Sevilla, Spain

My overnight bus got me into the Plaza de Armas around 5am. Needless to say I hadn't slept much. I made my way to the hostel which was mercifully nearby and deposited my gear before borrowing their couch for a nap until 9am. When I awoke I was very confused. I was surrounded by strangers on some foreign couch, no immediate recollection of where I was or how I got there, and for some reason everyone was eating breakfast and staring at me. What is going on here?!... ohhhh yeah, now I remember. Ovenright bus, Sevilla, couch.

So after shaking off the mental cobwebs and excusing myself for occupying the entire couch I dashed for the bathroom for a much needed shower. When I came out of the shower, much to my surprise (again), guess who I found occupying the very space I had just been counting sheep (again)? Yep- the ex. I swear I can't make this stuff up. She was in town visiting a guy she is "road dating" which is a term I just created for someone dated briefly while traveling. We'll see if it catches on.

This time, however, we knew we were both possibly going to be in Sevilla in/around the same time so I had sent her an email telling her that I was arriving Friday morning to avoid any unpleasantries. That said, we had no idea we were in the same hostel. In fact, the only reason we both ended up there is because her road b/f works there and it was the only hostel I could find for less than 30 euros thanks to Feria. Oh wait, so I should talk about Feria!

Much like Oktoberfest celebrates the harvest and coming of autumn, Feria celebrates the coming of spring. And equally like Oktoberfest there is a carnival, tents, copious drinking, and great music. The difference is that the men wear suits, the women wear these great dresses that look like feather dusters, and everyone dances a special dance all night. Oh, and the drink of choice is the rebujito (sherry wine mixed with 7-up). Also like Oktoberfest, the festival locks up hostels and hotels especially on the weekend. But before we get to Feria, there is a walking tour and a palace to talk about.

The most interesting element of the walking tour to me was the Plaza de Espana. Apparently some years back the Spanish felt bad about all of the colonization, theft, genocide, etc. so they invited the former colonies to build buildings representing their countries in Sevilla. Spain itself, not to be outdone, built a gigantic plaza symbolizing all of Spain. Very apologetic, ha. The half-hearted apology notwithstanding, this is an excellent plaza. It has been featured in a number of movies including as a Naboo palace in the Star Wars prequels and forthcoming in the film The Dictator.

After that we stopped at the old tobacco factory which (due to all the money flowing in from the colonies) looks more like a palace. We found out that this was where the great opera Carmen is set. Since I have seen that opera I actually knew what our guide was talking about, finally! After the walking tour Janis (a guy from Latvia who had hitchhiked all the way to Spain) and I decided to check out the Alcazar palace. Arguably the best interior feature is the Patio de las Doncellas. Clearly the best exterior feature is the hedge Labyrinth, which would have been really confusing except that the tops of the hedges were just at my eye level so I could see where we were going. I'm just too dern tall for Spain.

Next up was heading back to the hostel but not before I gave myself a scare. Janis and I stopped to get him some cigs at a kiosk and I collected some vitamin-c (still fighting off a cold). I went to pay and left my freakin iphone sitting on some candy. Got back to the hostel and realized it was gone and went into a mild panic. Then I calmed down and decided if that was the will of the universe then so be it, I can't control it. Anyway, I decided to walk back down to the kiosk just in case it was there fully expecting it to be gone. Barb was nice enough to accompany me- which is hilariously appropriate because we've held the exact opposite roles many times over the years tracking down her lost stuff. Finally I'm the one losing something, ha! Anyway, the guy at the kiosk had it and I was so ecstatic and thankful I bought a ton of snacks from him.

Back at the hostel we occupied the gazebo on the rooftop terrace for a few glasses of sangria in preparation for the night's festivities. Around midnight we went out, first stopping into a bar and finally heading to Feria. As I said, the best way I can describe it is a Spanish Oktoberfest. The flashing neon lights of the carnival portion is mesmerizing.

Inside the tents well dressed Spaniards drink rebujitos and dance the night away. In the private tents (which far outnumber the public ones), the atmosphere is more refined and people really take the festival seriously.

In the public tents people come dressed in whatever just to experience the mayhem. In all the past week has been crazy. I would highly recommend to friends interested in a week long good time to go to Portugal/Spain at this time of year because you have the Portugal Independence Day and Feria. I'd say do 2/3 nights in Porto, 3 nights in Lisbon, and 2/3 nights in Sevilla during Feria. And hopefully the year you go wont be record setting for cold and rain!

Sintra, Portugal

After fortifying myself with the breakfast of champions I decided it would be worth my while to take day trip out to Sintra, the so called "fairy-tale" town. But first I needed to navigate to the bus station and purchase my ticket on the overnight bus to Sevilla as I had heard they were prone to selling out. About 5 minutes into the subway ride to the station my breakfast began to set in. And by "began to set in" I of course mean that 3 beers in less than 10 minutes = drunk, or at least un borracho pequeno. As such the next 2 hours were a bit tricky.

The first problem I encountered was actually locating the bus station when exiting the metro. I correctly followed the signs to exit the station, however much my surprise, the exit was occupied by a train station and not a bus station. For some reason the idea that BOTH a train and bus station could exist at the same location was incomprehensible. Only by persistence (and a few attempts at interrogating the poor girl at the information booth in Spanish) was I able to overcome my dilemma and locate the bus terminal. Then, when I got to the counter to purchase the ticket I completely forgot where I was going. An extended stare-down ensued. Finally, just as I think the woman is going to call security, I remember- Sevilla!

After purchasing my bus ticket I had to then return to the metro and make my way to Rossio- ok, so far so good- and locate the main train station there- damn! Well one out of two isn't terrible, right? Wrong. The sad thing is I had photographed the train station just the day before but I simply could not crack the riddle. Damn you breakfast of champions! After wandering around for about 30 minutes I finally tracked it down, got my ticket and was on my way to Sintra. There were a few moments there where I seriously considered bailing on the venture- but I'm sure glad I didn't!

Quite frankly put, Sintra is amazing. Really. No, seriously. I was a bit put off by the whole "fairy-tale" thing but honestly with the palaces and the fort and the Quinta da Regaleria and all the other houses... it's pretty dern fairy-taleish. The first place (and sadly only 1 of 2) I got to check out was the Palacio Nacional de Pena. You really want to take a bus to this thing because it's a serious haul, as the palace sits high on the hill surrounded by an immense garden filed with walking trails, gazebos, chapels, and the like. The best way I can describe the palace itself is like something you would expect to find in Portugal-land in Epcot's World Showcase.

It's absolutely unreal. The palace is one of the better tourist palaces/castles/etc that I've been to as they have done a great job in restoring the rooms and filling them with period furniture. For some reason large empty rooms don't do it for me- the furniture really illustrates the utility and form of the room. One room was particularly impressive to me, decorated with paintings of nymphs and satyrs painted by the king himself.

After the palace I was a bit pressed for time so I headed straight for the Quinta da Regaleria. I wish I had an extra day because I would have loved to walk the gardens at the palace or even spend more time in the gardens at the QdR. Plus, I didn't even have time to see the Moorish Castle or the Sintra National Palace let alone wander around Sintra enjoying the scenery. Que sera sera I suppose.

As great as the Palacio Nacional de Pena was, QdR was even more impressive. The house itself is pretty cool, boasting some great architecture and some cool features, but the real star of the show is the gardens surrounding the house. You may ask, "why are the gardens so great Mike?" Well I'll tell you. Because there's freakin' underground tunnels, stone panel secret doorways, labyrinth grottos, towers, waterfalls, fountains, stepping stones, gigantic wells, and hidden paths that together formulate quite simply the GREATEST PLACE TO PLAY HIDE AND SEEK EVER!!!

Do yourself a favor and check out the flickr site for some of the photos. They don't quite do it justice but I did the best I could. After spending as much time as possible in the garden I hurried back to the train station to catch the train back to Lisbon, head back to the hostel, pack, and make my way to the bus station for my overnight bus to Sevilla. For those of you who know me well, you know it would be safe to say I've never been a huge fan of buses, and I've never been able to sleep on any transport. So if I could go back and tell me of one year ago that I'd be riding on a (fully occupied) overnight bus for 7 hours, me of the past would have laughed a hearty laugh and punched current me right in the face.

Lisbon, Portugal

I arrived in Lisbon shortly after lunch time and headed for my hostel, the curiously named G-Spot. Despite a bit of difficulty finding it, I must first say that my time at the G-Spot was fantastic- the staff are a tremendously fun lot. The first thing I had to do was play a "check in song" to liven up the mood. Upon the proprietor, Nick, shuffling up with welcoming beers in solo cups, it became suddenly obvious which song was to grace the acoustical walls of the G-Spot: Toby Kieth's Red Solo Cup. This, of course, became a theme song of sorts for the remainder of my time at the hostel as no one could get it out of their heads. After cooking up a nice sandwich from the remnants of the groceries from Porto I was ready to hit the streets.

I sauntered down the main drag, Avenida da Liberdade, to the waterfront. After taking in that area I more or less made my way to the Castelo Sao Jorge. Only... I couldn't find the damn thing. Finally I came to what had to be the outer wall of the castle, however, no entrance was in sight. At this point I had to make a single choice, walk right or walk left. It's important here to note the significance of a simple decision such as this, because the next three days were dictated by the outcome of this one choice. Going with my gut I began walking right. About 50 meters up the street I was approached by a young woman asking directions to the castle entrance. Since I had no idea where it was but was (hopefully) headed there myself, I suggested we walk together. We eventually found the entrance and saw some great views of the city.

But more importantly, what ensued was a fantastic series of conversations- by far trumping the remaining sights taken in for the rest of the day. Every so often in life, you are fortunate enough to come across a person who has the capability to change you. To make you think in ways you didn't know were possible, to connect with you in a deep and thoughtful way, and to be able to see you as you really are and understand you fully- hopes, dreams, fears, and inhibitions. The more we talked, the more fascinated I became. And for some reason known only to the cosmos, I found myself unable to separate from this person I had known only a few hours. Much as I was not ready for the surprise that awaited me in Porto, I was similarly not ready for this new and exciting surprise that awaited me in Lisbon. Portugal- a mysterious and wonderful country.

The next three days were a bit of a blur. She said Lisbon was romantic. I was inclined to agree. For the next 72 hours, we spent nearly all of our time combing the city, talking about anything and everything. My new friend Stella, the star. We wandered the city, ate at incredible restaurants, sat int the park overlooking the city at night. Moreover, we did things I likely wouldn't have done as a solo traveler. For example, on day two we went to the Lisbon aquarium which was absolutely incredible. Something I would definitely regret missing now that I've seen it. And they had penguins!! This giant fish floated right up to us, stopped, and stared at us for at least 15 minutes as if it had a mystic and immensely profound message to convey to us.

That night we walked around the Barrio Alto (bar district) which was absolutely packed. So we acquired a bottle of wine and retired to the waterfront to drink and discuss the various philsophies of life. There are very few people in my life that I've found more fascinating to engage in conversation than this new friend. After downing our wine we proceeded back up one of the many hills only to discover an outdoor party with a live reggae band at the park on the hill by Restauradores. We didn't know it at the time but the cause for all the people was that everyone was out celebrating what is essentially Portugal's independence day.

After a late night I slept a little later and we met up intending to go to the beach. Only, to my surprise... again, it was raining. So we went to Balem and saw the Berardo Museum of Modern Art. I've never felt strongly one way or another about modern art, although I do like that you get to view it with no preconceived notions of what to expect, but for some reason on this day I found it absolutely tremendous. The whole series of discussions plus the museum inspired me to turn out some great writing, including the opening lines of one of the first chapters I'm working on.

There were, as always, a few exhibits that I just couldn't get into. Like one featuring a blank canvas and an explanation. Right. Even though I couldn't quite get it, Stella and I both agreed that technically it was art. I think the universal definition we came up with for what includes "art" is: any creation that has an effect on a person. By this definition, a creation that has been lost and all record of it has also been lost would still be considered art. Also, this definition is strongly similar to the definition Ron came up with for economics back in Ledesma. Things to ponder on...

Anyway, after the Museum of Art we found this great tapas bar and spent the rest of the night drinking great vinho do Douro (both branco e tinto), listening to live music, and enjoying the Lisbon night. Unfortunately, as all great things begin they must end. And as the sea meets the sand in high tide, it must recede away. So after a wonderful three days we parted in the way of the late-day surf. Hopefully our paths will cross again one day.

Back at the hostel, I had just enough time to fire off a few messages to my sister before the crowd came storming in from the bars. Since I hadn't had a chance to party with them, I acquiesced to a couple shots of vodka before retiring, now admittedly a bit drunk and very tired but also thrilled with my time in Lisbon.

The next morning, as promised on my arrival, I ponied up to the breakfast table to gobble down the Breakfast of Champions: 2 eggs, 2 bacon, 2 pancakes, and 3 beers. The previous record was 3:06 and, as any full-blooded American man, I felt it was my idiotic but patriotic duty to attempt to beat it. I must say I tried valiantly- consuming all the food and 2 of the three beers within three minutes, but alas, the last beer defeated me in the final moments. My very fortifying meal consumed, I decided to take a day trip to Sintra before catching my overnight bust to Sevilla which I'll discuss in more detail in the next post.

Porto & Braga, Portugal

I arrived in Porto around 5:30 and the first thing I noticed was that the cold, windy, rainy weather had followed me from Ledesma. The second thing I noticed was that I had no idea where the bus had dropped me off and no idea where to go. I knew, in fact, only one thing: in cities built in mountainous landscapes next to rivers, the best way to get to the river is start walking downhill. So I did. Once I reached the river I figured out where I needed to go and headed east. Unfortunately my destination was about 2 miles away and (of course) back up another hill!

After grabbing a much needed shower at the hostel (which is brand new and has an awesome aquarium- quite a steal for 14 euro a night), I headed downstairs to join the obligatory pub crawl. Only, it was raining and cold and Thursday so there ended up only being 6 of us daring souls. So instead of doing the crawl we did a port tasting and then had a few Super Bocks (excellent beer- not actually a bock though) at some great bars. The best part was getting to know all the Pancho touring staff. So for the remainder of my time in Porto, by knowing them basically everyone knew me. I'd be great at this tour guide/pubcrawl stuff!

I awoke the next morning and took a train up to Braga (a city famous for its Baroque architecture). The train system here in Portugal is outstanding- it was only 6 euro round trip to Braga and took about an hour. The most interesting thing to see there by a wide margin, in my opinion, is the Bom Jesus do Monte Sanctuary. It's nestled up in the hills a bit outside of the city and as I approached on foot, the low clouds forming a fog around it made it feel as if I had set out for Shangri-La.

The sanctuary is a bit of a climb (and obviously I took the long way hiking through the woods) but it is well worth the trip. The most stunning feature is the Baroque staircase featuring a cascading series of fountains. The sanctuary itself is also fantastic and there is a grotto and tons of other interesting elements.

On the hike back down from the main stairway there are also numerous chapels that occupy the directional change-points, where inside gruesome/creepy biblical scenes are depicted. You also get a tremendous view of Braga from atop the sanctuary.

The rest of my time in Braga was spent wandering around checking out the various Baroque churches and other sites such as the ancient Roman fountain. I also purchased an umbrella and, per the Mike Steele Law of Inverse Causality, the rain immediately stopped and held off for the rest of the day. Since I had some time to kill before my train I swung by the supermarket and picked up some bread, ham and cheese for sandwiches that cost me a whopping 4.50 euro. Shopping in Portugal is so cheap.

I arrived back in Porto just in time to join up with my friends at Pancho for the Friday night pub crawl. This time we had about 30 people in our group, and our first stop was the port tasting. Since I had been there before and knew everyone (and because I know a great deal about port anyway ha), they let me teach the class to our group. Suddenly I'm kind of a big deal here, ha! After the tasting we hopped around from club to club and I finally packed it in around 5:30am with the club still jammed full. The Portuguese are just like the Spanish when it comes to nights out- the first club didn't even get full until 2am.

As we left, Bernardo and I had to help a fellow over-imbibed pub crawler back to his place. So when I finally got back and laid down it was 6:30am. At the exact moment my head hit the pillow someone else in the room's alarm clock went off. Apparently my job is to ensure that the sun never sets on my fellow hostel-goers. On Saturday I arose around 10:00 and made my way to the free walking tour. And to my great surprise, OH SNAP! Guess who I saw?

Of all the gin joints in all the world. My ex-girlfriend. This was certainly something that I had not anticipated- being robbed, trampled, lost, frozen, murdered and a whole host of other possibilities were contemplated but this one was certainly the furthest thing from a reality in my mind. Oh well, f-it right? When in Rome do as the Romans, when in Porto bury the hatchet with the ex. In all it was nice getting caught up and hearing her adventures. It was actually quite humorous to me because within the first 20 minutes of talking to her I was fully reminded of all the things about her that I found so fascinating as well as all the things that make her, well... let's just say not the person for me. But at the end of the day I think we'll be able to exist as friends. How good of friends? Only time shall tell. But hey, it's a start.

After the walking tour I accompanied her on a river cruise that came with a port tasting and we met some nice folks from Estonia by way of Amsterdam who became our pals for the rest of the day. After doing a port cellar tour and tasting several glasses we acquired some bottles of port and took the party to the riverside.

The best part of this was watching the sun go down over Porto which provided some excellent photo opportunities.

Then, in an odd twist of fate, the ex decided to assume my normal course of action when drinking by a water source and got absolutely bombed. We had to physically assist her across the bridge to dinner later. After some food we all sobered up considerably and then hit the clubs. While she went back to her hostel to grab her phone, Kaarel, Mati and I had a beer at an outdoor cafe in one of thee plazas near some of the better bars.

As we sat there discussing various topics such as our favorite English words and how they would respond to the question "how do you feel about antics?" in a job interview, I was approached by not one or two but three groups of people I knew in Porto. After much back slapping and glad handing, I think my new pals may have been a little astonished by my apparent sudden popularity in the city. While it's not conducive to a healthy sleeping lifestyle, you sure can make a lot of great friends spending time in the bars in foreign cities.

In the end we went to several places and ended up at this club where an evidently very popular female DJ was spinning. I finally turned in at 6:30 because I was going to take a train to Lisbon. When I awoke at 11am, I immediately scrapped that idea with great gusto and drifted back soundly to sleep. I eventually did get out of bed and took a fantastic walk around Porto soaking in the (FINALLY) nice weather! From the top of the bridge and into the cellar-side I was able to snap a couple of good shots of Porto. Tomorrow morning I'm on an early train to Lisbon, making my Rick Blaine reference even more appropriate.

Ledesma, Spain (Part 3)

The past couple days have been a bit slow going. Ron has been on tour guide duty for Bernard, Deb, and Ingrid- taking them around to various rural Spanish towns in the vicinity. Apparently they also went up a mountain that had trees covered in vertical sheets of ice. O_O.

As for my fellow helpx'er Tom and I, we've been keeping ourselves busy through various means. On Saturday we cleaned out the storage room to make space for Ron to set up a shop. All of the various scavenged items were moved to the outdoor storage room. Here is the after pic of the clean store room.

Aside from that, we've spent most of our time here helping out in small ways- cutting firewood, scavenging the dump for useful items, getting water from the square, cooking, cleaning... and the rest of the time has been more or less eating meats and cheeses, playing ping pong and drinking wine. As Dad says, "tough life, but someone has to do it."

On Sunday it was extremely cold and windy so we spent most of the day inside except for a brief excursion to the plaza de toros. As Ledesma is so small they only have bullfights every month or so. Sunday we also got a chance to peek into the church occupying the Plaza Mayor- a rare privilege as the only time you can get in is right after a mass.

After the walk around town we headed back to the palacio to wait out the hours until dinner. To bide the time, we fired up the wood stove and cooked up some mashed potatoes and I fried up the skins for Deb and Bernard. While doing this I tried out my vinho verde which was outstanding (so much so that I finished it without paying attention!). Ron then took us to this restaurant that Tom and I had happened upon earlier in the day by accident for some great local meat fare. Tom, a vegetarian until coming to Spain, dove in head-first trying the sausage, fried baby pig, and finally settling on the boiled pork tongue. Talk about baptism by fire.

At the end of the meal (and by meal I mean wine, meat, meat, wine, meat, wine, tiny salad (with meat), wine, meat, wine and wine), it was time for the CART OF CHEESES! They wheeled out this cart of cow, goat, and sheep's milk cheeses (mostly aged) from all over this region of Spain and proceeded to cut off chunks for us to try. Why didn't they bring this out at the beginning?? I would have just eaten that with the wine! By far the best "cheese plate" I've ever had.

On Monday Tom and I took off on a hike through the country side ultimately hopping a barbed wire fence onto wild bull grazing land. We followed a dried up river bank through this amazing picturesque valley to an ancient Roman bridge "puente mocho." It was at this point that the town was gathering to celebrate Lunes de Aguas (Monday of water), which is a festival where historically people would gather outside of town to welcome back the prostitutes. The prostitutes were, of course, banished prior to Easter to "clean up" the city. These days everyone just gathers with friends and family for an all-day picnic.

Tuesday we were confined to the house waiting for an oven to be delivered while Ron was out on business. The oven ultimately arrived around 8:30pm and we were able to get in several games of ping pong in the meantime. After the oven arrived, we headed to the Casa Rural for dinner and to watch the Real Madrid vs. Bayern Munich and enjoy our complimentary bottles of wine.

Wednesday was spent helping Ron with chores- installing the new oven, gathering water, chopping firewood, and playing this great Yugoslavian card game. At night we went to Casa Rural for the Barcelona vs. Chelsea game. Needless to say I think my Brit counterparts were pleased with the Chelsea victory. Now I again sit in the Salamanca bus station awaiting my ride to Porto, Portugal.

In all, I thoroughly enjoyed my time at Ron's. While I felt like we accomplished a lot- I wish I could have done more! He was a great host- the food was simple, natural and delicious, the wine very good, the philosophical conversation outstanding, the company lovely, and the accommodations most comfortable. I also learned a great deal about increasing your self-sustainability in life. When you pay attention to the energy you use in a particular day, and consciously try to reduce your footprint, it is astonishing how simply you can live while still maintaining a fantastic quality of life. It actually makes me a little embarrassed for how much energy and money I've wasted over the years taking so much for granted.

But... speaking of expenditure of money, I'm excited to announce that I'm nicely on budget so far and I have avoided buying anything unnecessary (except for a present for young Maddox of course). There is one impending purchase that I MUST make in the next few days: flippy floppies. I realized I didn't bring any and I have no shower shoes or sandals to wear around the house/hostel/etc. And HOPEFULLY the storms over Western Europe will finally break and I can get some use out of them and my shorts and retire this jacket I've worn every day since being here! Come on Portugal, let's have some warm weather.

Ledesma, Spain (Part 2)

Saturday. As such, in the backwards bizarro world I'm living in these days, it was time to go to work. I awoke late (almost at 10am) to the sound of birds yapping right outside my window with a relentless fervor. I'm sure Bernard could immediately identify the exact type of bird and perhaps even the intent of their vocalizations, however, I could only identify that I hated them.

Once I had shaken off the morning avian irritation, I procured a quick cup of tea, did a few exercises, and made my way downstairs to get to work earning my lodging and food. The first task on hand was cutting firewood for the stove- a relatively easy task except that my host has collected a mass of wood that would more than suffice to open a hardware supply store. But as no one person is alike, no one scrap of wood is alike, and there are countless pieces of scraps, vinewood, pine, oak, bamboo, and a whole host of other woods in an unlimited configuration. So, as you would imagine, I had to rely heavily on my host to designate which wood I should cut- lest I destroy a 200 year old oak window sill he had collected as a replacement for one of his own.

Post-chopping I felt it was time for a quick meal so I cut off a few hunks of Portuguese bread, grabed two eggs and heated up the skillet over the fired burning oven. In all my eggs with fried toast and sea salt were quite outstanding, to my humble taste buds at least.

After the late breakfast, I headed downstairs for the second half of my day's work- moving the junk/salvage/clutter from one room outside to another. Evidently Ron was planning to create a workshop in the middle room that was currently occupied by junk, so to do that, helpxer's to the rescue! Thankfully, a new helpx'er, Tom, joined us today and helped me lift the heaviest of the items to their new resting place. (Will post finished pictures later.)

After an outstanding lunch of various meats and mashed potatoes and peas (I'm staying with all Brits mind you), Tom and I decided to take a walk through Ledesma. Unfortunately our adventure was cut short by menacing clouds approaching from the northwest. So we bailed and headed back to Ron's for a few rounds of ping-pong and a couple well earned beers.

Later in the night Ingrid, Ron, Tom and I attempted to go to a local bar but we were (surprise!) the only patrons of the bar. So after a drink- back to the palacio we returned. The rest of the night was spent debating a myriad of topics and my perhaps hasty but well intentioned attempt to create a grilled cheese on the open flame.

Day Trip to Portugal

For my first day of volunteer work, my host Ron decided the five of us should go see Portugal. So after a morning tea, a shot of blackberry infused whiskey, and a splash of water on the face we set off for the border. Our first stop was Miranda do Douro which is apt considering it resides on the cliffs right alongside the Douro River.

The most immediately noticeable thing as you approach the Portugese border is well... immediately noticeable. The drive from Ledesma was mile after mile of rolling hills plains dotted with trees and an endless series of medieval stone walls stacked to segregate one area of farmland from another. Then, out of the blue, the plains drop away amidst staggering cliffs which plunge down toward the Douro River below. After much weaving down the hillside, there is a dam near the bottom topped with a two lane road. Once across the road, you are in Portugal.

Back up the other side of the hill sits Miranda do Douro. In the days prior to the implementation of the Euro, Spaniards would come here to shop as the currency held considerably more weight and thus bargains abounded. Now, most of the shops hawk cheap collectibles... oh yes, and towels. Towels galore. Apparently any Portuguese border town is essentially Towelopolis.

After wandering around and not buying any towels, we walked up the street into old town, saw the church, and then proceeded to this great restaurant known by Ron for lunch. Lunch was one of the best meals of my life- a soup made of a local vegetable, fresh Portuguese bread (way better than Spanish bread) with butter, young goat cheese (incredible), and barbequed baby goat (kid). The baby goat was simply... otherworldly. It was marinated and then covered in a sauce of olive oil, bay leaves, vinegar, and some other spices but just those simple ingredients created an end product that was, just incredible.

Our next stop was Freixo de Espada a Cinta, a very historic old town with an immensely high concentration of medieval buildings. In my mind, however, the most dramatic feature is the cemetery which sits on a hill behind the church. There are mausoleums and tombs and the whole thing looks out past the cliff on which it is situated. If I were to die on this trip, I'd want to be buried here.

After a quick coffee we were on our way again. But not before checking out the column near the post office which was historically used for floggings, hangings, and death by garrote (a neck collar that was slowly tightened until you suffocated or your neck snapped). See below. Catholicism, it's to die for!

Next up we crossed back into Spain and then stopped to see this Bronze Age fort that has been immaculately preserved over the years. This thing is over 3000 years old and you can still see the stone carvings done by the children of the area along the outside of the wall. It was truly incredible. There are not many monuments of this scale and age that are as well preserved in the entire world. And the best part is that hardly anyone knows about it. Even most of the Spaniards nearby don't know it's there.

After taking in this incredible piece of history it was time to head home to enjoy the groceries and alcohol we picked up at the Portuguese supermarket, including some vinho verde (green wine- but meaning new or young wine), vinho verde tinto (red version), tawny port (aged port wine) and a really great cherry concoction called Ginginha which tasted like a mix between cherry brandy and amaretto. We drank and talked British law into the wee hours of the morning. So far I'm loving this bohemian lifestyle.

Ledesma, Spain (Part 1)

I arrived in Ledesma around 2:30 after connecting to a different bus in Salamanca. The first thing I noticed when I arrived was I had no idea where I was going. Not to fear, relying on my innate sense of direction I started walking... in the wrong direction. But eventually I figured out where I was and proceeded to the Plaza Mayor (and why not) where my helpx host is presumed to reside.

When I reached the Plaza Mayor I was more confused than when I originally landed in the city as the address I had did not have any numbers, however, all of the houses on the street did. After several unsuccessful attempts to ask passerby's where my destination was, I finally found a man who indicated the "palacio" I was searching for and noted that the man who lives there was not at home and would not be back until 7 or 8pm. He did, very graciously, also note that he drives a black car (una coche negro). It was 3pm.

I should note at this point that when I emailed Ron (my host) to tell him I was arriving Wednesday instead of Thursday or Friday as I had originally said, I neglected to tell him I was planning to take the early buses to arrive around mid-day. As such, in his return email he assumed I would be on the late bus and said he would expect me after 7. Ergo, this small snafu was completely my fault.

So there I stood at a fork in the road. I could either: (a) stand in the cool windy (and notably completely empty) Plaza Mayor waiting for the return of the coche negro like a sad puppy; or (b) find a place to sit down and perhaps have some food and drink. I'll give you two guesses which one I did and the first one doesn't count... Wait, that doesn't make any sense, but obviously I went in search of a place to hang out.

I stumbled across the Casa Rural Ristorante, a humble charming little place where the hosts spoke fluent English. Psyche! No, this is Ledesma, no one speaks English here. But they were very kind and gracious and walked me through my menu options as best I could understand. Moreover, they informed me that free wifi was available... so guess where this blog segment was written? Bingo.

I decided on the "menu" option or 3 course meal and opted for a soup of ham, beef, white beans, artichoke, green beans, carrots and some other vegis (outstanding!), fried pig that thankfully came face-free (I got my lechon after all- and it was great!), and finally a flan (also very good). The meal also came with vino y agua- which I assumed meant a glass of wine and a glass of water. So you can imagine my surprise when I was awarded with not a glass of wine but an entire bottle of Ribera del Duero.

Which brings me to a question that apparently people on Facebook thought was rhetorical. When presented with an entire bottle of wine (botella de vino), is it rude not to finish it? I really have no idea what to do here and I certainly don't want to be rude to these wonderful people. Then again, I don't want to show up hammered at this place I'm supposed to be volunteering. I could google it, but I'm also trying to not actively seek out answers but just try and feel my way along- I find it's more fun and surprising that way. I think the answer is to sit here and slowly drink the wine until either a decision is formulated or I run out of wine.

A funny moment from my wine-fueled afternoon: I meant to tell the owner "I am a little bit drunk" but instead of "estoy un poco borracho" I said "soy un borracho pequeno" which means "I am a tiny drunk man." Que se confundieron. Y yo tambien.

After my fun Spanish speaking bottle of wine induced afternoon I proceeded back to the palacio just as my host Ron was arriving. I should point out that he in fact drives a white car and not a black car, so I would have been standing there all day and not even known it was him. We went upstairs and over a cup of tea he introduced me to the other visitors- Ingrid, an old friend of his from London, and Bernard and Deb, who were his neighbors 15 or so years ago back in England. I was the only helpx'er among those staying at the moment.

Over tea we began the first (of so far many) philosophical/political/social/etc. discussions, this one over the Occupy Wall Street Movement and other such protests in general. I won't bore you with the details but suffice it to say we discussed for many hours, during which we drank wine and ate steak and chips. Finally around 1am it was time to go to bed. Below is a picture of the main socializing room where tea and dinner were had and the bed which I will be occupying for around a week or so. In all, my host is a very kind man and so far I am enjoying his and the other visitors' company immensely.

On the way to Ledesma

I awoke at 6:30 in Segovia to shower, pack, pay for the room, and make my way to the bus station. Yes, I said bus station. As I rode the 7:30 bus from Segovia to Avila and then on to Salamanca, I came to realize something. The past 48 hours had really embodied the dramatic shift in my way of approaching the world.

In my formative schooling and university days I was a relatively cheap person, but I was also somewhat reserved in my desire to take risks. Then, as I attained gainful employment, I was able to do more things. Because I had the money to pay for it, however, I wouldn't consider going about it in any fashion that required me to go out of my way or that would impose a challenge that couldn't be overcome by the simple application of money.

For example, I refused to ride buses. I never really had a good reason except that I rode them all throughout my childhood and had a bad experience on one coming back from DC; nothing warranting swearing them off completely. But if there was a train or plane available to get me from A to Z, I would gladly pay the upcharge to avoid being "subjected to" a bus. Similarly, the thought of backpacking/camping, staying in a hostel (even if I had my own room), or hitchhiking to get where I wanted to go in a pinch, were all unfathomable options in the past. I worked, I had cash, why not reap the benefits? That was my mentality.

So it occurred to me that this whole transient retirement program has already evoked a stark paradigm shift in my modus operandi. Or, in other words, I no longer see things the same way as my gainfully employed self, but rather accept circumstances for how they are, and, as my friend Kev says, have come to embrace the unknown and all possibilities therein. As I touched on in an earlier post, I think that's really the key to embarking on a trip like this. The more interesting thought to consider is, how will this change in thought process translate to my regular life when the traveling is inevitably done? Seriously, how far can I take this?

When I was creating my list of 150+ things to do before heading off on this trip, one of the last things I wrote was "charge everything," which was of course a note to make sure my laptop, camera, phone, etc. were all charged prior to my flight. But if you've ever had the misfortune of receiving something written by me, you'll know my handwriting is atrocious. So every time I looked at it, I read it as "change everything." And as I do more and more of these things that are totally out of my former realm of comfort, I find myself repeating that as a sort of mantra.

Change everything.

Ok, well... maybe not everything. It would be a shame to lose my rougishly handsome good looks.

Segovia, Spain

As you probably gathered from my last post, the hike through the Sierra de Guadarrama was a bit taxing, and as you could imagine, my touring of Segovia was done slowly and tenderly. That said, Segovia is a beautiful city. It reminds me a great deal of Sienna, Italy only better because I actually had time to explore it! Unfortunately, the cold, wind, and rain continues to follow me around and was exceptionally evident in Segovia. I must be the Johnny Appleseed of spring in Spain. Everywhere I go I take the cold and replace it with sunshine!

Anyway, Segovia is a tremendous little town. One thing I really wanted to do on this trip is seek out some less-traveled destinations. Everyone I've met traveling in Spain so far says the same things "I'm going to Madrid, Barcelona, Grenada, Sevilla..." It's rather annoying. When I responded that I was hiking the Sierra de Guadarrama to Segovia the most common response I get is a blank stare. The second most common response is "Where? Is that in Spain?" Come on people! Americans are supposed to be the ones bad at geography!

But if you find yourself in Segovia, and for your sake I hope you find yourself there when it's warm, the main attraction is of course the aqueduct. Built by the Romans over 2000 years ago, this monolith towers over one the main squares in the city, reaching a peak height of 28 meters (91 feet). My tour guide in Madrid jokingly stated that the Romans built it just to remind the Spanish who was in charge. In reality it fed filtered water into the walled old city which was fortified by the castle on the far western end (we'll get to that).

If you walk west from the aqueduct you'll notice several things. One, beautiful winding streets with charming shops and restaurants as well as sweeping views of the city below when you approach the walled edges of the cliff. Second, the massive cathedral just off the Plaza Mayor. This big-guy was started in the 1500's when the old cathedral burned down, and in typical Spanish fashion, took around 200 years to complete. Can you imagine if you were in a family of stone masons and you, your father, grandfather, great-grandfather, great-great-grandfather, and great-great-great-grandfather all cut and laid stone for the same building... and it still wasn't done?!

Finally, you have the castle which sits imposingly on the edge of a massive rock outcropping on the west end of the city. They claim this castle was the inspiration for the Walt Disney Castle. But I heard that same spiel when visiting Neuschwanstein and I imagine I'll hear it a few more times as I check out the castles of Romania. So take that with a grain of salt.

Inside the castle is a museum of arms from all ages including some full scale mock-ups of knights in armor on horseback. I was expecting Angela Lansbury to come storming in at any moment animating everything with the substitutiary locomotion spell and wage war on the Germans (Bedknobs and Broomsticks reference, bam!). To get to the top of the tower required a climb of 152 steps, which, albeit not very fun for my sore feet, was well worth it for the view of the city.

After doing the walking tour of the city, I was starving and I had seen pizzerias everywhere. So as the American Pizza Ambassador to the world, it was my duty to sample some Spanish pizza. And where better than a small town? So I ducked into a little place and ordered up a pie and a beer while I uploaded photos and messed around on the computer. In summary, the pizza was ok, the beer was cold. Nothing special but not terrible either. In Spain I'd say stick with the cured meats, cheeses, and seafood unless you can find a Neapolitan transplant operating an authentic pie joint. For the sake of sample size, I'm sure I'll have to try at least one more though... ha.

As night rolled around I walked around to check out the scene. Sad to say that there didn't appear to be much going on. Perhaps it was because it was a Tuesday night, and it was early April, and it was cold and rainy, and it was only 8:30, but there didn't seem to be much bar or restaurant happenings on my side of town (despite a large number of venues). That said, I really wanted to try the roast suckling pig, however, after consulting with my hosts at the hostel, I determined that: (1) I had no idea how to eat it properly (do I eat the face? how embarrassing!); (2) there was no way I could eat a whole one and I hate wasting food; and (3) they are expensive! So, not very hungry after my pizza snack, I swung by the supermarket only to discover... the cheapest booze prices in the universe!

Ok, maybe that's an exaggeration, but they had liters of vodka for 4 euro and whole bottles of red wine for 1 euro or less. The most expensive bottle of wine I could find was 4 euro! What in the heck was I paying 2.50 euro for a beer for?? I had wanted to try some local red wine anyway, so for 2.50 euro I acquired a nice bottle and retired to the hotel for the evening. In all it was probably for the best as I had a 7:30am bus to Avila then Salamanca then a 1:30 bus to Ledesma where my volunteering adventure shall begin. Olé!

Sierra de Guadarrama

haHA, Birdman! I made it! But let me say, it was not easy. For those considering hiking through the Sierra de Guadarrama, let me proffer this piece of advice: don't. Ok, so for those who REALLY want to anyway (no idea who might be as crazy as me to want to do this), let me offer the following practical advice: (1) don't go in early April! As you'll see from the pictures, there is still a ton of snow all over the mountains and it is below freezing at night. I'd recommend late may or early June; (2) wear sunblock in la Pedriza (there is no shade and even in April you will get toasted);

(3) plan for three days and leave early on day 1 (I unfortunately left Manzanares el Real at noon). Your first day should take you to Puerto de Navacerrada (peak of the route to Segovia - about 25km), then stay in a hotel (I would not recommend free camping as described below). The second day, leave your pack and do a day hike to Los Cotos where you can enter the Peñalara National Park and summit Peñalara (the highest peak) itself (about 15km), then hike back to the hotel for another good night's sleep. On day three, hike the remaining 28km downhill and through the plain to Segovia; and (4) bring plenty of water for leg 1 because it is hot and you may run out!

In all, however, hiking the Sierra de Guadarrama was pretty awesome. It was clear as soon as I started up the serious elevation that the Spanish people were also impressed by my bravado. Not only did I not see another hiker on the supposed pilgrimage trail I was following, but the driver of every third car that passed me turned and looked at me with an expression that conveyed "what the hell are you doing hiking here at this time of year?!?" I'm sure they would have been even more impressed/horrified had they realized my original intent was to hike directly up and over them using the old Roman trails. However, as soon as I got out of Madrid my pulse quickened as I saw what appeared to be snow on the mountains. Upon arriving in Manzanares el Real, my fears were confirmed:


So, the next plan was to go to the tourism office, get a map, and come up with an alternative route that would take me to Segovia but not directly up through the worst of the snow. When I got to the tourism office, I was aghast to discover that it was closed and would not be open again until the following Saturday. Outside of the tourism office were the following "maps/directions" to Segovia from Manzanares el Real. Needless to say, not incredibly helpful.


As it turns out, this route is used as part of the pilgrimage Camino de Santiago although I may have jumped on/off it here and there along the way. In total it was a little over 50km (32mi) from Manzanares el Real to Segovia with an ascent of around 1000m and corresponding decent. The first 10km was relatively flat heading into La Pedriza where there is very little shade and the sun beats the heck out of you. Have lots of water!

The next 15km is entirely uphill on your way from Cerceda up to Puerto de Navacerrada at the peak of the pass. I made it 20km on day 1 and had to stop 5km shy of PdN because I was out of water, exhausted from the constant sun, and it was already 6PM and I was worried I wouldn't find anywhere else. I stopped at what looked like land allocated for day hiking/etc. however had a sign indicating private property. Although I didn't see a "no camping" sign specifically, it is generally frowned upon to camp on private land so I was weary of staying. But then I saw the game changer: a natural spring fountain. So I whipped out the UV purifying CamelBak (paid for itself on this one occasion alone!) and boom! Fresh cool spring water.


I sneakily waited for the people walking their dogs or themselves up the trail to leave the vicinity and scurried up the mountain into the woods to find a place to set up shop. The mountain was incredibly steep and the best I could find was a little V-shaped area between some trees. Not level at all but better than a 25-30 degree slope.


Everything went fine at first and I fell asleep at dusk, only to awake around what must have been midnight to the sound of what I could only assume was someone approaching my tent and then the sound of my flaps and poles being messed with. I froze and for the next 20-30 minutes I lay perfectly still expecting a guerrilla soldier leftover from the Spanish Civil War to collapse my tent, stab me to death, and rob me. Finally, I summoned the courage to open the tent and clutching a flashlight in one hand and open hunting knife in the other I sprang from the tent into the 20 degree night in a t-shirt and gym shorts.

Obviously as no one was there, I made a plea to the spirits of the forest in Spanish (only I said "trees" because I didn't know the word for forest) to spare me for one night and that I would be on my way in the morning. I emphasized "no fuego" which I hoped would appease them. Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep the rest of the night, alternating between shaking from the absurd cold and the fear of being stabbed to death if I nodded off. As soon as daybreak arrived, I packed up my gear and was on my way- thankful to be spared by the forest.

The next 5km were up to the top and PdN. The view was glorious and I could also see the snow-covered summit which I thankfully decided not to attempt. From there the next 5km were sharply downhill in Castille y Leon and were engulfed in a thick, moist, frigid fog. Finally, the fog broke and after lunch of jamon, queso, y pan (2nd day in a row), I made my way down through the foothills of the mountains and into the areas described in For Whom the Bell Tolls. I could almost see Robert Jordan trekking through the woods. I even found a bridge remiscent of the one he's required to destroy at the end of the novel. Anyway, it was just as Hemingway described and worth the hiking pilgrimage to see. (See flickr for all the photos).

My Hemingway pilgrimages being completed in the past few days, it was time to power through the hike. 6km more and I was in San Ildefonso. From there I could see Segovia in the distance- approximately 11km left to go. Feet, shoulders and back hurting, I decided I'd rather push on and sleep in a real bed than tempt the forest spirits again, so I set my jaw and went to work. Hiking through this area was starkly different from the beautiful forests of Sierra de Guadarrama. I dubbed it "Spanish Transylvania."


After 5km more, I took a brief respite in a parking lot of an abandoned warehouse. According to thee signs I was only 2km away from Segovia. For those of you counting, you should be as confused as I was. In fact, it was 2km to the city limits, but an additional 4km to the city center. Bastards! So for the next 4.5km I'm walking this endless trail marked "Segovia" but there's no city. In actuality, there was nothing but an endless slightly uphill road... oh, and just to make it fun, the temperature dropped 15 degrees F and gale force winds and rains began to kick up. Awesome!

After another brief stop, I realized I was only 2km from the city center. Time to nut up or shut up. So I slung on the pack and smashed out the last 2km in the rain and wind, arriving in the city center soaking wet and completely out of gas. I had done over 20 miles.

Thankfully, very close to the aqueduct I found Hostel Don Jaime. They had a single room open for 32 euros but frankly I would have paid 60 just to get out of the cold and rain. A hot shower and hanging up all my drenched gear later and I was ready to go get some celebratory food and beers. However, my jacket and everything else was still soaked. Not having many other options and being exhausted, I just went to bed. Slept 14 hours. Hail the conquering hero.

In all, I really had no idea if I could do this. I had no map, no real idea for the climate or terrain, and no idea of the hostility of the forest/locals. But I felt it was something I needed to do and so, doing what any intrepid traveler would do, I imposed my will upon it. Now I see why people love to do marathons or want to summit Everest. To be able to say, "you threw everything you had at me and I still beat you." That's a tremendous feeling.