Monday, Day
2
On day two
in Cadiz I went on a mid-morning run through the city—I headed right along the
city walls with the ocean as a backdrop;
after a mile or so I decided to pop in to the old city proper to run
along its streets and alleys. I love
these runs; they always give me good
perspectives and good introspectives. It
feels good to move off of the ship and stretch my legs a bit without the ground
moving beneath me, and running in venues that I have never before seen is
exhilarating. I also have to keep my
wits about me, as traffic laws and sidewalk availability varies from country to
country and city to city. Toss in
motorbikes, bicyclists, and dogs + their aftermath—it all keeps me on my toes
and keeps me very present in the here and now.
I like that all of my senses are engaged (well, maybe not taste right
then), and I feel very fully alive. That
being said, I did get undeniably lost in Cadiz for a good while—kept me running
a little further than I would have otherwise, but still so many sights to take
in. I finally found my way because of
Meson La Cuesta—it was at the end of the little street I had been running on
(approaching from the other side), and from there I made it back to the ship
for a quick shower and then down to meet Susanah and Brian. Brian had a bit of work to do so we all hung
out at a café and Susanah and I got to know one another a little bit more. She was gracious enough to let me practice my
Spanish and we moved in and out of two languages during our conversation about
life and love and living to the fullest.
Once Brian was all set we headed out of Cadiz to do some
sight-seeing. We headed over to Arco de
La Frontera, one of the Blancos Pueblos.
Arcos de La Frontera is a medieval village propped high on an
outcropping in the middle of fertile farmland.
It was beautiful and picturesque with narrow twisting streets that would
occasionally open up onto a spectacular vista like a gift. One of the highlights of the day (once we
were through) was looking for parking just a little bit further in to town,
which resulted in driving entirely through the old town in Brian’s SUV. I have some good video of this—I’m truly not
sure how we made it, but the locals waved us on through as though this was
normal—which it was, just not for me. I
do have some good video of the ride that I will post once I get access to
bigger bandwidth (probably stateside).
We drove back around and parked lower/away from the town center. We went to the town cathedral and then over
to a hotel, a parador —which essentially is a luxury hotel that almost like a
heritage site but also still a business establishment, with great views of the
surrounding countryside. Some water,
some wine, some olives, some sunset, and then off to find a place to eat on
foot. Evening was watching the rest of
the sunset out on a patio with tortillas de patatas, manchego, stuffed red
peppers, salad, salmorejo (cold tomato soup with egg, parsley, and jamon on
top). We took a walk through the streets
back down to our car during the “magic hour”, that time of day when the sky is
an ultramarine/cornflower blue and the lights all begin to twinkle, to find
that we had an almost-parking ticket—essentially, if we paid what we owed (an
extra hour), we could avoid the fine. It
was a cool system.
We begin
this day with the re-connecting to Kate and Katie, who had spent the previous
day in Gibraltar (there may have been some late-night port in someone’s cabin
the night/early morning before). We all
piled in to Brian and Susanah’s car and headed in to Sevilla to commence another
day of great company, great food, and great sights. We started by heading to a local tapas bar
for some of the best tapas I’ve ever had (insert café, beer, and tinto
too)—berenjena frita con miel—extremely thinly sliced, lightly breaded and
fried eggplant with honey drizzled on top.
Seriously—if you ever see berenjena frita con miel, order two. Bring some back for me. Thanks.
At this bar they kept a running tab for each table with grease-paint
pens on the bar—kind of cool. Then over
to walk around the Sevilla Cathedral and pop in to a 5 star hotel to have a
drink on their rooftop terrace across from the Cathedral. It was a nice way to spend the afternoon with
Susanah and Brian before they headed back for their long drive to Madrid. Kate, Katie and I took a cab to our little
hotel and checked in to rest up a bit before exploring more. Since I was the person who had the coffee
earlier, I (who am usually the queen of napping), got up to explore the local
neighborhood a bit. I tried to buy some
cool door handles from a hardware store, but that didn’t happen. The proprietors sort of disappeared. After a mini-siesta, we headed back out to
check out Sevilla and found ourselves back by the cathedral. One of the beautiful things about traveling
with adventurous, flexible people is that we can find lots of amazing things to
do…and also, sometimes, since we are so adventurous and flexible, it’s a bit
like water-tubing down a stream—there’s only a general direction without a
definitive final destination in mind.
That was Sevilla, and Kate, using the newly acquired “hey, let’s go to
the top of a hotel for a drink” technique, looked up and saw a rooftop
terrace. 5 minutes later we were on the
roof of Hotel Eme, directly across from the cathedral, for sunset/moonrise/sangria. All of it was breathtaking—deep open
conversations about intentions for life, the light of the sunset and moonrise
doing a dance across the façade of the cathedral, and a fresh breeze cooling everything
down for the evening. After several
hours that felt timeless and suspended, we were off to a late dinner, and not
quite wanting the evening to be over after that we popped in to a local bar for
a late night aperitif (or two—Francesco--the gay bartender who was heading to
San Francisco the next day—and I hit it off). and The locals were drinking “dulce vino” which I
tried and proclaimed “la leche”, which kind of kicked off the group impromptu
sing-alongs with the bar patrons (Kate does a fantastic rendition of “I Will
Survive”. I may or may not have video of
this, but I do not have the broadcast rights.)
We almost got home without taking a cab, but decided that that was the
wisest thing to do as we weren’t quite sure exactly where we were (although, we
had been headed in the right direction).
Wednesday,
Day 4
A bit
drizzly on and off, today started with chocolate e churros, and entailed some
shopping in Sevilla—the Sevilla H&M is my new favorite store. Ko, if you are reading this, I got a jacket
you will approve of. I got some watermelon
juice and people watched, we spiraled into several stores, cafes, and tapas
places, as our time with Katie wound to an end (she was heading to Paris to
visit with friends before heading back to Qatar, where she lives & works).
Kate and I caught a 7pm bus back to Cadiz, and I slept a solid 10 hours to
awaken to a very rainy thundery day in Cadiz.
Thursday,
Day 5
Rainy Day in
Cadiz—after several torrential downpours, I went out with Mary Andres, one of
my colleagues (yay colleagues from California—I get to visit with them easily
when we get back!). We walked through
some parks, out onto some of the walls of the castle where Mary showed me a
photography exhibit on ships she had found the previous day, and then we went
to find a short-cut to El Quini to be sure to confirm for the evening’s
flamenco festivities. We did finally find El Quini, which was closed, it being
siesta time. We took a short-cut back
from El Quini to the ship, and I decided at that point it was best not to take
short-cuts to and from El Quini—there was a very simple long way around that
avoided the phenomenon of being lost in Cadiz yet again (for those of you who
know me, you know I have a pretty good sense of direction, and yet I never did
full on grasp the intricacies of Cadiz).
Back at the ship I took a nap and had dinner and waited with
anticipation for 8:20 when I hoped that at least viente people would show up
for the flamenco show, and where I also hoped that there would indeed be a
flamenco show.
Word had
spread quickly, and at the appointed hour, we had about 40 people waiting in
Tymitz square for the flamenco show. Now
that I had at least 20 people, I was a little nervous about what I was leading
everyone in to—it was definitely a leap of faith. We walked the 15-20 minutes over to El Quini,
losing a couple of folks to other adventures, and showed up at the bar, where they
had set up long tables for everyone.
They were definitely a bit surprised at the number of us that showed up,
but graciously found extra chairs and started bringing out some drinks and
appetizers. We found out that they’re
lead guitarist was sick, and the singers looked a bit nervous. I never did get any of the singer’s names,
but there was the tall muscular singer (and back-up guitar player), the older
wiry gentleman, and then two younger men—probably in their very early 20’s or
late teens. The first song got off to a
shaky start as they found their pace and settled in; there was definitely an internal uh-oh moment
as I wondered where this was going to go, but after the first song, which
seemed sort of like their traditional song they always play but minus their
regular guitar-player, they launched into material that they were more
comfortable with and it took off from there.
Sweet, beautiful, genuine, a little rough around the edges (with one of
the younger guys occasionally texting), their songs unfolded as their stories
unfolded. It was the wiry older
gentleman’s birthday…one of the younger men on stage (the non-texter) was his
son, who was also a soulful singer. In
my mind he represented the up and coming form of flamenco, yet was still a
bridge to the historical flamenco—I felt like we were seeing the manifestation
of the passing down of a tradition and the layering of something new upon
it. Out in the wings was the wife of the
wiry birthday singer, who got teary eyed watching her son and husband sing
together; in addition, there was the girlfriend
of the son, who came on stage to sing a beautiful song with him as well. Around us were the sweet family staff, passing
out tinto veranos and tapas and beer, and at one point, the mother and daughter
got on stage to do some dancing of their own—not in any fancy dresses, just in
their simple every day clothes with their simple bartending aprons on. That was my favorite part, the authenticity
of being let into a community sharing and story. After that it was inevitable at some point
that I would get pulled onto stage to dance, which was sweet and embracing and
I got to do some of my own fancy flamenco moves (there’s one I’ve always
admired, when the dancers emphatically tap their chests and gracefully through
their hands up in the air as if to say “yes, I am dancing this for you, but I
am also dancing this for me, and you are lucky to be witness to all of this
hotness”)—I’m not sure I entirely pulled it off, but I did get to bust out that
move. The night ended with many people
on stage dancing and laughing and hugging and exchanging of facebook
information. Grateful for connection
with one another, we were released back into the cool Cadiz night to head back
to the ship.
Friday, Day
6
The last day
in port was a typical one—one last yummy meal, one last run to the local
supermarket, one last run to (insert cool place here), one last (insert another
yummy drink or dessert here), one last attempt to find an internet café and
email or at least get started on a blog, and only succeed at about two or three
of those things. The only other thing I
got to make space for was a walk along the beach to look for seaglass; specifically, Cadiz seaglass (pretty much
wherever I am takes on that description—it’s not just any seaglass, it’s CADIZ
seaglass. It’s not just any rain, it’s
raining in AFRICA). I found a lot of sea
glass up and down the beach, although perhaps going to the supermarket and
walking along the beach with all of the groceries in my backpack was not the
most strategic move, it was a good space for some introspection.
I’m writing
this in Glazer lounge on day one of our crossing from South Africa to
Argentina, and the sun is setting almost directly in front of us as we head due
west across the Atlantic and one of the crew has just walked in singing Bob
Dylan’s “Blowing in the Wind”—“the answer my friend, is blowing in the wind, the
answer is blowing in the wind”. We are literally
beginning to head in the direction of home and the conversations have started
to turn a bit more inward, and for me there is a heightened poignancy, sense of
beauty, and sense of impermanence. I still
have yet to write of the Canary Islands, but more importantly, Ghana, and South
Africa, which were transformational for me in ways that I am not fully aware of
yet. I am committed to catching up on my
written thoughts in the next week, and as I sail closer to home, I would love
to hear from folks about how your lives are going and where you are headed
yourselves. Much love—Lisa
