Tuesday, April 6 - Granda

Sandy and I woke up late today; we were just completely knackered from our day of traveling before. We popped down to the main part of Granada for lunch and to go to the Catedral de Granada. The Catedral was a bit of a let down in the sense that allegedly Ferdinand and Isabella are buried there, but I couldn't find their tomb anywhere. Oh well, there was still a pretty awesome organ in there. After lunch we headed up to Punta de San Nicolas which, according to Rick Steves, is the best place to see the Alhambra from, the Alhambra being the main reason to go to Granada.

Inside the Catedral de Granada

The climb itself was a pain and a half because the temperature got progressively hotter the higher up we went. If that's what it's like on mountain stages in the Tour de France, then I feel real sorry for those guys. There was no reprieve. But Rick was right, the Punta is the perfect place to see the whole Alhambra from, and I've got to say it is a MASSIVE structure. I hadn't really heard about it until Sandy talked about it (I know, a travel destination I didn't know about, shocker), but when I saw it from San Nicolas, I knew I was in for a real special treat. As we were sitting up there, Sandy said to me, 'I smell something funny.' I looked around and sure enough, as I suspected, there were two guys smoking pot and selling cheap trinkets to tourists. Did I mention Granada is full of hippies? It's absolutely brilliant.

The Alhambra from Punta de San Nicolas.

Me with the Alhambra.

After a quick rest at the hotel we walked over to the Alhambra. If we though Punta San Nicolas was a tough climb, nothing could've prepared us for the climb to the Alhambra. Sandy came to the determination that they had strategically placed benches where they did because they knew when exhaustion would set in. Now, I've got some pretty strong leg muscles from running and cycling, but my calves and thighs were burning by the time we reached the top. But man was it worth it.

For those of you who don't know, the Alhambra was built by Moors in the 14th century. And if you don't know what the Moors are, they were the Arabic people who invaded Europe during the Middle Ages. Reference: Morgan Freeman's character Azeem in 'Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves'. These palaces (alcazars) were built for Moorish kings called Emirs (United Arab Emirates make more sense now?). The Alhambra was specifically built for the last Emirs and the court of the Nasarid dynasty. Oddly, there is a statue of Washington Irving, deemed the son of the Alhambra, because he wrote a book called 'Tales of the Alhambra' which you can (conveniently) buy in one of the many Alhambra gift shops. I went in to the Alhambra with absolutely no expectations. I made a point to know nothing about it besides what Sandy told me (which was, 'OMG, it's amazing. I may die of happiness when we get there.') because I wanted to be completely surprised. And let me tell you. I walked out of there completely awestruck and I now rate the Alhambra as the greatest man-made structure I've ever seen. I cannot express fully express in words how incredible the Alhambra was, so I will let my photographs do that for you.

Entry gate in the Tower of Justice.

Arabic calligraphy. Hopefully I'll be able to read a bit this time next year.

The Patio.

All hand done. Be sure to click on these photos so you can see all the detailing.

One of my two favorite 'rooms' in the Alhambra. In this one, you could smell the running water everywhere and you looked out into the Albayzin of Granada. The other one smelled like honeysuckle and oranges.

My favorite place in the Alhambra in the room that smelled like water.

The water room. My favorite spot on the far right. Can I live here?

In total, I took over 400 pictures in the Alhambra, so this is a REALLY paired down version of all the photos. All I can say is go there. It'll blow your mind.

We returned to our hostel (after stopping for a well-deserved ice cream of course), went back to Kebab man for dinner while avoiding Hussein at all costs, and then began to re-pack. It's getting to the point in our journey where we're tired of packing and repacking. It's getting old. We did shed some weight that was sad to part with though. We had to say goodbye to Rick. He was too heavy and because we'd be meeting Igor in Barcelona, we didn't feel the need to carry him around anymore. So thanks Rick, for guiding us around Spain, back door and all!

And for a final laugh of the day, I was REALLY tempted to go on this tour. Can you figure out why?

Now I can say, 'I was there.'

Last Thursday, I went to a bar / music venue called Whelan's with Rory and Michele. It's been a life goal of mine to be at one of those music shows where something amazing happens; someone walks in the room, and you know you're part of something special. This was Mark Geary's last gig in Dublin for a while and as we were standing there going past the alloted performance time, in walks Glen Hansard. For those of you who don't know, Glen Hansard is a former Grafton Street busker, a member of both The Frames and The Swell Season, but he's most famous now for being in a movie called 'Once' that garnered both him and Marketa Irglova Academy Awards for Best Original Song in 2008. As soon as I saw Glen coming in from the back, I knew this was that moment I'd always hoped for. As you can tell from the video below that shows the last song of the gig, Glen doesn't need an amp or a mic. He blows the roof off the place on his own. And Mark Geary, Dan Wilde, Seamus and other musicians up there were just phenomenal. So thanks to Rory and Michele for taking me along and helping me fulfill a life goal. Ironically, I was standing next to the guy taking this video, and if you listen really hard towards the end, you can sort of hear me singing as well. A bit weird to hear my voice in a video with Glen Hansard.

Click this link for Glen and Marketa's acceptance speeches.

Dublin (Temple Bar Mix)

Hello everyone! I'm currently sitting in Rory and Michele O'Brien's apartment on Lower Camden Street just outside the city centre of Dublin. It is a BEAUTIFUL DAY out and I can't wait to get going. However, I thought I'd give a bit of an update while I've got a few minutes before I head to Starbucks (late nights necessitate coffee).

For those of you who are concerned, I did not meet Rory and Michele in some pub and they agreed to put me up. I met them back in Raleigh at the @U2 Conference (a place where U2 hard-core fans can nerd out with one another) .... actually I gave them a lift from the conference centre to the movie theatre where we all sat and watched U2-3D together. Fantastic! When I figured out when I was coming to Dublin, I gave them a heads up and I'm now staying in their guest bed room which has a U2 theme to it ... awesome! I sleep with Bono, Edge, Larry and Adam staring at me and feel completely at home.

Yesterday, I met the infamous Davy G., the man who gives U2 walking tours of Dublin. He took me all over Dublin, down to Temple Bar to show me the internet cafe Adam's brother Stephen owns, down to two record stores I'll be going to today, across the Ha'Penny Bridge to see the Clarence Hotel owned by Bono and The Edge, down to Bonavox shop, which is where Bono got his original name (Bonovox of O'Connell Street ... Bonavox meaning 'beautiful voice' in Latin ... he got a nickname while in Lipton Village, but now we're too far into history), he took me down to Windmill Lane where every album up to Joshua Tree was recorded, and he took me to HQ where all their work is done now, either recording, mixing or finishing. We went up Grafton Street to see where they tried to film 'Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own' but Bono got mobbed (Grafton Street is also where Bono hung out after his mother died) ... I could go on and on and on of all the things we saw and all the stories Davy told. We then went down to O'Neill's for a pint and met Rory and Michele there. O'Neill's has a fantastic atmosphere and is less touristy than other bars, so I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Well, I do need to be off, as I need to walk down to Dame Street to pick up Merrill and Amanda. No idea what we'll be doing today, but I guarantee that I'll be stopping by the record shops at some point! Cheers everyone! Here's a video fo the boys singing 'Beautiful Day' on top of the Clarence; you can see the Ha'Penny Bridge in this video. In the words of Bono: 'Rock and roll stops the traffic.' Literally.

And now for something totally different ...

We will have a brief pause on the Spanish front, for a more current post. Please note, this one is chock full of videos. So prepare yourself.

Today, myself, Merrill and Amanda head to the most sacred, most holy, and most green island of Ireland. My adopted heritage calls me - more strongly than my real Swiss / English heritage actually. I've been so looking forward to this and we've been back and forth all week as to whether we'd even be able to go due to the volcano. Well, I guess we were meant to go, because the winds have changed and the ash cloud has been pushed off the coast. So first off, let's have a bit of U2 with an Irish flair:

It's a muuuuusical journey. Secondly, I want to put out two things that need to be addressed in this post as I don't know how accessible the internet will be.

1.) I'd like to wish my mom a Happy Mother's Day! We've had some crap Mother's Days in the past .... there was the time we locked the keys in the car at the grocery store ... there was the time that I got incredibly ill when I was supposed to perform in church for Mother's Day ... and there were others. But, when it's all said and done, I just want to say mom, that you are my best friend (sorry Andrew). You know me better than anyone, and the older I get, the more I realize just how incredibly lucky I am to have a mom like you. We've got something no one else has, and I'll treasure that forever. I LOVE YOU AND I KNOW YOU CAN FEEL MY HUG FROM AN OCEAN AWAY! This is for you:

And don't any one tell me that they didn't dance during that.

2.) Secondly, I'd like to take a moment to remember my dad, Rick Serex. While I don't have any memory of him, I know from all the stories, videos, and photos I've seen that he was an incredible dad, and I'm glad that we got to spend even just a few months together than no time at all. I know that you wouldn't have been happy if you hadn't gone out going Mach 5 with your hair on fire while flying that beloved A-6, and while I miss you, I know you had a more important job ... to always watch out for me. You're missed and remembered. Just know that if Henry Weinhardt's was available, I'd have one in your memory on Sunday, so I hope you'll be satisfied with a hard cider. This is for you:

Sorry ... he wouldn't have wanted us to have been sad. And apparently, he and my Uncles loved doing this whenever The Boss sang 'Fire'.

But now that that's been said, I'll put up one more for mom, because she deserves it. If I can't hear you from Ireland, I'll be severely disappointed. Seriously, why is he still not in the RRHOF? Truly a crime of the first degree.

Monday, April 5 - Tarifa / Granada

We woke up really early today and it sounded like a tornado outside. And when we actually got outside, bags in tow, it felt like a tornado. It wouldn't have surprised me if Bill Paxton and Helen Hunt had walked by us on the way to the bus station. Riding the bus out of town was pretty scary too, as we were on some mountain roads the the wind was definitely rocking the bus. I was glad to get off.

Had to use my scarf to protect my nose and face from the sand whipped about in the wind.

We walked across the street from the bus station only to discover that we had a replacement rail bus to Ronda and then we would take the train to Granada. The bus ride, while beautiful, was terrifying. Have you ever seen those roads during the Tour de France where you see the peloton just whip around these blind hair pin turns up in the mountains somewhere? Those were the kind of roads we had to take to get to Ronda. All I could think was, 'I hope this bus driver knows what he's doing.' After a nerve wrecking journey on the bus, we boarded the train (thank God), and carried on to Granada. The trip was really beautiful, and there were farms with acres and acres of olive trees all in neat little rows and I loved seeing them. As we approached Granada, I was shocked to see snow on the mountains that surrounded the city. Granada is in the heart of the Sierra Nevada range, but still. Snow, in April, in Spain? Weird.

The mountain road we took to Ronda. Scary much?

The beautiful olive trees.

Proof: snow in Spain.

So a journey that started at around 7AM ended around 4PM and by the end, Sandy and I were both knackered. We crashed out for a bit and then went to 'kebab man'. Sandy loves doner kebabs, and she saw the place on the way to our hostel and said, 'We have to go there.' Well, this was the only place we've found in Europe that has stuffed either of us. We were so full, and the food was so good. We told kebab man we would return.

Our hostel was in the Albayzin, or the old Jewish Quarter. At night, the place absolutely came alive and it looked very much like the old Europe you think of in your head. We went into a shop run by a guy named Hussein. Oh Hussein. The poor guy was from Syria, and could speak very little English or Spanish. However, in just 10 minutes in his store, he managed not only hit on both me and Sandy, but he also asked if we were gay. Bold little Hussein from Syria, you better watch yourself. I bought a tea pot to top off my tea set from him. But the rest of our time in Granada became an adventure in avoiding Hussein whom we unfortunately had to pass to get to kebab man. Granada is a fantastic city though, and it's got a really cool atmosphere, although there are definitely some people who have been hanging out with Peter, Paul, Mary, and Puff their magical dragon.

Sandy walking through Granada.

A light in Granada ... absolutely beautiful.

Sunday, April 4 - Tarifa / Tangiers

Yes, just for the record, Sandy and I realized the incredible irony of us going to an Islamic country on Easter. But I made up for it ... you'll see.

We woke up bright and early and walked down to the port to board our ferry to Tangiers. The process of getting a ticket could not have been easier. We arrived 30 minutes before departure time, bought a ticket, filled out a customs form, went through customs and boarded the boat. It took maybe 15 minutes. Why is it so easy to get to Africa? The boat ride over was a little too reminiscent of my journey to Robben Island from Cape Town ... there was a lot of pitching and rolling and a lot of people were getting sea sick. I got nauseated, but didn't chunder like others did. We arrived in Morocco two hours behind Spain. The kingdom doesn't recognize daylight savings time like Europe does, and it uses Greenwich-Mean Time as its national time. So in the summer they're two hours behind. Getting off the boat, we didn't have any intention of hiring a guide because we couldn't afford it. However, as per usual in an African country we were hustled in the direction of a tour guide who proclaimed to give a great price and spoke good English. Sandy and my only goal for the day was to not get sold into white slavery. I was a little put off by this guy though, because he was very demanding, and when we told him we could only spend €25 on a tour, he got really upset with us. But then he handed us off to the man who would become our Moroccan grandfather, Mohammad, a.k.a. Mo. Mo agreed to take us around his city for the price we could afford and we instantly liked him a lot better than the other guy. Maybe it's just because I trust cute old men. Mo took us over to the taxis and had a driver take us to the top of the city and the Kasbah. On the way, he taught us a few words in the Moroccan dialect of Arabic, showed us a bunch of buildings like the Catholic church was is called, ha, the Cathedral of St. Andrew, he pointed out several mosques which we could not enter because we're not Muslim, and a bunch of places where famous people like the owner of Forbes Magazine lived. He then paid the driver for us in Moroccan dirham.

Mo led us to a restaurant that was once someone's home but now gives traditional Moroccan performances for tourists and patrons. Mo had us try on the musicians garb.

Inside the restaurant.

Trying the hats on for size. Photo by Mo.

Mo also took us to a view point to see the confluence of the Atlantic and Mediterranean.

Me and Sandy with the Medatlantic in the background! Photo by Mo.

He then took us to the Kasbah ... and just for the record, we rocked the kasbah. The Kasbah is the center of the city, where life happens in Tangiers. While there he took us to all kinds of places: the house where the traditional healer lives who cures people (Mo swears by him); the crowded street where people try to sell crap to tourists for over-inflated prices; we saw traditional Berber women whom do actually believe that if a photo is taken of them it takes away their soul; Mo took us to the seafood market where they had fresh (REALLY FRESH if you get my drift); we walked through a meat market and vegetable market; he took us to the oldest rubber tree in Tangiers, which is older than America; he took us to visit the water man and get our picture made with him; and then he took us to a rug demonstration.

Rock the kasbah ... rock the kasbah.

Many doors have the hand of Fatima over them to ward off evil spirits. The evil eye that we saw in Greece and Turkey was also everywhere as well.

The oldest rubber tree in Morocco. It's older than America. The base is painted white with limestone to protect it from bugs.

At the fish market. This guy was cutting freshly cut shark.

Fresh olives and dates!

Now, I've been to a rug demonstration before once in Turkey. I know how persuasive these guys can be. So as the only customers at the demonstration, I knew they'd be especially persuasive. Our little shop owner offered us tea, which I was more than happy to accept. Turning it down is quite offensive, as it is a gesture of hospitality, and plus tea in Arabic countries kicks the pants off our tea and I supped mine up very quickly. They laid out all the rugs before us and I tried my best to look indifferent. There was one that was particularly beautiful but I just kept a straight face and didn't do anything. I don't know that Sandy's ever been to a rug demonstration before. She got a little more excited about one rug in particular. After the demonstration the man b-lined for Sandy and said, 'Which one do you like?' and she told him. Poor choice. He pulled her over to the rug and told her how much it was ($600) and tried to get her to bargain with him, which she engaged in for a little while. When she told him multiple times she couldn't afford it, he then made his way over to me and told me to point out which rug I liked. I told him in my best dead pan:

'Well, if I buy a rug, I want it to be one that speaks to me, and I'm just not hearing any that are talking. Plus my family already has a rug we bought in Turkey and that is very special for us and I don't want to take away from that.'

He said, 'Ahh yes of course, well please tell me if one of them does speak to you and I'll be happy to help.' And then he went back to Sandy.

Round 1: Catie. Ding.

He drove his price down even further ($400), and kept saying 'Plastic, fantastic!' There was nothing I could do to help my friend so I just wandered around taking pictures of rugs and drinking my tea. Poor Sandy was effectively accosted by the salesman. I was probably having too much fun watching her try to back out of buying a rug from this man, because she kept looking at me with an exasperated look on her face, and all I could do was shrug my shoulders, shake my head and chuckle to myself. I bought a little thing for Jim from the store which I negotiated down from €15 to €5 because that was literally all I could afford, and then we got the heck out of there. Mo then took us to a jeweler, where I played the indifferent card again and he successfully sold a hand of Fatima necklace hand made from silver to Sandy using the plastic fantastic technique. They are relentless.

The rugs at the shop.

The delicious tea.

Mo then took us back down towards the port and told us about the time he met Col. Sanders. yes, the Col. Sanders of Kentucky Fried Chicken. We also figured out that Mo speaks 6 languages: Italian, English, French, Arabic, Swedish, and something else. The man is ridiculous. We parted ways with our beloved Moroccan friend and walked down to the beach, which had only two other women on it but was filled with men. Welcome to the Islamic world I guess. When returning to the boat through customs, a man in an official-looking uniform and a government badge asked to see our passports while waiting in line. We suspiciously handed them over, then he handed them to a sketchball in a leather jacket who began to speak to us in Arabic. Sandy immediately ripped our passports out of his hand and we quickly walked away; we're not that stupid, sir. We ran down to the ferry and prepared ourselves for the journey back which was not nearly as rocky as the journey out. We realized on the way over, that it would probably be a rat race to get to customs and because we didn't have EU passports, we would be put in line with the Moroccans, who had proven their wiliness many times already that day. So we pushed our way to the front of the debarkation line and then sprinted off the boat towards the customs house. Unfortunately, some people with rolling suitcases cut us off, and we were about 15th in the 'line' for everyone with a non-EU passport. We then had to go into defensive blocking mode because Moroccans have no concept of a line and will cut in front of you without a second thought. I basically had to stand on top of Sandy to keep us together. We were glad to get out.

Me, Mo, and Sandy. We love him!

At the beach!

For dinner we cooked some spaghetti bolognese in the hostel and had some very fresh strawberries with it. And because it was Easter Sunday, and I felt I hadn't given the Lord his time, I walked to the beach facing the Atlantic so I could watch the sunset over the Atlantic Ocean and just meditate on the day and the trip. The sunset was absolutely incredible, and the cloud formation looked like this painting done by Spring Branch's artist in residence, Todd, that used to hang in my friend Troy's office. I'll never forget just sitting there watching the sun set on an incredible Easter Sunday.

Tarifa is one of the best places in the world for kite surfing. This guy got some major air time.

Easter sunset.

Truly incredible.

Saturday, April 3 - Sevilla / Tarifa

We got out of Sevilla! Sandy and I took an early bus (10AM is early in Spain) to Algeciras on the bottom peninsula of Spain. We then took a 1:30PM bus from Algeciras to Tarifa, half an hour ride away. Tarifa is the southernmost city on continental Europe. It sits on the Strait of Gibraltar and looks across the Strait where the dark blue water of the Mediterranean and the light blue water of the Atlantic Oceans meet and mix with Africa on the other side of the water. Pretty fantastic.

Africa is in the background. Oh hey.

Arriving in Tarifa was a bit strange. It is a town riddled with kite surfers and stores that service the kite surfing community, which is why it was strange because I felt like I was back home in Virginia Beach with places like Corner 24, Coastal Edge, and 17th Street. Very strange. Sandy was incredibly pleased to discover the owner of our hostel, Ilsa, was a German ex-pat and she could speak German with her. I just told her, in German, that I don't speak German. We walked around the old walled city of Tarifa, which has a hilarious plaque over it's main gate that says in Spanish, 'The very noble, very loyal and heroic city of Tarifa / Won from the Moors by King Sancho IV, the Brave on 21 September 1292.' I had a good laugh at that. The inside of the walled portion of the city reminded me a lot of Mykonos oddly enough. The white-washed buildings and the old cobbled streets ... it was very Greek. We accidentally stumbled upon a restaurant run by two Italian ex-pats who sat us down at their establishment (again, we were the only patrons) and convinced us they had spectacular margarita pizza. THEY WERE NOT LYING. It was probably the best margarita pizza I've ever had in my life. It was huge, had just a little tomato sauce, freshly cut pieces of buffalo mozzarella, basil and olive oil galore. I was in heaven. While we were there, the song, 'The Wild Irish Rover' sung by the Irish tenors came on the radio. I looked at Sandy and said:

'I'm in spain, at an Italian restaurant run by ex-pats, listening to the Irish tenors sing 'The Wild Irish Rover'. What in God's name is going on here?'

Never been more just generally confused in my life.

The gate to the old walled city.

Mykonos or Tarifa?

We turned it in early tonight because, well, while we were in Sevilla, Sandy called her mom, and Mrs. Halboth gave us the come to Jesus talk about Morocco. She said, 'Girls, if you don't go, you're going to wish you had. And I'm not putting up with you guys complaining about it. So just do it.' Thank you Mrs. Halboth for the 2x4. Although I think being able to look out our window and see the African coast would've convinced us as well. Also, I'm pretty convinced most of our hostel owners (with the exception of Kev-AN) of course, have thought us to be anti-social because we don't hang out with fellow hostel residents. For the record, we're not anti-social, we're wiped out.