SOUTHERN SPAIN - I BECOME "EL AFORTUNADO"

Ministry of Agriculture, Madrid

Spain is to Mexico as a thoroughbred racehorse is to a donkey—that’s not a mathematical question, but a description. Spain is elegant and refined, its people dignified, reserved, polite and helpful. Though the country is experiencing many of the financial woes that seem to multiply in warm climates in Europe, you don’t see it in the city or the country. No panhandlers at the airport or train station, plenty of modern facilities, and fantastic highways. Of course, you’ll pass more than a few bridges to nowhere and roads that simply end without a destination, thanks to the economic melt-down; compared to Naples—there’s no comparison. The desperation doesn’t seem to be there.

That said, I had a GREAT time, hanging with my friends and meeting the Brit ex-pat community (or at least part of it) in the Alpujarra. “Alpujarra”, I’m told, means “the defiant ones”, as it was the last stand of the moors before they were driven out of Spain, and a hotbed of resistance during the Spanish civil war. I couldn’t help but think of the film Sexy Beast, about ex-cons retiring to southern Spain. None of MY acquaintances, of course.

Museum advertisement, Madrid

Read on, and find out why I’m “el afortunado”—the lucky one.

Check out the video: https://vimeo.com/70760985

LA MEZQUITA DAZZLES, A DAY EARLY

I already knew I was not going to get on the flight out of Madrid on the 18^th, so I changed my flight to the 17^th, and planned to drive back to Madrid with Ron, as his flight was leaving at 6AM on the 17^th. Nick was flying from Malaga, on the coast. We cleaned up the place, took a few last pictures, and were off.

Trust the coin-toss; fate was kind

Madrid was a good 500-600 km from Orgiva, so we were looking at a six-hour drive, at least. Ron and I toyed with the idea of going to Cordoba to see the Mezquita, a mosque built in 785 by Abd-ar-Rahman I (and a World Heritage Site) that had been partially refashioned into a cathedral. We hemmed and hawed about it, finally deciding with a flip of a coin at a gas station—we were going to chance it, even though it would take us more than 200km out of our way. We figured it out scientifically—if we didn’t reach point X by time Y, we’d turn around—long story short, we made it, and it was one of the highlights of my trip.

One difficulty—there were no directional signs to it in Cordoba, so we wandered for a while until we stopped at a gas station. Later, we figured out they were calling it “The Cathedral of Cordoba”, effectively erasing the most interesting thing about it—the Moorish architecture was absolutely stunning, and the church that was plunked down in the middle of the city-block-sized mosque was ho-hum, right down to the gilded receptacle for St. Vincent’s bits (that’s what makes a cathedral a cathedral—a saint’s sweetbreads or some other body part). The gory Christian sculptures added to the charm.

After soaking up the beauty of the place, we hit the road, with me at the wheel. I lead-footed it to Madrid, because I wanted to get there before dark so we could 1. Find the airport, 2. Find the car rental drop-off, 3. Find a hotel with a shuttle. Somehow, we managed to do all three, in spite of being heat-blasted and dozy. 
Ron discovered a Best Western-approved hotel (Hotel Villa de Barajas) in the nearby town. Decent rates (69 euros a night) and a free shuttle to the airport—for me, alas, not for him as he had to leave at 3AM. Across the street: a popular spot for tapas on the corner, and an excellent Chinese restaurant (I had severe vegetable need by that point--the noodle soup was served with a spoon, and the owner cut the noodles in the bowl into bite-sized pieces with two knives!). I got up with Ron to help wrestle his suitcase closed (he had been in Europe for six weeks at that point, and the elephantine size of his luggage reflected it), then hit the sack again after he left. 
The next morning, I went to the airport—it didn’t look good: I was #4 on the list, and there were two seats. Once again, my luck held; the first stand-by was seated, but the next two folks on the list were traveling as a team, and they decided to head for Barcelona to fly out of there together. I took the seat, next to a very nice professor of bioscience from Madrid (scientists seem to travel a lot), and was homeward bound once again.

Check out the video: https://vimeo.com/70760985

HALF THE FUN IS GETTING THERE

Griffin at the top of Puerte de Atocha Train Station

I arrived at the San Francisco airport at 7AM on Tues. July 9, made the flight to Newark, but was almost sure I wouldn’t make the flight to Madrid from there—the flight was oversold as usual, and there was a long line of surprise stand-bys ahead of me (a number of pilots and flight attendants were going to a conference in Madrid). I sat in the boarding area, pad in hand, looking for places to spend the night in NY. I got into a conversation with a lovely Spanish biochemist also flying to Madrid for a science convention. When I told her I didn’t think I’d make the flight, she said, “No, you’ll be lucky; you’ll get on”. I thought, “Why not think positive?” and my mantra became “I’m luckyluckylucky”. Sure enough—last seat on the plane was mine once again. Overnight in the cheap seats, then a late arrival in Madrid. 

There’s a great shuttle from the airport to Puerte de Atocha Train Station for only 5 euro—the Airport Express (the website is in Spanish, but you can figure it out). I found out about this through the blog MadridMan.

Skylighted roof over the courtyard of Reina Sofia

Puerte de Atocha is close to the Prado and the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia (modern art, including Guernica by Picasso)—alas, I didn’t have enough time to tour before the next train. Because the flight was late, I missed the train for which I had already bought a ticket. Lucky again, I ended up buying the expensive flexible train ticket before I left because the Renfe Train website wouldn’t accept my credit card (not unusual, but the site is good for checking train schedules) and I had to buy through Palace Tours in New Jersey over the net. If you buy the ticket in Spain, it’s considerably cheaper, but I expected to make the original tight connection.

Puerte de Atocha

While bumbling around the multi-floored station in search of the right office to change my ticket, I saw a classic scam: a young, blond girl “fainted” in a crowd—recent news reports tell of Romanian gypsies dressed like westerners, pulling the old distraction number while pickpockets work the crowd in airport and train stations. They didn’t get me this time.

A 4 ½-hour train ride to Granada included a change and stop at Antequera Santa Ana, a beautifully designed modern station, empty, in the middle of the sparsely populated Toledo plain, scoured by a hot wind.

Nick was waiting in Granada, and we made the 45-minute drive into the Sierra Nevada mountains and the village of Orgiva. I took him out to the charming café Baraka for falafel.

The Alpujarra region surrounding Orgiva is very dry; we passed close to wind machines on the curving road. After dinner, a stunningly bumpy dirt road outside the village led to Nick’s adobe-and-timber casa. Just before we made to cross the stream to the house in the dark, we spied Ron who had arrived minutes before from southern France, a happy reunion ensued, and we spent the next several hours catching up.

Check out the video: https://vimeo.com/70760985