Spain

People walk by -- with their dogs, strollers, kids, significant other -- in full cold weather attire of coats, hats, and scarves. Most of the shops are closed for the Easter holiday, but there is a massive herd of people out and about, window shopping in dark windows, cigarettes lit, each person in their own world on their own path. This is the natural order of things here.

I am starving. Apparently people here don´t eat, rather they survive on their smokes, cafes, wine, and tiny snacks consisting of a piece of bread and a slice of cheese. First thing is first, coffee. Upon finally finding a cafe, I order a cup and a croissant. I am the guy in the t-shirt. It is a warm 16C, especially in the sun. The smell is a relaxing combination of those from a bakery, coffee, and the mist from the sea. The view: in the foreground, the walking herd including old men with berrets, mopeds and cars behind them, buldings and the misty hills and sea in the background. The Basque people are friendly.

We are in a pickle. When you travel on the fly, this is bound to happen sooner or later. The holiday left us stuck in north Spain a week longer than we had wanted, but what can you do? We were just happy to have aquired a place to crash during the night. We have now stayed three nights in Bilbao, three more in San Sebastian, and one more in Barcelona before we can travel out of Spain. Tonight we take the train to Milan in an effort to make it to Switzerland, but lets rewind back to that cafe.

I really like the fact that many European cities are pedestrian friendly; people here walk a lot. I especially like this because I am a man counting on my feet to take me where I am going. Did you know Americans will only walk, on average, 300 yards a day? (thanks for that fact Bill Bryson). Did I mention that people here are really thin? (lots of walking+no real food). We have probably been covering between 4 and 10 miles a day on foot. My legs are now getting a rest and my mind enjoys the caffine. I am now taking in my newest prized possession: the March issue of National Geographic magazine -- in english. It is pretty much worth its weight in gold. I take it all in, devouring the pictures and text, watch people on the crowded sidewalk, sip coffee and eat the croissant which takes the edge off the hunger. Things will work out, I am going to enjoy the moment.

Here are some pictures from the last few days of adventure, maybe not worth a 1,000 words, but still more interesting than text.

Me, fully loaded

Maundy Thursday in Bilbao

Dan in Bilbao with a little guy very interested in whats going on

Bilbao river reflection

Bilbao Basilica

Out of the mist, the Gugenheim!

San Sebastian City Hall and Statue of Jesus on Easter... trust me that is Jesus

San Sebastian hilltop Church

Basilica in San Sebastian

Horsemen statue

Flying a kite in front of the Palace in San Sebastian, this guy was getting dragged around on the sand

North Spain Coastline, the conditions are just never perfect for good pictures it seems

Dan photographing the north coast... this is pretty much what we do

San Sebastian Sunset, yep I will take that picture

About that cup of coffee... just the smell would return some strength to my stretched-to-the-breaking-point, taught, internal string I mentioned earlier. Hot, bitter, black, caffinated goodness. There is a running dialogue between some friends and I that coffee is basically the nectar of the gods.

Upon finding a novel while hiking, Bill Bryson (in his book "A walk in the woods") was delighted and sublimely gratified saying, "if there is one thing the (Appalachian Train) teaches, it is low-level ecstasy -- something we could all do with more of in our lives." I always try to enjoy the little things in life myself, not always with success. When travelling with a backpack, it is exponentially easier to enjoy such things. When before these moments are taken in with a quick good feeling and a smile or missed all together, you now grasp them with an embrace like a bear hug... I mean you run up to it like you are finishing a marathon, collapse at the line and almost break into tears you are so full of joy.

We found ourselves, out of the drizzling rain, at a coffee shop, ordered the largest grande cup of coffee, and sunk into beautifully cushy lounge chairs on the second floor. I mean, I ran ran up to that finish line and collapsed into that chair. Having a cup of coffee and sitting in that soft armchair was indescribable, just an overload of the comfort senses. How can you reach this level of ecstasy during the daily grind? Not sure if you can.

On top of our extreem enjoyment, we met a man from Seattle also enjoying a cup of coffee (starbucks, how ironic). We had no plan or intention other than to do some serious marinating in those chairs for a long period of time (it had already been a chunk of time). However, unknown to us at the time, we were about to begin an enjoyable long day.

Joel, our new english speaking friend (if you speak english in a foreign land, you are automatically befriended), is a world traveller and free lance writer who was laid over in Madrid on his way to India. We were contemplating things to do for the next twelve hours until our train left for Bilbao and decided to see a museum that Joel had visited some years back.

The Museo del Prado, among the thousands of art pieces, has a room containing the "Garden of Earthly Delights" painted by Bosch and several works by Patinir that are just as impressive. I stood and took in Bosch´s work for more than 20 minutes in awe of the complexity and imagination it must have taken to create such a painting. The Flemmish painters room alone was worth the admission. I could have been there for several more hours if I didn´t finally give in to the physical demands from the knees down and the rumbling in my stomach.

Our trio proceeded to chat about everything from photography and art to politics to travel while we sought a place to have a late lunch. After lunch we decided to visit the M.C. Escher special exibit which happened to be in town. By metro and foot, my feet still more or less in shambles and legs on the verge of cramping, we found the exibit.

Escher has been a favorite artist of mine for a while, his trendy works used to hang in poster form on my old apartment walls. Seeing the progression of his work in its entirety was mind boggling. You stare at them utterly amazed. Each one a perfect presentation of lines and contrast, most of them in simple black and white. It is beyond comprehesion how someone could create art like he does. As he progressed with his form, his works play tricks on your mind. You stare as long as you can while he holds you captive making you walk a wire between elation and losing your mind. You just cannot make the leap to understanding but are fascinated.

Some art is considered by art critics to be great. I can appreciate this and most art in some way. Between the Flemmish room in Prado and the Escher exibit, I was completely captivated and in awe. I forgot for a few gracious moments how little sleep I was running on... how my boots had not been off my feet in the better part of two days... how I still had to get back on the train that night... I have no words to describe how amazing those art works for me, they enticed my imagination and mind.

Madrid was a great stop. Starting out as a wreck, pulling the pieces together (the mind is a powerfull thing... thanks also to the coffee), meeting a new friend that shares the wanderlust, enjoying interesting conversation, seeing two art exibits that now top my list, and getting on the next train to Bilbao-- all in less than a day. Some days are just better than others.

After a day and a night like that, you need a very large cup of bold coffee. Since the last you knew of me, I have trekked from Lagos to Lisbon, Lisbon to Madrid and Madrid to Bilbao. Wow, that sure is easy to read. If you have a map, it even looks like a relatively short distance. Doing this, over Easter holiday (which is no small holiday in Europe) on a budget, was an experience. Life is after all, basically a collection of your experiences with your perception.

Some night trains are called sleeper trains because they have sleeper cars and travel during a time when the majority of people would normally sleep. Based upon this definition and my experience on past trains of this nature, the trip from Lisbon to Madrid would be defined as a no-sleeper. Yes, this train fit the part where it commutes during the night -- however we secured ourselves seats because the sleepers were booked (holiday, remember).

So again, being 6´5", sitting in a small seat facing another... sleep just doesn´t come. When we sat down, Dan and I had one of those moments where things look dire... so what do we do, we had a laugh. One of those laughs that you must have... to release needed endorphines so that your internal string doesn´t snap with a resounding crack. We laughed so hard that the girls sitting next to us first looked at us like we were crazy. When we continued, then began to smile, and laugh as well.

In the end, I spent the night on my feet, between two cars chatting with a black frenchman from Paris, a man from Portugal who worked in Switzerland and my travellmate Dan. Mix together conversations with some french, spanish, and english... throw in a few stops with policemen boarding randomly checking passports... toss on the feeling like you have been on a train for days with all the sounds and movements on the rails at around 5am, and you can begin to understand my experience. When all was said and done, we found ourselves in Madrid.

My perception? That is travelling on a budget! What kind of fun would it be if I had all sorts of funds to take a plane and in less than a few hours be at my destination, staying in a 5 star hotel? Well, probably fun in a more relaxing way, but there is no story there!

This is adventure. Out of the comfort zone? Check. Lost? Yep. Agenda or Plan? Nope. Living it up? For sure!

(sorry there are no pictures of this experience for your viewing pleasure, but here are a few last shots of Lagos, the paradise I left behind to board the no-sleeper)

The chimneys in Lagos

Downtown Lagos

Downtown Lagos

"Donde esta Las Fallas?" is my question at the information desk at the Valencia train station. His response, while probably trying to hold back a mixture of a laugh and frustration from how many times he had been asked the same question by touists, was to point behind me out the door. Luckily the train station was centrally located in the heart of the older part of town.

Even early during this spring day, you could feel the excitement and energy. As soon as you step out of the station, ninots or puppets could be seen. We had some time too kill before the 14:00 Mascletas. We began our own tour of the city. I was greeted by the scent of something fried.

I need you to picture in your head and feel like you are at something of a carnival, the 4th of July in the USA, and the beginning of spring. Got it? Okay, now you (by you I mean me) are walking by a food stand, a huge vat of oil is cooking dough. All kinds of fried donought type foods is what you smell. The architecture is also impressive. So now you are snapping off pictutures of the amazing buildings. At random points in the streets, sometimes at crossroads or just in the middle of a fenced area, huge ninots are visiable for your pleasure. These are amazing works of art, something that artists have spend lots of time and money on. They are only to be enjoyed, however, for one week. Las Fallas is the celebration of the start of spring. At the end of the week, among many other events that occur, these ninots will go up in a blaze of fire.

Speaking of fire, it is now 14:00 (2:00pm, for you all not accustom to Europe watches tell time). The Mascletas is about to start. You had been walking around with ease, not too many people about. However, within the last hour, people have been appearing at an alarming rate. It is very apparent where the celebration was to take place, where the huge crowds of people were congregating (see above picture).

It takes you about 20 minutes to walk the distance of a block in the waves of people. Giving up on trying to make it any further, you just decide to stand and watch from this place. The sound of a fire cracker reaches your ears. The sound has been common all day long, but several more follow. Then fireworks in the air. Mascletas has begun! For the next 15 minutes, you, and everyone else watch the fireworks fly in a blaze of spring glory. These are exploding not 40 yards away causing shock waves of sound to pass through your body and chest. The lights and noise are impressive, the feeling is intense. In a grand finale, explosions are resounding from the sky to the ground. At the end, music begins to play and people sing along, something similar to New Years Eve. Locals in traditional dress walk around, people, including you take pictures. Within the next 30 minutes, most of the crowd will be gone. It is Monday, I assume people have to go work. Street sweepers and people clean the streets to be very respectable.

Happy Las Fallas!

Now you wander over to a stadium...

The sky is darkening to a orangish red, the sun is just about to drop over the rim of the stadium. The weather -- just about perfect with pants and a t-shirt on. There is an intesity amongst the impatient crowd. Old men, weathered by the Spanish sun, chew their cigars chatting between each other in anticipation. They are as excited as I am even though they have witnessed this event many many times in their life. Me, well I don´t really know how they could be as anxious, it´s my first time in such a stadium. As if he knows, one of the old men looks over to me, says something in spanish and gives me a huge grin. I know he said, `here we go, this is going to be a good one.´

My seat is old and hard as rock, but I don´t hardly notice. Wait! The gate is open... a big one, black, charges out. The crowd grows louder. out of the sides of the ring the torero´s assitants appear with their red-pink capes. The bull is full speed ahead, chasing after each of these men. The band strikes a chord and out come the horses, the bull burries his horns into the armored side of one of them, the mounted picador spears his back. The begining of a blood river flows down the bull´s side.

The band again begins. This is now the signal for the banderillero. Standing in the center of the stage, he raises his colorfull barbed poles. His appearance is of a preying mantis. The bull is infuriated by this gesture. He now charges this new man. Waiting until the last second, the crowd holding their breath, the banderillero skillfully places his banderillas. This act is repeated four more times all eight of the barbed spears now rest in the bulls back. The banderillero´s have been especially brave and skilled in their strikes, the crowd rewards them with appreciation of applause.

Now a new tune plays for the enterance of the matador. I rattle off as many pictures as I can. The bull, still angry as ever, has blood rolling down his back and sides. He seems unphased. Now alone in the arena with the bull, the matador skillfully moves his feet while holding his brilliant red cape, taunting for a charge.

Oley! Oley! The crowd is chanting. This particular matador is pleasing the crowd with his swiftness of foot and hand. The bull is also putting on a show of strength and stamina. Now, the final chord by the band. At this point, the matador recieves a new sword. The final moment is upon us, the crowd recongnizes and builds in sound. With several more volleys between the bull and matador, he raises his sword in a striking position. When the bull charges, it will be his last, the matador burries the sword deep into back, he stops, and falls to the dust. The crowd roars! The matador, looks at the bull giving it final thanks for sparing his life and for giving him fame.

In victory, the matador walks around the crowded arena. Bunches of flowers, single roses, and flags rain upon the stadium floor. The crowd is up on their feet waving white flags in the air. Giving kisses and bows, the matador retires within the walls.

This is a spanish bull fight. I was glad to have the chance to see one of these events, taken place in the city of Valencia on the southern coast, a short trip south of Barcelona. The event lasted 2.5 hours, the crowd was pleased, no man or animal was seriously wounded -- except for 6 bulls. I would say to those farmers who raise beef cattle, forget the cows, build a stadium, work something out with animal rights people, raise bulls for meat, and instead of sending them to slaughter, sell tickets and fill the market with bull meat. Yes, I know there would be many problems with this, but it is a novel idea (I´m sure the meat wouldn´t be as good) and it works in Spain! (all bulls killed are processed for meat right behind the scene).

As you noticed, this is part I of Valencia. Part II to come later. This week in the city of Valencia, there is a festival called Las Fallas. This is why we travelled there and why the bull fighting was so good this week, or so I was told.