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Published: April 8th 2007
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The Alhambra
This is a picture taken from the Alhambra looking back to the Albacene, the neighborhood in which we stayed. Tarifa to Tangiers
The Conley Family We are sitting on the ferry boat to Tangiers, Morocco, waiting to leave from Tarifa, Spain. We hope to get to Fez, because Tangiers is supposed to be like Tijuana times 10. We were not able to secure a guide in Spain, however, and the information we have is that the hotels in Fez are all booked, so we may be back in Tarifa (the Hawaii of Spain) this evening.
Friday night we had a fabulous time with Dave Puente and his wife Maria; we met them and their two young daughters, Elena and Carmen, for drinks near Plaza Nueva, and then watched one of the processions coming out off the Iglesia San Geronimo. After the procession, they invited us back to their apartment for Tapas. The boys were able to check their email, Keenan played with Elena, a very formidable 3-year old, and we enjoyed delicious tapas and good company. Dave and Maria both have their PhDs in comparative literature; Maria teaches theatre studies at the University of Granada, one of the oldest and best universities in Spain, and Dave teaches and administers a study abroad program for American students coming to Granada. Dave grew up in South Minneapolis and they still get back periodically. Hopefully we’ll be able to return the hospitality.
Yesterday we got up at the wonderful bed and breakfast where we had been staying and went up to the Alhambra, the beautiful palaces, fort and gardens that were built by the Arabs in about 1200. (There is a picture of Angie and me in front of the Alhambra earlier on the blog). We had to buy our tickets through a guide agency because there weren’t any available three months ago when Angie tried to make reservations. The guide was a very nice woman named Maria but the pace was a bit slow for the kids; they were quickly bored. And the weather, which has started out sunny and promising earlier in the day, had turned cloudy and cold by noon. Unfortunately, and probably not surprisingly, the kids did not have the same ecstatic reaction to the Alhambra as Angie and I had upon seeing it for the first time last October, but hopefully they absorbed something out of it. For me, its just incredible to think that what is now Spain was a Moslem country for some 700 years, longer than its been a Christian country. And the architecture and layout of the palaces and gardens is stunning even to an architectural ignoramus like me.
After seeing the Alhambra and a good pizza lunch at Pizza Pasta (highly recommended) we packed up and headed out. (That, of course, involved dragging our heavy suitcases up the Albicene hill to the car, and then me spending 45 minutes trying to find a route back to where Angie and the kids where waiting with the bags. But that is another story!) We then drove about 3 hours to the Southwestern coast, only to discover on the way that the Agency that had promised Angie that it would have guides going to Morocco on Sunday actually would not have guides going to Morocco on Sunday, that there were no other guides available, and that there were no hotel rooms available in the entire city of Tarifa either. Suffice to say that spirits were at a low point on Holy Saturday. After a mediocre dinner, we decided to continue driving west along the coast towards Cadiz because on of the hotels Angie had checked with had suggested that there might be some Inns along the road with openings. As we pulled out of central Tarifa we all said a prayer that we would find a place; Ryan’s prayer was the most vocal and fervent. Less than two minutes later Angie spotted a hostel with a “vacancy” sign in the window. Talk about miracles. We paid way too much for a nosy, bare room with one single bed and two bunk beds, and the bathroom had water on the floor from a leak above, but we were thrilled not to be driving or sleeping in the car.
Which pretty much brings us up to date. Having not learned any lessons about the need for plans and reservations, we are now in the middle of the straits of Gibraltar (we also saw the Prudential Rock yesterday; imagine it being all the way over here) without any reservations or even an idea about how we might get from Tangiers to Fez. Oh, and they don’t speak English or Spanish in Morocco; you need Arabic. Or maybe French. But, as Angie said this morning as she worked so hard to overcome my resistance, she’s been dreaming about this leg since the very beginning; so hopefully God or Allah will provide and we’ll find a place to sleep tonight. Stay tuned. . .
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