Costa del Sol, parte Dos

This was the day I was warned about. Delta Day.

Coworkers were convinced that this was the most dangerous part of the trip, that they had barely survived. "Whatever you do, don't go on the path to the right. It looks like you'll get to the top quicker, but it is so steep you'll struggle not to fall down the mountain, especially on the way down."

This day, the course instructors hung back, and told us to go ahead and inspect this:

 

(Not the grocery cart, the thing behind it).

My team (there were 4 in total) headed to the left of the smaller hill in front. There, we found what looked like two routes, the right one being steeper but much more convenient looking. So of course, we went up to the right. The whole time I'm wondering to myself, is this the route they were talking about? Is this it? As I scrambled up a couple tight ledges, my mind raced back between fear that this was our path to destruction, and smug disbelief at my colleagues' wimpiness.

To put it succinctly, we made it up to the top of the lower side before we received a call to come back down. A storm was coming! The clouds sure looked that way. An hour later, we were here:

Nice weather, eh?

Fast forward a day. A stop at a coastal cliff tower. I forgot how old these are, but they are pretty old.

 

 The climax of the trip as not the dreaded Delta Day, but actually the Carbonate Day. We climbed a mountain made of limestone by the coast (El Arrecife de Mesa Roldán). Our instructors had installed a series of ropes to hold on for life as we looked down a 60 degree slope into the sea.

A break halfway up. Our instructor, Kick, takes a pause as he decides how to word his next quip.

Onto the next location. I lag behind to take pictures...

This one was tricky. Aeolian deposits made from carbonate grains. If you are a geologist, you understand.

The view from my hotel room my final morning there. Yes, awesome.

This excursion in Almería went by so quick, and it was packed with a lot of cool places, good food, and time well-spent with many people I won't see again. It was time to set off alone again, this time to a city full of hippies that live in caves and Arab markets. 

Costa del Sol, pt. 1

I packed up my bags in Madrid and headed for Almería, from which we would take a couple hour ride to the sleepy town of Carboneras. This lonely corner of Spain, hidden from the consciousness of the experienced European traveler, is just plain out of the way. However, this area is a geologist's dream. One can walk in a canyon with deep marine deposits towering around him, then take a short drive and find beach deposits the next valley over. This is why I came here. To look at rocks.

To you this may not sound exciting. I took hundred of photos of rocks, as well as the diagrams our instructor drew. As much as I want to show these off, I will spare you.

After a couple days of only simple tapas, a plate with plenty of deliciously marinated pork was refreshing and one of the most memorable dishes I had.

 

We were supposed to do a sketch of these hills. We did lots of sketches actually.

 

Our second day, the walking-through-the-desert day, began with a climb to the top of a hill surrounded by valleys. At the top of this hill were the ruins of a castle originally built in the 11th century. Looking down on the town of Tabernas, where we later stopped for a nice cup of coffee.

The walking-through-the-desert part of the second day begins. We get dropped at one canyon, and walk its length, through a damp tunnel, across a wide valley, past the movie studios (yes, a full on Old West town), and the ruins of the church from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, to another canyon.

Oh yea, there was more rambla (dry riverbed) we walked through. Really cool layering.

 

Con los Madrileños

Whew, I just went a couple months without realizing I had a blog. Yes there is more. I am continuing my series of photos from my most recent faraway excursion in Spain. This was way back in May, so I wouldn't mind having another one already.

My first stop was Madrid, convenient for the fact that that is where my flight landed. Not convenient because of the airport, which is officially my least favorite of all time. I have never had to hike so far as I did in that monstrosity. I really like Madrid, however. For someone traveling alone, it is fun to walk around and explore on your own, pick up tapas along the way. If you want to find friends, the hostels are very active, planning tours, group activities, and bar crawls every day.

Old World Style - seen along my introductory tour

The second day of my stay in Madrid was May 2 - The Day of Madrid. As I gathered from speaking to locals, it celebrates the day Madrid gained independence... from Spain? or France? Something like that. My mission that morning was to pick up a camera battery charger (which I forgot to pack) from FNAC, and on my way there found this big celebration. No big deal, business as usual...

A few spectators, who have been waiting for a couple hours for something to happen

After a while of waiting, triumphant music played and several men in uniform marched up. These are bomberos.

My main memory of this day is watching this guy in green at his post all morning

The mayor of Madrid inspects the troops

My camera was off when I first saw them overhead

Some dudes marching

After spending the early afternoon in Puerta del Sol and finding an (overpriced) battery charger, I wandered the eastern part of the old city. My favorite was the Reina Sofia, though Retiro Park was nice as well. Would have been nicer with a cold ice cream.

Looking out from the Reina Sofia. Guess who designed this statue.

Hiked up this wide and long esplanade to Retiro Park.

Outside Reina Sofia. People looking European.

The first night in Madrid, I went on a pub crawl. By pub, they really meant club (which makes sense in retrospect). It ended up being about 20 guys and 2 girls. The experience felt lacking after a bit, so I left with one girl who wanted to leave early, and we went to a cafebar where she had befriended the waitstaff before. As I knew more Spanish than her, I helped translate for them and they fell in love with me as well. I came back the next night, unfortunately alone this time. They teased me to bring someone next time, but they were still supercool and insisted I take a free coffee. Silly me, I heard wrong, they said coffee liqueur.

Farewell Madrid, time to check out some Spanish rocks tomorrow

Un Día a la Plaza de Toros

On May 1, with a small duffel bag and an even smaller backpack, I set off to Spain in business class, only to spend my first nights on a top bunk in an 8-person dorm at the Way Hostel Madrid. I had done my research, and already knew what I would be doing that first night - seeing a bullfight. It was never a life goal really, but my excitement grew at the prospect of seeing such a unique spectacle. Once a week, every Sunday at the Ventas Plaza de Toros, was it, so I had just this one chance.

After a day of touring the city, I found a couple girls from the hostel to join me for the bloody event. As I was the group's lone Spanish-speaker (scoff), I articulately purchased the cheapest seats, and we headed through the inviting entrance.

Our frugality took us high.. and higher, onto the second to last row, where we struggled to share space with the feet of those on the last row. The roof seemed within the reach. And the ring... wow. A beautiful structure all around. It began with a triumphant tone from the start. A parade of the participants, the toreros, and upbeat music played from the band.

The family in front of us was local, and in half English/half Spanish, the father explained to us what we were seeing. "Tercios! Este es el primer tercio - capote!" Capote refers to the magenta cape of the toreros. They tease the bull around the ring. They also bring out a picador, a guy on top of a horse. When the bull attacks the horse - "pica! pica!" The blood begins to flow.

The second act is that of the banderilleros. I didn't get a good picture of them, so you should go watch a bullfight yourself the next time you travel to see what it's all about. The third and final act, el tercio de muerte, pits the matador and his "muleta," the red cape, against the weakened and injured bull. This tercio above all displays the artistic grace of the torero, not to mention courage and a healthy dose of showboating.

The bull obviously gave this matador a little trouble before it was all over.

For the uninitiated, this spectacle is quite shocking. Seemingly harmless at first, seeing a bull killed, dragged away to upbeat fanfare, and the next victim brought in, makes you feel like you're a peasant in the stands at a Roman ampitheatre. One of my friends had to leave halfway through the first bull's show. Not for the faint of heart.

Familiar Territory

Before my most recent trip, I bought a new camera, a Fujifilm FinePix F550 EXR. It is a 16 MB, 15x Zoom, compact dSLR. The next day, I went to Rice Village to meet my band for drinks at the Gingerman. Unfortunately, I found out my group was bailing on our plans after I arrived, and then my phone died. Oddly, Kristen "Free Glass Whore" Hild was not even their this Wednesday. My camera was with me, the sun was bright and would be out for a little longer, so I decided it was a perfect opportunity to test out the new camera before heading to Spain that weekend (hint: guess where my next photos will be from?). I headed toward Rice, stalked some bikers, and wandered around the stadium. All while still in my work clothes, and I was quite happy when I was done walking in dress shoes.

And then a walk over to the ticket office. A little creepy, but it sure has character...

A Preface

I have had some great opportunities to travel abroad in the past few years. For my internship in Macau, China in 2008, I bought my first camera. Though I rarely have the desire to take photos at home, I go nuts on trips. I attribute this trait to my self-consciousness about my incredibly poor memory, and my desire not to forget the interesting things I see. This hit home recently when, reminiscing with Broadway and Barton, I did not remember half the stories they brought up about our trip to the UK in 2007. I befriended a couple Germans at the hostel? Broadway in a fit of rage cursed us all out one by one (well, ending with 'Dice, you're cool') and stormed out of the room? What's the point of spending all that money on a trip if I can't even remember what happened? If I won't remember the stories on my own, I better document the trip somehow.

I have a Picasa page where I dump a lot of photos, and I can post on Facebook as well. But I am starting this photo blog so I can just hit on some highlights in a way that can satisfy a low attention span but still tell an interesting story (maybe).