Valencia, Spain: Benidorming & Ostriching amongst the Oranges

Valencia, the city of oranges. Where to begin? I suppose at the beginning- it wouldn't make much sense to tell you the tale in reverse. First off though, I just want to note that Valencia is extremely underhyped. And by that I mean I heard absolutely nothing about it from fellow travelers roaming Spain. I heard heaps about Madrid, Sevilla, Granada, Cadiz, Cordoba, Barcelona, and even Salamanca and Tarifa, but nary a peep about Valencia. It seems it is universally left off the Spain itinerary by most travelers which is a real shame because Valencia is freakin awesome.

But before I get to my adventures in Valencia I must first get you, dear reader, up to speed on my journey. We last left an ailing me in Almeria preparing to take the overnight bus to Valencia. The overnight bus was about as expected: hot, crowded, and a bit odorous- not much out of the ordinary. I would, however, like to describe two incidents of note. One, at some point during the ride I wrote the following note on my iphone: "the man in front of me smells like he smoked 10 cigars, shit his pants, and then boarded the bus." Upon a quick reading this might not seem that funny, but I couldn't stop laughing about the mental image of this leathery old dude puffing away on cigars right as the bus is about to pull out, extinguishing his last one, then right before stepping onto the bus he pauses, calmly craps himself, and then climbs aboard. Maybe my humor is a bit crass but I found it hilarious.

Second, there was something under my seat that I kept kicking as it was blocking me from stretching out my legs. I thought the old man had jammed something in there so I kept trying to push it forward. All I could see was that it had some sort of protruding flexible cylindrical element. At first I thought it was a type of cane, then an oxygen tank. Meanwhile I'm just kicking away at this thing. Finally, the bus stops for us to us the restroom and get a snack and I take a look at what I've been toe-bashing only to discover... the fire extinguisher! Not only that, I had somehow pulled out the pin and had I kept kicking it most certainly would have set the thing off. Glad I took a look!

When I got into Valencia it was around 4 in the morning and I proceeded on foot to the hostel. When I arrived the guy at reception informed me that the common areas were closed and I couldn't just crash on the couch until the morning. I said "well, what do you suppose I do then?" He replied slowly, "why don't you walk around the city for a few hours?" I just stared at him for a few moments in silence. Then I finally came up with "Nooooo... I don't think I will." I mean, come on man. It's 4am everything is closed. So, instead of leaving I just stood about 3 feet away from him pretending to read stuff on the wall for the next 15 minutes. If I can't convince you with reason or logic, I'll make you uncomfortable to the point where you give in. Finally he turns to me and says "you can probably just sleep on the couch if you want to." Bingo. I knew he'd see it my way.

After getting a brief rest in the "closed" common area it was time to tour Valencia. Doing the typical Mike Steele routine I signed up for the free walking tour. The first stop was the Plaza de la Virgen where you can find the Cathedral, the Basilica and a building which was erected to assist the disabled. Valencia is a city that is very proud of it's collective moral consciousness. 

I absolutely love the streets of Valencia. They are really well designed, exceptionally clean and exhibit some great architecture. Walking down La Paz you can see the Tower from Plaza Lope de Vega all the way down in the distance. The tower itself was one of the tallest buildings in Spain for many years.

Probably the most iconic feature of the city apart from the tower is the Torres de Serranos which was one of the main city gates in old Valencia. Because it was so thick and well fortified it was also used as a prison to house influential and wealthy lawbreakers.

After the tour we stopped in for one of Valencia's primary specialties (apart from paella of course): horchata. It's a drink made of sugar, water, and ground up tiger nuts. For those of you with minds in the gutter, no I'm not referring to tiger testicles- it's a type of tuber. Our tour guide declared it has super hangover-alleviating powers but I was dubious. That said, it was a tasty beverage and after trying it at the "best" and most famous location in Valencia, I surrendered to drinking it on several other occasions during my stay. It is usually served with a pastry that tastes a bit like a bready donut. 

That night we did the traditional night one bar crawl. Similarly on the Mike Steele routine, Bill, a friend from Granada, had arrived in Valencia and he, I, and Marc a guy I met on the free tour joined up on the pub crawl. Despite it being a traditionally slow night we had a decent crew and ended up having a great time.

The next day Claudia from Granada and a hungover Marc and I decided to make a day-trip down to Benidorm. Let me give you a little background info. Benidorm was once a small Spanish coastal town about two hours south of Valencia- then the Brits arrived. And they did so in waves and with them they brought skyscrapers.

Now the city is blanketed in these skyscrapers and the Brit pensioners who inhabit them storm the beaches to sunburn their bodies to a nice crispness. And as is typical with most European beaches the women are prone to sunbathe sans tops. In Benidorm, however, the age and general weight of the beach patrons make such sights quite a bit unsavory. Having sufficiently scorched both our skin and our retinas we decided to take refuge in the American Bar for some much deserved beers and sangria. This course of action gave rise to a new term, Benidorming, which means to day drink in an absurd fashion or absurd place.

After Benidorming for several hours we boarded our two hour bus ride back to Valencia. I was able to snap a shot of the city but a tree blocked part of it. Anyway, you can see just how ridiculous Benidorm looks with respect to the rest of my pictures of Spain.

Back in Valencia we gathered ourselves together and then stopped into 100 Montaditos, my favorite restaurant in Spain, for some 1-2 euro sandwiches and 1 euro beers. After relaxing at the hostel, Marc and I met up with Bill and the three of us and new friend Kat went out in search of a bar for a night cap to our great day of Benidorming. We ended up in this Irish Pub where I could get a proper Guiness and after chatting a bit I spied this ridiculous wooden horse. We all had to jump on and snap a few goofy pictures. The one of Bill on flickr is outstanding.

Needless to say, the next morning Marc and I were feeling a bit rough around the gills from all the Benidorming. We decided to remedy our condition by strolling through the Turia Gardens down to the City of Arts and Sciences and eventually to the beach. In leaving we acquired another pal Nick who was dressed in all orange and thereby had to be nicknamed "Dutch." The three of us and Bill began our stroll and ultimately reached the City of Arts and Sciences but not before stopping by and pumping some iron in the park.

The City of Arts and Sciences is spectacular. The Reina Sofia is probably the coolest and looks like a spaceship. There are several other great buildings, all museums, and the area is spectacularly landscaped. Here is an obligatory photo of me at the center.

Wow, lots of photos in this entry. You, dear reader, have been in for a treat. Well, guess what- you are in for one more. Given our less-than-wonderful state, Marc and I decided a dip in the ocean would be just what we needed to level the playing field. Only, I didn't bring my swimsuit. So, in a bold and perhaps reckless move I declared that I would dunk my head by "ostriching," which should be more or less self explanatory for those familiar with ostriches. The team held me to my claims and so before our beach day was through, I ostriched.

Feeling refreshed we returned to the hostel where they were giving away a free pub crawl to the winners of a wii bowling tournament. Not really wanting to go out but not willing to be defeated Marc and I signed up and wouldn't you know we ended up in the final. We decided to split the winning prize and go out on the crawl for half-price. The crawl turned out more or less like the one Monday except there were probably 50 of us instead of 20. Pretty crazy night. One outstanding thing I want to note about Valencia is the street art that you find peppering the city. It's some of the best I've seen, and while Barcelona is touted for its street art, I have to say I haven't seen any better than Valencia.

It should also be noted that during the entirety of our time in Valencia, Marc and I developed and addressed each situation as if we were proper English gentlemen of the Victorian era, accent and all. We decided that the best form of transportation is a motorized penny farthing, and that I would ride it around wearing a top had and TWO monocles shouting down to people on the streets, "GOOD DAY TO YOU SIR!" In keeping with that theme, we ordered wine at the first stop on the tour:

For some reason I love this one of me.

We ended up making it to the club and there are some good photos on flickr (I've already blown this post up with them). The next morning we, thankfully, didn't feel too worse for the wear and so the team strolled down to 100 Montaditos for our final meal in Valencia before going our separate ways. Dutch was off to the UK, Marc was heading to Basque country, and Bill and I were bound for Barcelona on the 4pm train. Despite a rough three nights in Valencia (which as you can probably tell I'm basically in love with), I had no choice but to take a brief nap on the train and then acquire a few pops. Watch out Barcelona, I'm coming in hot.

Welcome Young Maddox!

Before I get to posts about Valencia, Benidorm and the like, I want to first give a huge congratulations to my sister and Oscar who brought Ethan "Young Maddox" Flores into the world at 7 lbs 4 ounces. Everyone is doing well and I can't wait to get home and see him! For the first time I'm actually a bit homesick, but I did get to skype with him and the proud parents yesterday so I feel much better. Big big news! You guys will be in my thoughts in the upcoming weeks until I touch down in NC. Congrats!!

And speaking of touching down- I'll be home for my brief trip break in exactly four weeks. Fire up the grill, put the beers on ice, and gas up the boat baby.

Almeria, Spain: Mom & Overcoming a Series of Unanticipated Ailments

Well, I must say that Almeria the city has nearly the capacity to badger me to the extent of the woman who bears its name. Ha! Just kidding Mom! You do badger me from time to time but not as much as this city has in only 3 days! When I arrived I did so with some sort of injury to my right foot that I had apparently sustained on the ridiculously pointy and slick cobblestones of Granada. Then, on the morning of my second day I awoke to my right eye swollen completely shut! What the heck?!? I didn't even go out and I was in bed by 12am. Is there some sort of God of Beer punishing me for not having any? Then I topped all that off with a nice sunburn and finally by losing my voice.

So like my relationship with Mom, Almeria the city has certainly provided me with some adversity! But I'm determined to overcome it. And I started that on Thursday when I arrived by not only proceeding on foot to the hostel, but by getting in the entire walking tour of the city in my limpy gimp state. But before I talk about the city, it is important to note that the surrounding area, much to my surprise, is nothing like the (comparatively) lush Granada a mere 2 hours away. No, the landscape around Almeria looks more like this:

When I arrived in the city I had not booked a hostel but I had a vague idea of where one of the cheap(er) ones was and so I set off dragging my damaged appendage behind me. I eventually located the hostel which is in fact a youth athletic oriented hostel, and one of the biggest I've ever come across. While I'm neither youthful nor that particularly athletic, I did need a place to stay so I ponied up the cash. I'll say one further comment about this hostel: In spite of, or perhaps due to, its massive scale and converted elementary-school appearance, it is one of the most spooky hotels I've ever stayed in. Almost worse than Macau. At night, the hallway lights flicker on and off casting shadows under the door, there are repetitive bottle-clicking sounds in the bathroom reminiscent of that scene from The Warriors, and the wind howls outside the windows at night. Given all that, it's entirely possible my swollen eye was due to a late-night sucker punch from a ghost.

Being that it was a lovely day when I arrived (78 and sunny) I decided to embark on the grand tour of the city, bum foot notwithstanding. The first thing I'd like to point out is that Almeria is extremely well laid out and landscaped. It reminded me of a smaller Lisbon- a great Rambla (main drag) laid out with trees, port and beach area waterfronts, and of course a castle high on a hill from which to take in the views of the city.

The castle itself is called Alcazaba (not to be confused with Abracadabra), and is the second largest Moorish castle in Andalucia after the Alhambra. Wow, that's a lot of A's. The hike up to the Alcazaba isn't too bad though, even on a gimp foot, and there are some spectacular views of the city and port area from there.

The merits of the castle itself are not without noting- it has been painstakingly restored and landscaped, and the best part is you can get in free! Certainly the most interesting feature of the gardens area is the series of waterfall steps cascading down to the fountains.

After strolling, as best as I could, through the Alcazaba, I headed down the hill to the city center and walked down the Rambla and toward the beach. I was just in time to see a cruise ship departing- off to another fabulous Mediterranean destination I suppose. According to my Mom (clearly the definitive source on HER city), Almeria is a major port destination for cruise ships offering tours of nearby Granada. Makes sense. I also did a bit of research on the city myself (ok, wikipedia) and discovered that the name of the city is rooted in the Islamic word Al-Mara'ā meaning "the watchtower." I can certainly see the parallels to that and my mom during my high school years- ha! A few of you know what I'm talking about... ahem.

In any case, I actually found the city quite charming and was looking forward to a relaxing day by the beach on Friday. That is until I awoke Friday morning to discover that I was only able to see out of one eye! Oh no! I'm blind! No... wait, it's just swollen. But, how did that happen? I was in my room all night. As my buddy Kev said, "I always start every black/swollen eye investigation with the assumption that the victim was hit in the eye with a sock full of pennies. I then work to disprove that theory." 

Using Kev's detective methodology, even under the presumption that some dastardly rogue broke into my room whilst I was sleeping and bashed me across the face, in this case I can't imagine a sock full of the tiny 1 euro cent coins doing much damage. There was no insect bite and I don't think I got something in my eye as the eye itself wasn't red or irritated. So the only logical conclusion I could come to was that during the night I had somehow in my dreams irritated myself enough that I tried to poke out my own eye. Stunning.

So as any man embarrassed by seemingly his own actions, yet with only one afternoon available at the beach to spare, I merely proceeded with my day albeit refusing to remove my sunglasses even when indoors or reading from my computer. But, thank goodness, this visual impediment did not in any way prevent me from getting nicely toasted on the beach! And after I could feel myself begin to sizzle I retreated to a cafe and heladeria (ice cream shop- which are about every 6 feet here) to do some writing and reading on the trusty old laptop (now nicely coated in a layer of sand- thanks Almeria).

From the cafe I took stock of my situation and made the audible to cancel my planned trip to Benidorm for a night of partying. It seemed too ridiculous to attempt to go out at night wearing sunglasses and I was unable to locate an acceptable eye-patch, so it seemed most reasonable to extend my stay in Almeria a night, recuperate from my ailments, and take the overnight bus Sunday to Valencia. Yay... another overnight bus...

Day 3 found me awakening to a howl which I could only assume was either a wolf about to devour what remained of my face, or the gale force winds predicted by the weather channel. Thankfully it was the latter. Although after attempting to go to the beach and being sandblasted until my skin achieved a fine luster I was beginning to wish it was the former. Retreating from the sandstorm by the beach I decided to head to the bus station to purchase my ticket and then take a stroll around the northern part of town. I started walking north for quite a while and then took a left on what appeared to be a main boulevard. Expecting at some point to eventually hit the Rambla and then proceed back south through the city I kept walking. About half an hour later I encountered this:

To my right, the end of the city. Straight ahead, the end of the city. To my left, mountains and the end of the city. And behind me, uh, the way I came. I would also like to note that all morning after seeing numerous vendors selling ice cream cones my sole desire was to finally acquire my first ice cream of the trip. Well, I apparently walked in the only direction in Almeria where ice cream is non-existent.

Having failed both my primary goal of finding ice cream and my secondary goal of not getting lost, I was faced with a tough decision. It was too nice of a day to spend entirely indoors but it was too damn windy to continue walking aimlessly around the city. So I did what any of you dear readers, lost in a foreign city, under abusive weather conditions, sunburnt, physically impaired, still partially blind, and moderately famished, would do: I initiated the first inaugural Mike Steele Lone Ranger Mid-Day Lost in Foreign City One Man Bar Crawl™!! And since I was hungry, I kicked it off at the closest restaurant I could find where, much to my great shock, they had real (not Spanish) pizza and ice cold beer!!

After that I proceeded to five more cafes/bars grabbing a beer and tapa (usually just chips and a piece of ham or something) until I had finally wound my way back to the hostel. My favorite of all these was the Havana Cafe which was a bar, eatery, cafe, and heladeria all mixed into one. It had a great vibe- and even had some of those fans I found charming at the Long Bar at the Raffles Hotel in Singapore.

With my tapa I ordered half of a toastada with sobrasada y queso. Sobrasada is a type of sausage but on the toastadas it is crumbled mixed with something (tomato sauce maybe?) so that it can be spread on the bread. It's an excellent and relatively cheap snack.

Deciding to take it easy, I retreated to my hostel for the night, eschewing any potential Saturday night Almeria madness. Day 4 found me mostly recovered from my ailments with the exception of somehow losing my voice and having a scratchy throat. But I spent most of the day relaxing in the shade and avoiding more of the gale force winds that continued to sweep through the town. I did finally attempt, for the fourth day in a row, to eat at this fish restaurant down the street. But again, as always, it was completely packed with people and I was unable to get in. Must be really damn good fish. So I went for a hike and long story short ended up finally getting my first ice cream of the trip. My workday being complete (and being thoroughly blasted by the wind) I returned to the hostel to wait out the bus to Valencia. Forecast for Valencia: 78-80 degrees with 0% chance of rain, every single day.

Bonus Photo: Me with a sign that reads Almeria. Just for you Mom.

Granada, Spain: Tonight we have tapas, then, we go steep

Before I talk about Granada and how great it is, I need to briefly describe the extensive process required to leave Gibraltar. Step 1: walk across airfield. Step 2: Spain. It's seriously that simple. I thought after my easy entry, the Spain side would be sure to zing me. Nope. Just strolled right across. Well, in my case I walked across at a brisk pace as I was attempting to catch the 11:45 bus, knowing full well that the next bus wasn't until 4:30. And by "the 11:45 bus," I mean the 11:45 bus to Malaga as there is no direct bus to Granada. Once I got to Malaga I'd then have to figure out my travel accommodations to Granada. In the end, all that worked out nicely and about 5 hours later I found myself in Granada.

Ok, so now, Granada is great. It's also apparently the genesis of the name for pomegranates which means "apples from Granada" in Latin. Or if it doesn't, it does now. In any event, it is a beautiful city nestled between some mountains that sport one of the premier Moorish attractions in Spain: the Alhambra. No, I didn't just sneeze, but thank you for the "gazuntite." It's actually a gigantic extremely well preserved Moorish castle/fort. The night I arrived, I quickly made some new friends at the Oasis and Claudia, Bill, and "Atman" as I will henceforth spell his name, embarked on our own tapas tour that saw a flaming chorizo sausage cooker and ended with some fabulous views of the Alhambra at night.

The next morning, per typical routine, I joined up for the free walking tour where we saw some guys playing flamenco guitar, gypsy caves, great Moorish architecture, and of course, more great views of Alhambra. Here is me in one of my obligatory poses of the day!

After our tour the temperature in Granada had risen close to 100 degrees and it was time to take refuge. So, seeking proper working internet, I grabbed my computer and set off up the hill to find a cafe. I happened upon a great one serving large "Latina" beers (which I had never heard of) and a great tapa of cooked potatoes, onions and peppers. Outstanding on both fronts! But this is a good idea of a typical Granada tapa.

That night about 30 of us accompanied the staff on a tapas tour, but sadly I forgot to take photos of the great tapas we had. As you can imagine, they were excellent. Granada is famous for its tapas scene because, unlike many other Spanish cities, they adhere to the true tradition of tapas. Meaning when you order one drink you get a reasonable tapa (often of your choice) free. These can range from meats or cheeses, to cooked meatballs, fried squid, sandwiches, or fish. And many establishments have special in-house tapas. Overall it was an outstanding experience, and unlike my tapas tour in Madrid, these bars operated extremely quickly- whisking out our tapas almost as fast as we could order them. In the end it turned out to be quite a late night- as Atman says we "went steep" and I ended up sleeping in steep as well.

The next day had me signed up for the Alhambra tour. A quick note: if you visit Granada you should probably buy tickets to the Alhambra ahead of time as they have limited availability and tend to sell out. The other option being to stay in a hostel and inquire there as most have special access to tickets. As you may have guessed, I went with the latter option and easily secured mine for only a modest fee. The first thing you should check out at Alhambra are the Gardens of the Generalife. Exquisitely designed and maintained they also provide some great views over the city. This is really another example where you should check out flickr as there are way too many great shots to put on here.

After touring the gardens, Bill and I happened upon our friends from tapas the night before, Nicole and Kristin from Kansas, who happened to have tickets for the same entry time into the Palace Nasrid. The Palace itself is littered with immensely breathtaking rooms, towers, fountains, and a host of other Moorish architectural delights, the most impressive of which being the Room of Lions which was sadly under rehabilitation when we visited. At some point we lost Bill so the girls and I proceeded to finish the tour 

Subsequent to visiting the palace we proceeded down to the Alcazaba which was the historic military encampment, and whose towers hold some of the best views of the city. 

We then wandered around a bit more before the heat finally took its toll and we proceeded back in the direction of the hostel. On the way, I acquired my first kebab of the trip which was, not surprisingly, meat-tastic. All tuckered out from the past days' activities, I repaired to my room for a much needed siesta. Later that night, many of us at the hostel partook in their paella- a Spanish dish of rice and fish prominently featuring saffron. It was my first paella of the trip which is frankly embarrassing for me. I promise to do much better through Valencia and Barcelona. The version produced by the hostel was good, however, it severely lacked in the traditional seasonings and was thus stricken from being great. It was prepared in the single largest pan I have ever seen though!

After that, we enjoyed the sounds of the Wandering Camels, a jazz group featuring an oboe which was turning out some great tunes including a rendition of the Benny Hill Theme. I kept waiting for them to break into the Cantina Song from Star Wars. We went out for another round of tapas where I, being the rebel I am, instead tracked down a 40oz of Cruz Campo and some OJ and created a makeshift Spanish Brass Monkey. It was delicious(ish). Finally, we retired to the roof terrace where we had earlier enjoyed our paella and watched dusk settle in on Granada.

The next morning I was due at the bus station at 11:45 (again- the last one until 4!) for my bus to Almeria. I awoke at 10:30 with plenty of time to spare, packed and headed to the bus stop. I boarded the local bus to the station at 11:05, went two stops and realized I had left my (friggen expensive) shorts and my (second) towel at the hostel! So I jumped off the bus and hightailed it back to the hostel. By the time I found them and made it back to the bus stop it was already 11:25 and the next bus to the main bus station wasn't for another 10 mins! CRAP! So, as Phileas Fogg would have done, I chalked it up as a monetary impediment only and hailed a cab so as not to miss the bus and compound my losses. In all, I did make the bus and the cab ride only cost me 6 euro. Now those shorts are worth $65 and 6 euro.

Gibraltar, Gibraltar (UK): In which Mike Steele sees monkeys and drinks lots of English beer

As you might have noticed, the title of this blog entry is an homage to Jules Verne's Around the World in 80 Days' chapter headings. And that's important solely because I finally finished F. Scott Fitzgerald's This Side of Paradise and was thus able to move onto a new book in Gibraltar! Whoo-hoo!!

But before I get into reading/writing/drinking and all that, there are a few things you should know about Gibraltar, because most people I've talked to have no idea exactly what it is. Gibraltar is an extremely well fortified (via a natural rock formation) peninsula in southern Spain... that happens to be a British territory. How is that you ask? Well, in 1704 the "Rock" was seized by British forces and ultimately ceded to the UK in "perpetuity" by Spain in the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713. Subsequent to the British occupation, the Rock came under siege by Spanish attempts to reclaim it many times, culminating with the Great Siege which lasted from 1779-1783. In fact, the Rock has been under siege over 20 times during its history as a strategic point of access & trade for the Mediterranean. After the Great Siege, however, the Rock more or less became accepted British territory- though Spain to this day attempts to reassert claims to it. 

Wow Mike, that's friggin' fascinating, but why do I give a shit? Ok, fair point. So I'll tell you. The British control of Gibraltar creates two items of notable importance: (1) there, accordingly, exists a very passport-lax English speaking British provincial enclave in southern Spain for all those native English speakers traveling Spain whose heads are spinning with ceaseless rounds of "por favor" and "gracias;" and (2) for travelers weary of the relatively merit-less Cruz Campo or Mahou beers, or expensive Spanish liquor, Gibraltar is a much appreciated oasis of proper English draft beers, cheap cheap booze, and of course, all associated British food accompaniments. To the former, I must note that via this experience I think I have developed a nearly foolproof system of living in Spain full time and returning to the US periodically without needing a visa (email me privately to discuss), and to the latter, while I'll never be tired of Spanish food, I was ready to kneel down in worship for a proper English beer!

So now- let's get to it. Gibraltar. I've always wanted to go there ever since I was a little kid and I had this children's book that listed some of the tallest things on earth. At the time the "Sears" Tower was the tallest, I think ESB was second and on down the line. But towards the end was the Rock of Gibraltar. And since that tender age, I've always destined to set foot on that soil, climb the rock and see first-hand what all the fuss was about. Well, ladies and gentlemen, mission accomplished. But before you can climb the rock, or dare even set foot in Gib (the nickname for Gibraltar), you must first get there.

And to do that, you must walk. Yes, walk. From Spain. You can take a bus to La Línea de la Concepción, which is about a 5 minute walk from the border. Ok, seems reasonable. And it is. Here is the unreasonable portion: to get into Gibraltar you have to walk from the bus station down the street and then across a LIVE Royal Air Force (RAF) taxiway. No, I'm dead serious. Apparently when planes are due to arrive, the guards block off the street running across the runway, but in all other times you merely march yourself across the runway and right on into Gib. I've never quite seen anything like it.

Once in Gib, I proceeded to the hostel, deposited my belongings, and then started on my walk to conquer the Rock. The only problem was, at first I went the wrong way. I started down main street, which is lovely, and just kept going.

About an hour later I reached the lighthouse at the far southern end of the island. Well, ok, now what? 

So then I attempted to hike up through the eastern trails but was foiled by a non-pedestrian friendly tunnel. So I had to back track all the way to the lighthouse/mosque then start up the trail to the Upper Rock Park. It wasn't a total loss, I strutted around in my tank for a bit, simply soaking in the sun. That's a mosque there in the background.

Finally, from  up at the entrance, provided you pay the entry fee, you can get a great view of the port- dare I say it nearly rivals that of Istanbul (Kev)? 

From there you enter the park and I proceeded to the St. Michael's Caves, which are an extremely impressive series of grottoes winding through the south end of the rock. They even hollowed out part to build an underground amphitheater.

Next, you head north through the Den of the Apes. And yes, there are wild monkeys on the Rock, and yes, if you have food they will attack you. Thankfully, the ones I came across were either hungover or were merely docilely hiding from the sun; existing in a sense of general malaise.

From there you can walk up to the Siege Tunnels, blasted out of the rock during the Great Siege by the Royal Corp of Engineers to provide additional cannon berths to defend the Rock's weaker northeastern side. The tunnels themselves are extremely impressive, culminating in St. George's Hall in the "Notch" where a natural outcropping provided a perfect battery.

After that, you can walk down the trail to the old Moorish Castle which formed the high point of fortification for the Moorish medina that once dominated the hillside of the Rock. In fact, there is evidence that Gibraltar has been inhabited since the era of the Neanderthals (something that is consistently apparent on the "dual-heads" 1 pound coins they mint, featuring the Queen on one side and the Neanderthal skull on the opposite). In any event, my favorite part of the Moorish Castle was the monkeys lounging about on the old ramparts.

Who said there wasn't stuff to see in Gibraltar?!? But to be fair, I toured all of the above in less than five hours, at which point I was in a desperate need of something to eat and a proper English beer which I had sorely neglected thus far in the great outpost. Strolling back down Main Street, I glanced down an alley and happened to notice the Star Bar, which I immediately recognized from watching an episode of Three Sheets many years back. I seemed to recall Zane having a good time there (and then having a good English breakfast), so I decided to check it out. 

Well, suffice it to say, the Star Bar became my permanent inhabitance in Gib for the remainder of my time there- much to the general chagrin of the surly barkeep Ray. To be fair, Ray isn't really a surly fellow, he's actually a very kind man who took the time to speak to my mom via Skype on Mother's Day and generally looked after me during my time in Gib. An ex-military man and ex-police, Ray is not a man to suffer fools, and he's very quick to make it clear that his appearance behind the legendary Star Tavern's wooden bar is simply for the service of his own needs and not of those of beer longing tourists such a persistent American patron. 

So, with Ray at the helm, at times the Star Bar befuddles you with its apparent desire to be the most difficult bar in the world to actually give your money to. That said, one can only proffer the deepest respect for a man and an establishment that, despite the rate at which today's world moves, insists on progressing along at their own pace. Ray reminds me a bit of some of the great food and drink personalities in NYC, such as Dom DeMarco at the legendary DiFara Pizza in Brooklyn; stately taking his time in crafting each pie according to his own internal preferences, oblivious to the hand-wringing of the starving patrons behind the counter scrutinizing his every move. That said, I absolutely LOVED my time at the Star Bar in Gib. I turned out some great writing there, and despite my good friend Ray's best efforts to rid himself of "The Yank," I returned day after day for fresh Old Speckled Hen's and the incredible atmosphere of the staff and bar itself. 

On day two, I even tried my first true English breakfast, 2 fried eggs, 2 sausage, 2 bacon, beans, grilled tomato, grilled mushrooms, black pudding, toast, and chips! You need 3 stomachs to eat all of this!

I have to admit, a funny memory came to my mind when this gigantic plate was sat down in front of me, as I imagined my ex gleefully plowing through a breakfast of this magnitude. Despite her faults one thing I can never deny her- the woman could eat! And she would have surely appreciated this morning culinary feast. 

On my last night there, Ray let me check out the view from behind the bar and then was gracious enough to pose in a picture with me. I'm certainly going to miss Gib, my new friends, and especially Ray and the wonderful folks and other patrons of the Star Bar. You can bet when my family comes through southern Spain, they will be making a mandatory stop in Gib, and the now-requisite pilgrimage to the Star Bar. Gib, I shall miss you immensely!