortunately, I had had no way to contact them to tell them we would be late. They waited while we checked in, showered and changed clothes. We had dinner in an authentic Moroccan cafe they suggested. We had Tahini (I think. I know little about food). It was very good and served in a pottery bowl and covered with a pottery lid that resembled an Indian teepee. After supper, we walked to their apartment and had a glass of wine. We talked for a while and decided to turn in because we had gotten up so early. We set a time for them to meet us at our hotel in the morning and took a Blue Cab back. Kristian had told us that the Blue cabs were honest and cheap, a rarity.

Saturday, June 25, Rabat, Morocco

Rabat is the capital of Morocco. It’s where the President (King?) lives and he seems to have several palaces in the city. It’s a Muslim city though I seldom heard the call to worship that you usually hear ring out five times a day in Muslim countries. It was hot and there was litter scattered on the streets but they’re moving into the modern world. They’ve recently introduced trams to the city. Only a couple of lines at the moment but the tram cars are immaculate, no graffiti.

We got a late start but had coffee in the room. The hotel was nice (an ex-Soffitel) but, unfortunately the air conditioning didn’t work and the bed was too soft, like a hammock. We had to get a fan for the room. Kristian and Jen came to our hotel at the appointed time. We went first to the medina. A medina is the medieval ,old part of the city, the historic center, if you will. It is usually walled and has only three or four entrances. We entered through a tall gate. The first section was very clean, neat and organized. We came first to what were essentially open air, but covered, grocery stores. They had everything, fruits and vegetables of all kinds, great slab of meat, even half carcasses, unrefrigerated and hanging from large hooks. Something that would probably not be tolerated in the US. As we proceeded the streets became more and more narrow and thus more crowded. And the shops were smaller, maybe 8 to 10 feet wide and 15 feet deep. Most specialized, offering one type of item, Shoes, sunglasses, or electronics. Ofter there were several shops in a row which offered the same thing. I suspected that they were owned by the same people. You could get clothes, spices, woven baskets, watches, rugs, even turtles. I looked in several shops that had carved wooden boxes but none were of the quality I had seen in Spain. Colleen bought several pairs of shoes, same design, different colors. The price was right. I got coin purses for my granddaughters.

Next we went to the Casbah, a walled fortress area overlooking the sea and the mouth of the river leading inland. It was designed and used to protect the city. It was hot, as expected in Morocco, and we stopped in an open air cafe for a drink. I got a Coke with all the words on the bottle written in Arabic. Wish I could have brought it home as a souvenir. We walked uphill through narrow streets between buildings painted white and blue til we came to a small plaza overlooking the beach. There were cats everywhere in the town, but no dogs. The opposite is true in Prague. We were high above the water and some distance away but we could see that the beach was crowded. To our right was the river, Bou Regreg, which runs through the city , and beyond that another beach. Jen said she had never been to this beach and pointed out that all the women were completely covered. They looked like they were wearing men’s pajamas and head scarves. Some went in the water but most just stayed on the beach. I understand that, because they are Muslim, they have to be covered, but I don’t understand why they would go to the beach. But they were there and lots of them.

The most interesting thing was that just off the beach, on both sides of the river, was a cemetery. Not a tiny cemetery but one that was enormous and had obviously been there for years. Where we would have had high rise apartments or expensive hotels on such valuable property, they had cemeteries. I have no idea when or why that area was chosen for a cemetery but I had never seen a cemetery on beachfront property. Amazing.

We had lunch in a Lebanese restaurant and afterward, decided to take a siesta. It is so hot in Morocco that it’s difficult to stay outside too long on the noonday sun, especially if you are not used to it. Later we went to their apartment for wine and beer, then went to a restaurant nearby for pizza. A good day.

Sunday, June 26, Rabat, Morocco

After coffee in the room, we met Jen and Kristian in the lobby. Kristian had mapped out the itinerary for the day. First, we went to the Necropole de Chellah, a walled area with a huge entrance gate. It’s an ancient Roman ruin which was first inhabited in the 8th century BC and has been preserved as an outdoor museum. Mostly statues and walls, but enough to visualize what had been there. Unfortunately, there was no audio guide or literature to fill in the history of the area, but it was obvious that what had begun as a Roman ruin was ultimately replaced by the Arab culture. The Necropole was quiet and peaceful in a secluded area across the street from one of the king’s residences, and surrounded by a high wall. Wood storks abounded and had built nests atop many of the walls. They were even more numerous than the cats which ran free.

As we left, a workman arrived with three young children, probably between six and ten years old. The other workmen all knew the children and went out of their way to show their affection for them. Each workman kissed each child on both cheeks. I don’t know if they were all related but they certainly held the children in high regard and showed it. This seems to be true for all Arabs. From what I have observed, they do little to disciple the children.

Next, we went to the king’s Mausoleum, the burial place of Mohamed V and VI. Magnificent. There was a horseman in flowing Arab costume on each side of the the main entrance sitting quietly on beautiful horses which seemed content to stand immobile all day in the sun. Tourist took pictures, but nothing seemed to disturb them. Inside the walls were the mausoleum and what was planned to be the largest mosque in the world, but it was never finished. There is a tall tower, the tower of Hassan, which dates from 1342 and from which would come the call to worship and many pillars which would have supported the roof that was never built. No walls, just pillars, and those not too tall so maybe they were never completed. The finished project would have been the size of two football fields side by side and would have been spectacular. But, alas, for whatever reason, only a skeleton remains to proclaim the glory that would have been.

The mausoleum, however, was finished and was spectacular. A white marble structure with a portico all around, entrances from each end and beautifully decorated. Uniformed guards in flowing white Arab dress and carrying spears stood on each side of the entrances. The white marble walls were covered in carvings in Arabic. Inside, There were more carvings and magnificent tile work and lots of gold-leaf. The interior at the level of the public entrance was actually a balcony which encircled the coffins of the kings which were one floor below. You were able to walk around, admire the craftsmanship and look down on the coffins which were side by side on elevated platforms. I think Mohamed VI was supposed to have his own mausoleum but they decided it was more economical to place him beside his father. .

Outside the mausoleum, women tried to get us to let them paint henna on our hands. We declined. For lunch, we went to Paul’s, a French restaurant chain. Chain or not, the food was wonderful. The French know how to cook. Back to the room for a siesta. The temperature in Morocco was 106 degrees and drained us of energy. We just couldn’t keep going all day and had to get inside. In the late afternoon, we tried to use the internet at the hotel. We struggled because the keyboard is different and we had to figure out how to make certain symbols, like @, and to remember that the letters were in different places.

Jen and Kristian came for drinks at the hotel and then we had dinner at La Mamma, a pizza restaurant, where we shared pizza and spaghetti. It was our last night in Rabat and our last night with Jen and Kristian. They were leaving the next day to go to France where Jen’s parents live, and to start looking for teaching jobs. They hope to be in Lyon. It was great to see them and I hope we will meet again soon.

Sunday, June 27, Rabat, Morocco

Up at 6AM to catch the 7:45 train to Marrakesh. We had coffee at La Gare (that’s “station” in French). We had to go back to Casablanca first so we knew how to change trains. The countryside on this part of the trip was mostly brown and dry. We saw lots of unfinished and unoccupied buildings, entire housing projects that seemed to be abandoned in mid-construction. From Casablanca, we turned inland. The land was greener, more farmland, though not lush by any means. We saw crops, though I wasn’t sure what they were. Harvested hay was stacked in the shape of small houses with slanted or curved roofs. I couldn’t tell if they were solid and only stacked using that design or if they were hollow inside and used to house animals or to provide protection from the sun in the heat of the day. They was plenty of empty space and the farming techniques were primitive. We saw donkeys pulling carts piled with hay.

We arrived in Marrakesh in a very modern station, complete with McDonald’s and KFC. It was modern, big, and very crowded. My first thought was to get out of the station. For some reason I seemed to have just panicked and was anxious to leave the station immediately. We went outside to the row of taxis and, showing the name of the hotel to the driver, asked how much it would be. He said “100 Dirham”, which is about $12.50, and I said, “Let’s go.” I didn’t even try to bargain. We hopped in and after about a 6 minute drive on a broad avenue, he turned into the “medina”, the old part of town. The streets became narrow and crowded. Five minutes later after making a couple of turns, he came to an small, open square and stopped the cab. He hopped out and started getting our luggage out of the trunk. I got out and looked around. I couldn’t see the name of out hotel or anything that looked like a hotel. The square was lined with shops. “Where’s our hotel?” I asked. He pointed to a portal between two shops and said, “That way.” By this time, another man had come up and was asking where we wanted to go. I tried to ignore him as I assumed he was in cohoots with the driver and would want money for walking us twenty yards to the hotel. I kept trying to ignore him and he kept persisting. He had the name of the hotel from the driver and kept saying “This way. I’ll show you.” I finally gave in and Colleen and I followed this man through a passageway that got narrower and more twisted with every turn. I could touch the walls on each side. He stopped and pointed upward to a small sign above a very plain doorway. It was our hotel. He rang the bell for us. I gave him some money and he left. Actually, it was a good thing that he was there. We would never have found the place without him. Later, after I got a little bit familiar with the area, I realized that the taxi driver could have dropped us off in another square which was only a short distance from the hotel and a would have been much easier to find. I’m sure he had a deal with our “guide” and they somehow shared the money. Oh well, they have to make money off the tourists.

Our “hotel” was actually a “riad”, a bed and breakfast Moroccan style. Usually a home converted to several bedrooms to accommodate tourists. Ours was very nice inside, not luxurious, but nice. Three stories high with a central atrium open to the sky above a small swimming pool (maybe 12 by 8). Meals were served on the rooftop terrace overlooking the other buildings in the area. Our landlord was a Frenchman named Olive (that’s pronounced Oh-Leave). He was very pleasant and after we got settled in, showed us how to get to the main square, which was in the middle of the “old town” and the main tourist attraction. It was midday when we entered the huge square and there was not much activity. It was too hot for most tourists, including us. 108 degrees is a bit wilting. We made a quick tour of the square, found a mini-mart for supplies for the room and headed back to our riad for a dip in the pool and a siesta. By mini-mart, I mean an open air “grocery” with a good selections of fruits and vegetables, bread and cheese, and some things I didn’t recognize.

In the late afternoon, when it had cooled off a bit, still probably at or close to 100, we went back to the square, which was now teeming with activity. It was crowded and still hot but all the locals had claimed their spots in the square and were hawking their wares. Music filled the air furnished by small bands trying to attract your attention to their spot. Under umbrellas, the tradesmen presented their wares. Women tried to paint your hands with henna. Men had monkeys on leashes and charged to have your picture made with a monkey on your shoulder. And, of course, the snake charmers. Colleen doesn’t like snakes, doesn’t like to see them and certainly doesn’t like to be close, so she kept her distance. I kept my distance as well because I didn’t want to be harassed by the men trying to get you to move closer and somehow make money from your visit. However, I never figured out how they made money or saw any money change hands. There were several groups of snake charmers scattered throughout the square. They all had black cobras and vipers. I’m not sure what the vipers were but they had triangular heads and looked poisonous. But the vipers only lay there coiled up and the handlers generally left them alone. The cobras were the main attraction. The charmers played their flutes and the snakes rose out of their baskets. If the snakes didn’t expand their necks, the charmers would tap them on the head to make them do so. They seemed to have no fear of the snakes. Any that tried to escape were simply picked up and placed back in the center. I, also, never saw one of the snakes try to strike anyone. Maybe their mouths were taped shut. Maybe they were drugged. They didn’t appear to be dangerous at all but they were interesting to watch from a distance.

For dinner we had kabobs in the market. We found an internet cafe and struggled to use the keyboard. Then back to the room to cool off and rest.

Tuesday, June 28, Marrakesh, Morocco

Had breakfast on the roof. Coffee and bread and fruit. Not too hot yet and very pleasant to sit in the sun and enjoy the day. We could only spend so much time in the sun during the day so we decided to go to the nearby craft center. It was only a few blocks away and inside. We wanted to stay out of the midday sun. The craft center (Complexe Artisanal) was very quiet and peaceful. We wandered in and out of the shops and no one hassled us, no one tried to make us buy anything. They simply let us look at our own pace and answered any questions we had. It was very pleasant.

The quality of the products seemed to be somewhat better than the same items we saw in the open markets. Colleen bought some pottery items and I bought some bowls. Everything we bought had to be small as we were limited as to what we could get in our bags and carry on the plane. I saw some wooden boxes but none of the quality I had seen in Spain. SOOOO, the next time I go to Spain, I will buy a wooden box. Lesson learned. The Complexe Artisanal is a very interesting building. The shops are all on one floor but the central area is slightly sunken with shops surrounding. Very clean and neat. I was particularly fascinated by the mosaics which covered most of the walls. They were mostly just intricate patterns of colors but the tile did not appear to be machine tooled. Every tile was not perfectly shaped but rather they seemed to be broken fragments that were pieced together by hand, one by one, to form this beautiful design. I imagined a workman trying to find the right shape and size of tile in a pile of loose tiles. All the mosaics were works of art. We had a cold drink and a snack before heading back to the riad.

On the way back, I asked a taxi driver how much it would cost to go to the train station. He said 50 Dirham. Once again I had been taken by a taxi driver. But, at least, I had some idea of what I should pay for the trip to the station the next day. At the hotel, I went to the pool to cool off and get some sun. We had lunch in the room.

In the late afternoon, we went to the square. Things were much the same, except, today there were several young men on motorcycles who were weaving in and out of the throng, moving much too fast but able to avoid any mishaps. I wanted to get a little closer to the snake charmers. Colleen didn’t. One young man came over and asked in perfect English, if I wanted to move closer. I said “no” and then noticed that he was carrying a snake in his hands. It wasn’t a viper and wasn’t a cobra. He asked if I wanted to touch it and again I said “no”. He asked where I was from and then proceeded to tell me that his brother was working at Disney World in Orlando and that he had been to Florida and hoped to live there someday. Nice fellow, I hope he makes it. There was a man in the market who had a table with several sets of dentures displayed. I can only assume that he want to sell them, though I’m not sure how that would work. I didn’t see anyone trying them on. Would you simply try each set in your mouth until you found one that fit? Not a pretty picture.

We used the internet again struggling with the different keyboard. On the way back, we stopped to watch two donkey drawn carts trying to get by each other in the narrow passageway. Neither wanted to back up. It took several minutes and waving arms and shouts but they finally managed.

Wednesday, June 29, Marrakesh, Morocco

We had to go back to Casablanca today in order to catch an early morning flight the next day back to Prague. Another leisurely breakfast and then to the station. We found our way out of the Medina to a major thoroughfare. We found a cab and I asked how much to the station. “30 dirham.” We got in. I pointed to the meter and he turned it on. We got to the station in a few minutes and the meter read 8 dirham. Screwed again. The original driver at the station must have thought me a complete fool.

It was a three hour ride to Casablanca in a very hot compartment with three other people, a young Moroccan girl in western dress who spoke excellent English, A Saudi Arabian man who spoke a little English, and another man who didn’t speak at all. The girl was very friendly and talkative and translated for us to the Saudi. When the Saudi found out I was American, he pointed to himself and said “Osama bin Laden.” I don’t think he was being offensive or combative, just pointing out the Osama had been born in his country. I pointed to myself and said, “Barrack Obama.” Conversation flowed between the four of us. The silent man said nothing. Later, the Saudi asked me what I thought of Saudi Arabia. I told him that I would like to go there, that there are good and bad people in every country, but mostly good. He said, “That’s a very diplomatic answer.” I explained that yes, it was a diplomatic answer, but it was also what I believed. I told him that I had taught in several countries and had had students from all over the world, including Saudi and Iran. I liked them and they liked me. We had no problems, however, they did tell me repeatedly that they didn’t like my government. I think people from all nations can get along. It’s governments that get in the way.

I asked the girl about the unfinished buildings and she explained that there was a boom era that ended when the economic crisis hit. There’s no telling when the buildings will be completed. We saw small farming villages, wells for water, adobe hovels, and hovels with a TV disc on the roof.

We spent our last night in Morocco in the Ibis motel next to the train station. Colleen was not feeling well and stayed in the room while I went out to get something to eat at a market. Casablanca is not a very nice city, as I had been told. I didn’t wander far but there was nothing interesting to see or any restaurant in which I wanted to eat. There is a “Rick’s Cafe Americain” in Casablanca but I didn’t bother to try to find it. I do regret that I didn’t go to the mosque in Casablanca. It’s the only one in Morocco an “infidel” can enter.

Thursday, June 30, Casablanca, Morocco

We got up at 5AM in order to catch the train to the airport. We had a layover of six hours in Paris and got to our apartment at 11PM. It was a travel day and nothing interesting happened. The trip was a success, as a whole, but I think I scheduled too many travel days. It would have been better if we could have stayed longer in each place.

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