Catching up: Granada and Adventures with Columbus

I do apologize to you, my precious few readers, for not having updated this blog for a few weeks. A few things contributed to this. First, I've been more busy as of late than I was at the beginning of the semester. Second, I haven't taken any big trips a-la-Barcelona since, well, Barcelona. Third, I'm historically remarkably lazy when it comes to documenting things. From my first planner in middle school to this travelogue, I tend to drag my feet quite a bit before I muster up enough discipline to write out anything. So, again, I apologize. Spain is still wonderful, and I'm still having a great time and doing fine.

A few weeks ago, we made our first multi-day excursion of the semester to Granada. Granada, as with many cities we've visited up to this point, was a very important city in the context of the Arab rule in Spain from 711-1492. Granada was the last Muslim stronghold to fall to the Christian Reconquista, or Reconquest, of the peninsula. Indeed, it was only after the fall of Granada that Spain as we know it today was properly unified. Thus, granadinos (people from Granada) like to say that their city is the birthplace of Spain.

I was really looking forward to going to Granada, in large part because of a particular poster that used to hang in the classroom at Cypress Falls High School where I took Spanish IV and V. It featured the ornate Alhambra, the sultan's residence, with gorgeous greenery and flowers. Its caption read, "Dale limosna, mujer, que no hay nada en la vida como la pena de ser ciego en Granada." , which translates to, "Give alms, woman; for there is nothing in life like the pain of being blind in Granada." This is a popular dicho that is actually featured several places in the city. The context is an exhortation to passersby to be generous to the ubiquitous beggars, especially those who are blind, because they bear the terrible pain of not being able to see the beauty that surrounds them.


Arguably Granada's most famous attraction is the architecturally spectacular Alhambra palace. It was built in the 14th century as the house and main offices of the ruling emir, a medieval White House, if you will. It is perhaps the most stunning example of Moorish architecture in all of Spain, which really is saying quite a bit. Tragically, my camera ran out of batteries before we got there, so I'll have to rely on some stock pictures.

The incredibly intricate patterns shown in the picture above are literally everywhere in the sprawling palace. People come to the Alhambra and take thousands of pictures essentially showing the same thing. In this sense, the Alhambra is almost like a man-made, Moorish Grand Canyon. When people go to the Grand Canyon in Arizona, they have a tendency to be overwhelmed by the views surrounding them. And rightly so. The unfortunate thing for the people who have to sit through their slideshows is that they take pictures at every turn, all of which look rather similar. Same with the Alhambra. Take any single room from it and put it in a museum in the US or, really, anywhere in the world, and it would be a huge attraction, all passing by would be stunned. Multiply that by hundreds, and you start to get a sense of what walking around the Alhambra is like. It's a bit numbing, actually, which really is a shame. "Oh," you begin to think, "another cavernous room covered in the most incredibly detailed and beautiful molding that I've ever seen. What time's lunch?"

The one thing that disappointed me about the Alhambra, and Granada in general, was that the beautiful plants and flowers that I had seen a few years ago in my classroom weren't there: it's winter, and nothing's really blossoming. Which was unfortunate. But, on the bright side, it gives me a reason to take another trip to Spain in the future.

After our visit to the Alhambra, we went to our hotel to check in and rest. Earlier, some of the staff was talking about organizing a trip to one of Granada's famous cuevas (caves) to see flamenco, which is by many accounts some of the best in Spain. I jumped at the chance. And I have to say, it was one of the most incredible things I've ever seen.

It was a very intimate setting, a small room with a wooden floor in the middle surrounded by chairs one row deep. We got a drink with the price of admission, so I sipped on a glass of house red wine while we waited for the dancing to start. We had maybe a dozen students, plus a few faculty and staff. I got to sit next to my literature professor, Dr. Connie Scarborough, and her husband Chuck.

After maybe ten minutes of waiting, two men, one carrying a guitar, came and sat down across the floor from me. A few moments later, three women, two young and one old, wearing colorful, form-fitting flamenco dresses, took their seats next to the man without a guitar, who turned out to be the singer. What followed was a thing of beauty. The guitarist began to play, the singer began to sing and clap, and the three women began to clap and stomp their feet in rhythm. Then, one of the women stood up from her chair and took her place in the middle of the floor. I recorded a brief snippet of it. It's not the best quality, nor is it the most representative bit of the performance. But you can at least get an idea of how the dancing and clapping and stomping and singing worked.

In this performance, I was reminded a lot of the Preservation Hall Jazz Band in New Orleans. Like them, these flamenco artists perform in an intimate setting, practicing an art that relies as much on technical prowess as it does the performer's ability to "feel" the music, the soul of it, if you will, and which is filled with controlled improvisation. And like the famous New Orleans jazz band, these performers were so completely in sync with what the others were doing that it was as if they shared the same heart, lungs, hands, and brain. There weren't five individuals, but rather a single entity comprised of five bodies, all intimately connected with each other. It was moving in the deepest sense of the word. Music, when done at such a level, has a way of communicating the unsayable, the emotions that would be impossible to convey any other way.

Yes, the place was touristy. Yes, they probably do this show every night. But that's the point. They do this every night. And yet, every single night, when they get into their groove, they put their entire heart and soul into their performance. It's as if they were alone in the middle of the floor, without an audience, without lights, just them and the music. And it's truly a thing of beauty.

When I got back from my flamencan adventures, I was greeted by piping hot, freshly made bread that my hotel roommates had bought. Spanish bread is magnificent. Crispy crust, angelically dense, soft inside. And cheap, too. Each of the loaves pictured below, which were made to order, cost 75 cents.

The next day in Granada was left completely open. Some wandered around the city, others spent the day in the gorgeous Sierra Nevada mountains that overlook the city. I decided to take a few side trips with Dr. Scarborough, her husband, and some of the staff from the center. Our first stop was the summer home of Federico Garcia Lorca, whom I talked about in my Cordoba post, which has been converted into a museum. Huerta San Vicente, as it's known, is a really neat place. All of the furniture is original, and it also houses original letters, manuscripts, and other memorabilia from the poet. Unfortunately, we couldn't take pictures OR touch anything, the latter I promptly broke upon entering Lorca's room. How could I not put a hand on the desk where my favorite poet wrote some of his classic work? Sure, it got me a light reprimand from the tour guide. Whatever. I don't live in Granada. They can get over it.

Anyway, the rest of the day was spent walking around and touring churches, which are spectacular, but which also make for poor blogging material. For those who are interested, I'll post the pictures on facebook.

Our next excursion, the following weekend, was a Columbus-filled road trip which covered the place from where he set sail for the new world as well as the monastery where he convinced Queen Isabel's confessor, who later convinced the queen, that his journey around the world was a good idea.

Pictured above is the place from where Columbus set sail. The structure in the middle of the picture is a well; the last thing to be loaded onto the ships was fresh water. Now I can already hear the sarcastic comments. How did Columbus set sail on dry land? Back in the day, the water actually came right up to the well. Now, the water line is almost a mile away. But rest assured, this was the actual well where they filled the ships, which would've been anchored a short distance away.

After seeing the authentic sights, we went to the docks where they have full-size replicas of the three ships Columbus took on his voyage. I didn't really take any pictures, for two reasons. Number one, it was really cheesy. Complete with mannequins and recorded sounds of the sea. Number two, I've already seen them. No, really. There were two sets of replicas made. One is here in Spain, and the other... Is located in none other than Corpus Christi, Texas. So that was a bit of a letdown. The take home point there is that the ships were really quite small, and had a lot of people on them. Not worth the camera battery.

After a day of exploring, we stopped at a beach on the way back to Sevilla. The Atlantic was cold that day, but that didn't stop me and a handful of other guys from jumping in in our boxers. Maybe not something I would do in America. But this is Europe. No one would have batted an eyelash even had we gone in stark naked. A wonderful finish to a so-so excursion.

More soon.

Weekend in Barcelona, Part III

The next morning, our second and last, we set out to finish off the itinerary set for us by the guy at my hostel. The first stop on our list was the Museu Picasso (which also proved to be the most difficult building in all of Barcelona to find; it was tucked away in a non-descript building in a non-descript neighborhood not really near anything). All of Picasso's biggest works, the hostel worker told me, are in New York, Paris, and Malaga (a city on the southern coast of Spain where Picasso was born). But the Museu Picasso in Barcelona was for me made almost more interesting because of the fact that it housed so many lesser-known works, including many he made as a child and teenager. And, at six euro, it was one of the cheaper museums we've been to. Unfortunately, photography of any kind was prohibited. So I only got a few shots while the guards weren't looking.

The above picture is one of his studies on Velazquez's Las Meninas, his masterpiece and one of the most important paintings in Western art history. We'll see the original Velazquez in the Prado museum in Madrid a bit later on. The painting has inspired countless studies by many famous artists. Along with Picasso, Dali, Goya, and Bacon, among others, have painted their own takes/responses to the painting.

The original

But more about Velazquez and Spanish art in another post. One of the things that struck me about the museum was just how good of an artist Picasso was even as a young man. One of the most important paintings in the collection is his First Communion which he entered into an art contest at the ripe age of fifteen.

Doesn't look like what you think of as Picasso, does it? Kind of makes me feel like even more of an underachiever when I look back at what I did when I was fifteen. Or, for that matter, what I'm doing as a twenty-year old. Ah well, that's why he's Picasso and I'm not.

After the Picasso Museum, we made for a lesser-renowned, but nonetheless exciting museum: The Chocolate Museum (Museu de la Xocolata), where the entry tickets are delicious bars of dark chocolate.

The museum was filled with chocolate sculptures of various things, ranging in subject from Don Quixote to SpongeBob (Bob Esponja to the Spaniards). But really, the highlight of the visit was the chocolate that we got to consume. After our round through the exhibits, munching on our tickets the whole way, was concluded with a cup of xocolata. No, not the hot "chocolate"-flavored stuff you drink during the winter. Actual melted dark chocolate in a cup.

 No matter what kind of day, week, month, year, decade, or century you may be having, a single cup of this stuff will make you view it all in a dreamy, golden light. I firmly believe that melted dark chocolate cure not only cancer and depression, but every malady known to man. And it will make an incurable optimist of even the most cynical among us. While I was seriously tempted to make camp at the Museu de la Xocolata and never return to Sevilla, living out my days engorging myself on wonderful, divine chocolate, we pressed on.

Next up was the stadium where the Barcelona soccer team plays. Futbol Club Barcelona, is, I'm told, the best team in Spain and one of the very best in the world. They play in the enormous Camp Nou, which at a capacity of nearly a hundred thousand is one of the largest soccer stadiums in the world (for those of you keeping track, however, it has about ten thousand fewer seats than the University of Michigan football stadium). There weren't any games while we were in town, which was somewhat unfortunate. Even though I have no interest whatsoever in soccer, going to a soccer match is one of the cultural experiences in which I feel like I need to take part while I'm here. Luckily, Real Madrid, which I'm told is also one of the premier soccer teams in the world, will be playing during our excursion to Madrid.

The Spanish obsession with soccer is something I really don't think I'll ever understand. It really is a religion-- more so, one could argue after looking at the church attendance statistics of Spain. I'm not even arguing that it's not fun to play. When you don't have the equipment to play football, baseball, or ultimate frisbee, soccer does fine in a pinch. But it's just not any fun to watch on TV. I love baseball and played it for most of my childhood. But I'll be the first to say that it's no fun to listen to on the radio. Really, I'm not that big a fan of watching it on TV, either. Soccer seems to be infinitely worse than baseball to watch. And yet, pass by any bar with a TV and you're likely to see a partido, or at least a recap of a partido from the day or week before. Despite not understanding the national obsession with such a boring sport, I have figured out why the US will never be as good as, well, just about any other country in the world. For one, our best athletes do other sports like football, baseball, and basketball. But -- and this is the bit that I've learned while over here -- one of the biggest impediments to the US getting to the level of Spain is that Spaniards start perfecting the game when they're young. We saw the practice session of a team of kids who couldn't have been more than about four years old. And, as far as I can tell, every kid in Spain plays soccer. And they continue doing so until they're too old to walk. Every field in the city of Seville is reserved from now until the end of the year with local teams wanting to get playing time in. But I digress. Here's Camp Nou, home of FC Barcelona.

After seeing the stadium, which is on the outskirts of town, we headed back to the center of the city to a street called La Rambla, one of the most well-known areas of Barcelona. It's a pedestrian mall linking the Gothic Quarters and El Raval, an ethnically Chinese neighborhood. Among many other things, La Rambla is home to Mercat de la Boqueria, a public market where you can find nearly every type of fresh meat, fruit, and vegetable known to man.

A really cool place, a lot like the Mercado de San Miguel that I talked about in one of my first posts. We got some delicious fresh-squeezed juice for a euro. Between the fresh juice and Jack LaLanne's death, I'm really thinking about buying one of those Jack LaLanne Juicers when I get back to the States. The world seems to be screaming at me that that's the correct action to take. We'll see.

After the market, I split from the group with the intent of going to see one of the Gaudi buildings. However, the eighteen euro entrance fee threw a wrench into those plans. So, I had a fantastic meal (which is chronicled in my facebook pictures for those who are interested) and headed back to another Gaudi structure, the Sagrada Familia, for mass. The church was consecrated last November by Pope Benedict XVI, and mass is now regularly held there. Due to the state of construction, masses are not held in the main nave, but rather, in the crypt below the church, which is gorgeous in its simplicity.

The main altar of the crypt

I mentioned in my first post about Barcelona how the Sagrada Familia is a remarkably spiritually-moving place. The crypt is no different. It's just one of those places that stirs the senses. The beautiful space was augmented by a visiting choir. Their simple Catalan harmonies filled the small space wonderfully. Despite not understanding a word (it was a Catalan service), it was one of the most moving masses I've ever attended.

The crypt's most famous tomb is that of Antoni Gaudi himself, who died in 1926 when the church was about 15% completed. He knew that he would never see it finished, as he expected construction to last several hundred years. But he was never fazed, saying famously that "[his] client is not in a hurry."

After mass, I looked around the crypt for a short while then headed back to the subway once again to go to one final sight: the Magic Fountain of Montjuïc.

The fountains at Montjuïc were the original dancing fountains, and supposedly the inspiration for the fountains at the Bellagio in Las Vegas. According to an email that another person in our group had, the fountain performances took place at 7:30, 8:00, 8:30, and 9:00PM. Since mass ended just before 8:30, I was in a bit of a rush to make my way there. While I was switching rails, I happened to run into a bunch of people from our group who were also planning on going to the fountains. When we finally got there, we were met by almost everyone else who was in Barcelona from Tech, just by chance. Go figure. Anyway, the fountains' last show turned out to be 8:30, so we didn't get to see them. We were rewarded by a fantastic view of the city, however, which we used for one final group picture in Barcelona.

A fantastic trip, and one that I won't soon forget.

Weekend in Barcelona, Part II: Ferran Adria's Snackeria

After the beach, our group decided to part ways. Some went back to the hostel to change to go out that night, others had other things they wanted to see, and I went in search of a very particular restaurant. Those of you who are also facebook friends may know that a few weeks ago I posted an article from El Mundo talking about a new restaurant that was opening up in Barcelona. It was billed as "El Bulli on a budget". As soon as I read that article, it went on my list of priorities for Barcelona. First, some background.

Ferran Adria is perhaps the most renowned chef in the world. His restaurant, El Bulli, has been listed as the number one restaurant in the world a record five times over the past decade by Restaurant Magazine. He is particularly known for his pioneering contributions to the field of molecular gastronomy. Taken from wikipedia: "Molecular gastronomy seeks to investigate and explain the chemical reasons behind the transformation of ingredients, as well as the social, artistic and technical components of culinary and gastronomic phenomena in general." Fascinating. You may know him from his famous use of different foams that taste like a variety of foods.

Pictured: Delicious.

Needless to say, El Bulli is not only really expensive, but nearly impossible to get a table at (they usually get around 2,000,000 requests for the 8,000 available reservations every year). Now, however, it really is impossible to get a table; El Bulli is closing this summer, so if you didn't have a reservation for this season, you're out of luck. I've always been kind of curious about this whole molecular gastronomy business. So when El Mundo reported that Ferran Adria would be opening up a "snackeria" based on the foods that he made at El Bulli, but cheap, I was really excited.

41º, as the restaurant is known, bills itself mainly as a cocktail lounge that offers a variety of "snacks" masterminded by Adria. It is attached to an upcoming tapas bar, Tickets, which is also run by Adria. Luckily for me, 41º doesn't take reservations. You just show up, and if there's room, there's room. If not, you wait outside. When I got there around 7PM, there was a seat at the bar with my name on it. I ordered a cocktail, a caipirinha, that I've heard is good. Then I turned to the snack menu. I started out with the enigmatically named "oliva de 41º". Yes, that means what it looks like it means: olive of 41º. Only, it wasn't an olive.

It looked sort of like an olive. It tasted exactly like an olive. But it wasn't an olive. Molecular gastronomy does a lot of this sort of thing, making things taste like other things without being those things at all (I realize that this is a grammatically atrocious sentence). I'm still scratching my head about this one. Next up were "pistachios in acidified yogurt".

Pretty, huh? The mystery here was how exactly they made them. As the title suggests, they were basically just pistachios in bundles of stiff white stuff that I assume was yogurt dusted with some sort of mildly sour powder. These were absolutely delicious. I continued down the menu with the tantalizing-sounding parmigiano ice cream sandwich:

I felt like this had a lot of potential, but unfortunately just tasted like a mouthful of salt. Alas. I decided to adventure a bit on the next selection: oyster with caviar, apples, and a few other things that I can't remember:

This was the first time I had tried oysters or caviar, and I actually really enjoyed it. I don't know if I'm ready to venture out into eating straight whole raw oysters, though (this oyster was chopped up and mixed with the other ingredients). My last "snack" before dessert were essentially pork rinds with some sort of special seasoning or something. They were forgettable, so I'm not even going to bother with a picture. The dessert was "dry meringue with praline":

These were neat; you hold them on your tongue for a few seconds and they dissolve completely, leaving behind only flavor. Delicious.

All in all, 41º was definitely a worthwhile experience. Yes, it was pricier than meals typically are, but the concoctions that they've come up with really are nifty. And, after all, when else are you going to go to a Ferran Adria restaurant?