Ed's Gone South

Spain -- Just a little Spin around the Peninsula...

Current Location: Santo Domingo, Domincan Republic
Current Weather: Mid-Eighties and Showers (which is why I'm inside updating the site)

Although my postings to the site have been less and less frequent since getting a job in Honduras in 2005, and now going back to school in 2006, the wanderlust never ceases. In fact, between Teguc and Cambridge I managed to squeeze in "Brazilian Surf Safari and Carnaval Extravaganza - Part III," "The Conquest of Spain," "Campaign Crash Course in Bolivia," and now I'm on a short surf trip to the DR. You'll have to take my word on the Brazil trip, because as I was getting on a plane, the lens literally fell out of my old trusty digital Olympus, as I reported in the last entry.

Needless to say, Brazil did not disappoint.

Then, armed with a new tiny Canon in March, I set off for Spain on a Quixotic adventure chasing love and windmills on a two wheeled steed across the Iberian Pensinsula. For you geography buffs, that's the name of the landform Spain and Portugal share! The photos and stories that follow came from my all too short eight weeks in the Old World...

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Madrid, Spain -- Upon arriving in Madrid, I succumbed very quickly to the Spanish lifestyle: awake at noon, cafe and small pastries for "breakfast," serrano ham and manchego cheese on a baguette for "lunch" at 4, tapas and velvety smooth draft beer (cañas) for "dinner" at 10, roam the dimly lit alleys and plazas until 4 am, repeat... With my dear companion from Honduras, Rosibel, leading the charge who was I to resist? But alas, when the luster of complete aimlessness wore off after a few weeks, I set my sights on organizing a "Round the Peninsula" motorcycle trip.

I decided first to buy a bike... I was thinking I'd be spening more time in Europe (love had grabbed hold on my weak male mind, and I was comtemplating getting a job at an Irish pub for the rest of my days). After weeks of arm-wrestling with the Spanish bureacratic system to get a non-resident ID in order to actually buy and insure the bike, there was then the issue of getting a European driver's license. That proved to be the death knell of that idea, so I looked into renting a bike instead. It turned out to be a much better option: cheaper, faster, and much much easier.

So, armed with a fancy Honda Deauville 650 and a new set of leathers (can't ride naked!), Rosi and I set out from Madrid in mid-April, just in time for Holy Week and warmer spring weather. Our itinerary was per my normal level of planning: Go south, then west, then north, then east, then south again. And believe it or not it all worked out. Rosi was accustomed to traveling with a little more planning and a LOT more funds, but she quickly got used to traveling a la "EdsGoneSouth."

Starting Off...

Although often mistaken for a dangerous Ninja during our trip, Rosi actually only tried to kill ME a few times with her kung-fu moves. It was actually quite chilly early spring weather when we set out so the ninja hood was quite called for! We outfitted her with gear from some friends of hers that were nice enough to loan us everything she needed (Muchas Gracias Arazeli!)

Our first stop was Cuenca, a colonial town two hours east of Madrid known for its "hanging houses" and dramatic holy week processions.

No those are not black KKK hoods in the midground, but they are men clad in black pointed hoods, part of the traditional Holy Week garb in Cuenca.

Outside Cuenca we visited the "Ciudad Encantada," a site that reminded me of Tent Rocks just outside of Santa Fe. The erosional rock formations and tall pine trees were a welcome sight after nearly a month in Madrid.

Uh... more rocks near Cuenca.

Sevilla -- Ole!

In Sevilla, what does one do aside from go see a bullfight?

Having read Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises earlier that year, I couldn't help wonder if women actually just up and run off with these guys still. By the looks of Rosi's adoring gaze most of the afternoon, I'd say they do alright...

Fat Boys with Trumpets are always photo-fodder for me...

A familiar face in Seville.

Gone South

Although Tarifa is actually the most southern point in Continental Europe, Cadiz just 100 km down the road is pretty damn close...

The wind was howling in off the ocean, but I snuck out long enough to catch a snap of this beautiful sunset over the roiling Atlantic while Rosi took a nap.
The people of Tarija and Cadiz sometimes go "loco" due to of the near constant gale force winds.

Granada -- Almost Africa

The Alambra is a relic from the near thousand years that Spain was under Islamic rule. Although the cultural influences of Islam are still seen everywhere in Spain, from its people's dark, sultry smiles, to its hypnotic Flamenco music, in no where in Spain is the Moorish Kings' prescence felt as strongly as in the Alambra of Granada.

The Alambra was painstakingly built and rebuilt over centuries, with many of its walls covered in incredibly detailed stone relief such as this.

Architecturally, the Alambra is a playful maze of interior and exterior spaces. To get from one part to another (or even from one room to another), one must traverse beautiful gardens and small shaded courtyards with elaborate pools and fountains. In the version on my hard drive, you can actually see Rosi. I don't know why it's so dark on the site...

Holy Week is a BFD in Spain. The traditional urban centers of the south fill with tourists from other parts of the country to participate in the daily processions, like this one, the procession of the Virgin Mary in Granada.

Life-size depictions of the Passion of Christ are common place throughout the week. What was quite surprising was the overly festive attitude of most of the Spanish Catholics who imbibed incredible amounts of alcohol as they watched Christ carry his cross on by.

More of those pesky KKK guys...

As I said, Holy Week is a serious ordeal, especially for the teenage boys who reenact Christ's final steps up Golgotha, or Calvary Hill, bearing heavy crosses across their backs and chains around their ankles.

Portugal

From Southern Spain, we shit across the border to Portugal to cruise the coast, drink a little Port Wine, and generally have the only week of the whole trip in which I had the language advantage. Rosi nao fala o Portugues. Eu sim...

In and around Lagos, Portugal erosional rock formations jutt into the sea in dramtic splashes of red, yellow, and orange.

We only spent a few nights in Lisbon but got a real taste for the true Portuguese experience: fado music, incline rail cars, beautifully tiled facades, and of course laundry hung out on the street side of the house.

Nuno Leotte and his wife Tatiana from Cascais, Portugal contacted me over the internet a year a some ago as they were planning their own South American motorcycle expedition. Nuno is a world-class dirt bike rider and has his own website about his fully sponsored and very well documented trip retracing Che Guevara's classic journey through South America. After years of preparation and shameless self-promotion (in a good way), they just set off on their journey last month, and although their site is in Portuguese, it's worth checking out.

Just had to give Portugal credit for having some excellent waves... and no surfers that I saw that day.

Just north of the "killer break" we stopped for a snap at the westernmost point of mainland Europe. Nothing really all that interesting about the place, but it's always fun being at the "name-a-direction-most point" of anything. And besides Rosi looked so cute all splayed out on the bike like that.

Oporto, the global capital or Port Wine, is a bustling coastal city where the Rio Duero joins the Atlantic. The "bodegas," or wine cellars, where Portugal's Port producers age the wine in Oak barrels for up to fifty years provide tours and sell bottle of their best vintages for cheap. The classic old boats that have brought the barrels of wine down from the vineyards upstream for centuries still line the riverside.

The barrels are stored in cavernous dank warehouses that are kept a standard temperature and humidity year round. Only the "tawny" wines are kept in the small oak barrels for more than a few years. The best vintages are bottled after a year or two and are aged that way for 10 years at a minimum to bring out the best flavors of the grape.

We enjoyed a lazy Sunday afternoon of the banks of Rio Duero sipping from a bottle of Offley Portwine we had bought right from the bodega. Rosi hunted down some ripe cheese and baguettes and we made a day of it. It was perhaps one of the more delightful afternoons of the entire trip.

The bridge leading from the bodega side of the river back to downtown Oporto is an impressive structure at night.

The Castle of Obidos is a stunning sight glimmering on the horizon as you travel inland from Oporto. I don't remember what I had done, but I do remember telling Rosi how cute she is when she's cross with me.

Barcelona

Unfortunately, we lost our camera with all the photos from the rest of Portugal, northern Spain, and the French Pyrennes, so you'll have to make my word for it. We picked up a new camera in the tax-free shops of Andorra and picked up the snapping again in Barcelona, the raucous cultural capital of the Spanish "Costa Brava."

One of Spain's greatest gifts to the world, the art and architecture of Antoni Gaudi acheived global acclaim while we was alive and has entered into the realm of legend since his pre-mature death (he was run over by a street car at the age of 74). Somewhere between a genius and a madman, Gaudi earned his name for his curving, organic designs, a delight to view, but obviously a pill to construct. He was commisioned to design and oversee the construction of "La Sagrada Familia" in Barcelona, the cathedral that many revere as his masterwork, at the tender age of 31. It has been "under construction" since 1883, and remains so to this day. When we pulled up, I ignorantly said to Rosi, "We drove thousands of miles to see this thing, and, just my luck, it's being renovated!"

The market in Barcelona was a sight to behold. I was amazed by all the colors, scents, and flavors.

The street performers along "La Rambla" are famous for their elaborate costumes and antics.

Rosi's Rear View

No, not those types of rear views... No these are some of the fun photos Rosi took as we were cruising throught the Spanish and Portuguese countryside at sometimes well over 100 mph.

Adios!

Until next time... Adios!