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Published: November 6th 2006
Ed:
I’m exhausted! After surviving all the obstacles imposed on us in France, I thought the day was never going to be over. Matt heroically arrived just after 1pm to rescue us from Toulouse in a green eight seat people mover which would be our transport over the next week.
As we headed towards the Spanish border, everyone’s personality (and peculiarities) began to emerge: Matt was crowned the
cool and collected traveller with his laisser-faire approach (personally I think it was because everyone in the car spoke Spanish around him so they mistook ‘quiet’ for ‘polite’), Dad was
the toddler with his constant need to pull over for toilet breaks every 20kms and demanding to eat and drink every half hour (he is diabetic after all!), Sarah was the
disenchanted teenager unable to satisfy her incessant boredom, Yngrid and Mum became known as the
Sleeping Beauties passing out whenever the engine started running, Adrian became the
exasperated son in law for obvious reasons, and Cristina maintained an air of mystery by her self imposed vow of silence and progressively worked her way through a peach pie she’d bought back in Toulouse. I don’t get a title; I’m the author
(no doubt my fellow travellers will share their views on the comments box below).
Our first stop was Valencia, which we originally thought we’d have plenty of time to get to from Barcelona, but after all the delays in France, we realised we would just make it before the 11pm check-in to our hostel. To complicate matters, we just happened to have 2 football fanatics in our van who demanded we make a stop at 7pm to watch the World Cup final (I’d lost interest after Australia were unceremoniously kicked out by those cheating Italians!).
So after much protest, Dad and Adrian convinced us to stop in Tarragona where they raced into a small bar just after kick off and plonked themselves down to watch the final. The rest of us took the opportunity to grab some dinner and enjoy our first Spanish sunset. But with time against us, and the match running into extra time, we had to drag Dad and Adrian before the final whistle blew (much to Dad’s expressed dissatisfaction!). We eventually arrived into Valencia at around 1am (oh, and Dad and Adrian ended up passing out and missed the penalty shoot out!
The
following morning, after our ‘hearty’ hotel breakfast (read: one piece of toast per person and a dab of butter, and a choice of instant coffee or warm water), we headed into town to explore Valencia. On the way we had to make a quick detour as mum had to get a filling fixed (do all tours endure these problems?). It so happened that we arrived a day after one of the biggest Catholic conventions and we’d just missed the Pope by one day. However, the rest of his followers who had made the pilgrimage to Valencia decided they would stick around so we ended up fighting crowds of holy youths bearing yellow caps and t-shirts proclaiming their love of all things Godly. Matt and I blended in so well…. not!
After strolling around we found ourselves at the top of Miguelete Bell Tower next to the town cathedral for an awesome view of the city. From there we spotted the Ciudad de las Artes y las Ciencias and quickly made our way there. This building is a stunning piece of architecture (so Adrian tells me). It’s a massive dome that emerges out of pools of water (imagine something out
of 2001: A Space Odyssey). It was really quite impressive. The fact that it’s all white didn’t help with the 40’C+ temperatures we were enduring that day! I recommend anyone visiting to take their sunnies!
After much ooh-ing and aah-ing, we (read: I) decided to head to the sea side town of El Palmar which we’d heard was the birth place of Paella. Anyone that knows me will attest to my love of all things relating to seafood and rice, so the mix of the two conjures up images of taste bud heaven. So after finding this cute beach restaurant, there was only one thing we were having - Paella! (Oh, except Sarah… she hates seafood… surely she can’t be an Apon?).
As the next stop was Granada, we decided we’d hit the highway so we could check in at a reasonable time. On the way we made a quick stop in Benidorm on the Costa Blanca, as Matt has family that run an English bar there. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to get a hold of Matt’s cousin Karren and despite wondering up and down the main beach (splattered with sun burnt English bodies) we couldn’t find the
bar so moved on (did I mention we got a parking fine too… you have to wonder how eight people miss a pay parking sign?!).
Now, Granada didn’t seem that far from Valencia on the map, but I guess with all the paella eating and family searching we lost all track of time and didn’t get in until 11pm! It was during check in at hotel Juan Miguel in Andalusia that I remembered why we had left Spain so promptly the first time around five years ago. The Spanish are rude, arrogant and unhelpful! There’d been a mix up with our booking, and they just didn’t seem to care. After much arguing with the concierge, Matt and I had no choice but to share a single bed, and in the process my hate of all Spanish things resumed.
Thankfully, Granada more than made up for it. The next morning we headed straight for Alhambra Palace. Begun in the 9th Century, it was an Arabic fortress turned into a palace, turned into a convent then turned into… you get the idea. Basically anyone that ruled at the time adapted it for their purpose. Whatever it is/was, it’s an amazing
El Palmar
Paella time!collection of courtyards, towers, gardens and water features, all with intricate detailed mosaics and wood carved roofs. We spent a lot of time there, wondering through patios, rooms and fountains. It was definitely a highlight for me and one place I highly recommend if you find yourself in the vicinity.
After a quick bite back in the town, we loaded up the van and headed towards Seville. Ah Seville. I think dad and Adrian have the fondest memories there. It was them two at the front, Dad at the wheel, Adrian with the map. Despite arriving at the city centre at around 5pm, I don’t think we managed to find the hotel until about 8pm. We drove down the narrowest, one way streets from one end of town to the other; unable to make sense of which road led where… it was a nightmare! It seem like there was road works at every street we turned. Everyone wanted to ‘help’ - but that just meant random streets names being yelled out from 6 people in the back seats - and poor Adrian using the tiny Lonely Planet town map to guide him… and dad getting more and more frustrated
Cris, mum and me
...after enjoying a paella feast! by minute. There were tears, yelling, hugs and relief at the end when we finally made it to the hostel (I think it was that evening that Cris finished her pie).
To recompense ourselves, we headed out to watch a Flamenco show not far from the hotel. It’s not the most exciting of dances… lot of stamping and clicking… and the costumes were colourful. Cris summed it up by observing that we’d seen better at home. Spanish still couldn’t redeem themselves!
Next day, Mum and Dad decided they needed a break so the rest of us went exploring around Seville. Unfortunately with a storm breaking - it was a very rushed visit of the Bull fighting ring, the cathedral, a few towers and Barcelona Square. Mum and dad looked very relaxed as they’d opted out and spent the morning eating and shopping!
We had originally planned to head to Cordoba after Seville, but Matt wanted to go to Gibraltar as his mum had told him about some wild monkey colony there. All I wanted to do since I arrived in Spain was lie on a beach so I thought this would be my one and only chance
Alhambra
Exquisite roof work! so between us we convince everyone that it would only be a minor diversion.
So, heading south again, past hundreds of windmill farms, and lots of those black bull billboards (which none of us ever figured out what they meant!), we headed for that tiny little piece of English land on the tip of the Mediterranean.
Upon our arrival at the Spanish-Gibraltar border we were faced with a massive queue to get in (ironic isn’t it?). Unfortunately and despite the new era of pan-European friendship, the Gibraltarians still don’t seem to trust their Spanish neighbours which translates into huge delays for anyone trying to enter (including green people movers filled with seven South Americans and one British passport holding Gringo). To add to the delays, the only road in and out of the territory crosses the airport runway. Which means that the irregular flow of traffic need to stop whenever a plane lands… Smart, aye?
Apart from being occupied by people that are more ‘British’ than the British, Gibraltar is known for two main things: A Rock, which rises 400 metres from the Mediterranean; And a colony of Barbary Monkeys, which conveniently live on top of the Rock,
Alhambra
Courtyards.. allowing visitors to kill two birds with one stone. So with that knowledge in hand, we allowed BA flight 694 from Gatwick to land before crossing the runway and heading up the huge limestone peak in front of us.
It was at this point that Adrian offered to take over driving from Dad and so took the position in the front seat with Cristina, the ever dutiful wife, at his side. As Adrian began the climb it became obvious that this was not going to be a drive for the feint hearted! As we rose, the road up the rock which hugged the cliff face got narrower and began curving more and more violently. From her position in the front seat, Cristina was in the best (or worst position) to see the deterioration in the driving conditions and witness the sheer 200 metre drop into the water below. Eventually her nerves gave out and she instructed Adrian to pull over at a nearby lookout so that she could swap seats (I guess in situations like these, ignorance is bliss)
Unfortunately the carpark where Adrian had pulled over was on a downward slope on the edge of the cliff
Alhambra
...mazes... and there were no barriers. As he pulled to a halt, applied the handbrake and took his foot off the brake, the green people mover armed with the weight of eight paella filled occupants began to roll forward toward the edge of the cliff.
It was at this point that Cristina sitting nervously in her front row seat saw her entire life flash before her eyes: her childhood in Peru, the years squinting at the blackboard in school, the boys, the braces, her emerald green Year 10 formal dress; they all came flooding back in colourful detail. All she could do was bust into terror induced tears and yell out ‘Mummy’. At that moment it was all at an end.
Thankfully, Adrian’s foot found the brake. After a few moments of talking Cristina off the ledge, we returned to the car to continue slowly up the mountain to the monkeys.
What a disappointment they turned out to be! They were ugly, smelly and a few of them somewhat x-rated for my little sister! After one tried to steal Yngrid’s bag with all her worldly possessions, it was definitely time to get off that mountain and head off to
Alhambra
...pools.. Cordoba!
Cordoba town was another beautiful spot. It’s famous for two things - it’s unique looking Mezquita Cathedral, and the hundreds of cute courtyards filled with plants and flower boxes in every window. The first thing that hits you as your enter the city walls is how narrow the streets are, but unlike the dull grey and dirty walls in other Spanish towns, Cordoba’s old buildings are a white and inviting - it has a unique charm that makes you want to spend days and days just sitting in the plaza soaking up the sun while reading Don Quixote de la Mancha. We decided to head straight for Mezquita, which is an impressive mosque with rows and rows of columns with red and white striped arches. And right in the middle of someone’s plonked a cathedral, which surprisingly doesn’t look out of place. Everyone got a self guided tour, but I was too tempted to step back outside as there was this gorgeous fountain lined with leafy orange trees. So I quickly rushed through the Mezquita and then ducked back outside and sat next to the cool water sprout from the fountain while soaking up the sun. Ahhh!
Alhambra
... manicured gardens. Was really a beauiful place! After being dragged away from my fountain, we walked around admiring all the cute little courtyards until we found ourselves outside the city walls and on the river. We couldn’t cross the Puente Romano as it was under repair, but we were able to admire the giant water wheel just as we headed back to the car.
From then on we endured another five hour drive to Spain’s capital Madrid. It was the first evening we finally managed to check in at a reasonable time, and went to a fantastic Spanish restaurant (which funnily enough had a Peruvian as their head chef!) just around the corner from the hotel for Tapas and a few bottles of red wine!
The next day we decided to back track a little through out route and went the fortified medieval town of Toledo, a town founded by the Romans, then occupied by the Goths, Moors, and eventually the Christians. After exploring the Alcazar and the cathedral, we went hunting for a Jewish synagogue (we’d had enough of churches and mosques!). However, after turning narrow lane after narrow lane, and following the map, all we found at the spot was an empty house
Dad in Alhambra
Taking a needed break with two office workers and some Hebrew text in the centre of the room. It looked like no synagogue I’d ever been to! It was at that point we decided it was time to return to Madrid.
On the way to the car Yngrid stopped to buy some fruit from a street vendor, but after waiting for 10 minutes while he chatted to some friend, and then simply turning to Yngrid to yell at not to touch the fruit, her kind intentions withered away. Told you those Spanish were rude!
That evening we decided we needed a day off from sight seeing and went exploring the shopping spots of Madrid, ending the evening by going to a plaza somewhere and sinking a few Spanish beers.
The next day our drivers decided to have the day off and we joined a hop-on hop-off bus, exploring the Museo del Prado (which according to mum it simply didn’t compare to the Louvre - Sorry!), El Retiro Park with it’s beautiful gardens and manicured trees and lake, and pretty much getting lost wherever the streets took us. It was nice not to be racing against time, and considering the excruciating heat,
Flamenco dancer
After hours and hours of getting lost in Seville... this is what we were treated to! it was probably a good decision not to keep heading north to Bilbao - much to poor Adrian and Cristina’s disappointment. That evening we enjoyed a fantastic Peruvian meal at El Dorado restaurant which mum and dad discovered literally across our hotel, and finished off with a couple of Pisco Sours.
That following morning was back on the road as we headed to Barcelona to catch our flights home. As usual, it was a mad dash, what with Matt desperately wanting to stop at Gaudi’s Parc Guell, which we missed last time we were there. It was quite a bizarre but pretty interesting nonetheless. In the end, we dropped off Cristina, Adrian, Mum, Dad and Sarah at their hotel and after a teary farewell, left them to continue their European adventure as Matt, Yngrid and I headed back to London.
All in all, Spain was an exciting backdrop for our adventure, and it’s hard to capture hours and hours of fun (and eating jamon sandwiches!) on the road, but I’m certain the memories we all shared will last a lifetime. Thanks guys!!!
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Mum McCarron
non-member comment
Another spendid blog
I don't know how you do it, you two are amazing. I am with you on Spain. The monkeys were a high light and I was attached ,so what does that tell you about the place. xxxxx