The quintessential American, and a terrifying experience

My last two days in Spain went in a blur through Toledo and Madrid...I was conscious of the constant aching of my feet and being hungry...little else. After our farewell dinner at Mosaiq restaurant in Madrid, I slept two hours then took an early shuttle to the airport, waited for an hour for the counter to open.  While I was there,  I started chatting with two country boys from Oklahoma, probably about 18, who went camping across Spain. (??!!!).  They helped me weigh my bag then convert Kilos to Pounds.  Removed random stuff from my suitcase.  Threw out some, placed the rest in my carry on.  Waited in line to be checked in, waited in security line to be full-body scanned, waited in line at the cafe, paid 17 Euro (like 25 dollars?) for water, bottled tea, an apple pastry, two mini prepackaged flan and the bad attitude of the clerk.  Lugged my stuff to the international wing, waited in the waiting room until the international wing of the airport was opened two hours later.  Lugged my stuff to the gate and boarded the plane shortly thereafter.

A pleasant start, I introduced myself to the man who I would be spending the next 9 hours with and then slept several hours.  I watched a movie, we ate lasagna.  And then.

An hour of exceedingly rough air built into horrific turbulence, plane jumping and bucking in every direction like a toy boat on an ocean swell.  The only communication was a brief "fasten your seat belts tightly" and then nothing.  A piercing alarm began to sound and all other sound, lights and air went off.  We began to see billowing smoke in the cabin illuminated by the light from a a half-open window shade.  The passengers settled into an eerie quiet.   I began to wonder what it would be like to impact seawater and then thought I might die of smoke inhalation first.   There was a constant downward trend, with the plane still unstable.  White-faced flight attendants started running down the aisles with garbage bags no trash could make it in.  Then a member of the cockpit crew walked quickly to the back and spoke on the phone with the cockpit.  He raced to the front and another member raced back and repeated the process.  Still smoky, the alarm continued to sound.  As we began to level out the air became more calm and the smoke began to clear.  A long period of quiet with no communication and then a quick message that they didn't know what happened, but it seemed to be handled and that we were diverted to Boston as a cautionary measure, where we would land in an hour.  The Spanish on board were chattering quietly, trying to decipher what was said.  I translated for my seatmate, who shared it with the Spanish seated near us.  Eventually, someone made a similar announcement in Spanish. Another hour of unusual chemical odors, then we landed safely.  As we pulled to a stop,   firefighters boarded the plane from both ends.  They searched a nearby storage area, several bathrooms and finally agreed the smell originated about two seats behind me.  The Spaniards went nuts taking pictures and videos, which I thought was kind of weird until I overheard someone talking about how these firefighters were the quintessential American, with their brawn, hard-worn faces, and chewing gum.  I admit, I had to agree.  They allowed us to leave the plane and go through passport control.  In the luggage area, we waited almost an hour.  The official story was that the (international, I might add) airport did not have the proper equipment to remove the bags  from our jet.  The running and conferring of several TSA/police agents seemed to indicate other reasons for the delay, but eventually they allowed us to pick up our bags and go through customs.  Bewildered, tired and grateful to be alive, we shuffled to the terminal bus area.  We boarded and rode sardine-style to the B terminal.  mounting the escalator with gargantuan bag, I went the end of the line and waited, about 2 hours, to see a ticket agent who could reschedule me.  I went to the far side of the main terminal, went through security again, and then on to my next flight.  I am safe now, and glad to be home after waiting another several hours for my luggage to arrive in Charlotte.  All I can smell is a burning electrical odor which I'm assured is just me, and I'm contemplating a trip to the urgent care to get checked out.  And trying to bend my mind around the fact that at this time tomorrow I will be teaching.

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The Glistening City, 8 windmills and Toledo

Imagine for a minute that you are walking into a completely new place.  The sun is shining so brightly reflected from the labyrinth of all-white buildings that your eyes hurt.  You are breathless in the heat.  You are tired, hungry from your journey.  As you step inside the shelter of the waiting room, darkness temporarily blinds you.  And then you see it...the most brilliant flashing lights.  You are stunned there in the dark.  An intense disorientation and cowardice convinces you to run away screaming.  An equal measure of curiosity and wonder induces you to stay.  A sudden whirring to your right and a beast existing only in myth flaps its wings.  It spews smoke and you recoil in horror.  What is this place of marvels?  Have I descended into the pit of hell?-you think.-  Or maybe, just maybe, the gates of heaven?

Such was the effect of an audience with the Caliphs of Cordoba, the Glistening City.  It was engineered to provide every advantage for the Caliph, to astound and discomfit any visiting dignitaries.  By today's standards, a pool of liquid mercury and a mechanical griffin would be wonderous but not necessarily terrifying.  Now, think about what emotions it would inspire in a citizen of the 8th century...

Leaving the city, on our way to Toledo, we climbed the hill to view the windmills that inspired one of the most well-known scenes in western literature, from Cervantes' Don Quixote.

 There are 8 total.  Each has a name. Amazing that after all this time, there still aren't any bathrooms up there!  (The wind makes an au-naturale pit stop a messy impossibility.)  And it was still oppressively hot.

 

We arrived this afternoon in Toledo, only a mild 33 degrees Celsius.  We took the long way (i.e. our teacher got us lost) to the Museo Sefardi but it really was worth it.  The Sephardic Jews have an incredible story... I found this inscription in the memorial garden and it spoke to me of timelessness:

These are old tombs from ancient times

Where some men lie in the eternal rest

Inside there is no hate, no envy

No love, no neighbor's hostility

On seeing them my mind cannot

Distinguish between masters and slaves

-Moses Ibn Ezra (Maimonides)

Flamenco by night, a mosque by day and "Lovely Typical Sevillian Houses with Sell of Orange Blossoms and Rosemary"

 My first view of the Alhambra at night

While I have been twice before to see the Alhambra, I have never stayed longer than a few hours and certainly not at night.  After an incredible tour of "el Albaycin", or Islamic quarter, we wound our way up to the top of the hill opposite the Alhambra.  The Alhambra was a palace constructed in the 1100's for the Islamic rulers of Granada.  It has been bombed by Napoleon, used as a stable, scavenged by countless numbers of tourists beginning in the 15th century; a sensual world of water, mist, jasmine and orange blossoms, and a technical marvel, it still remains a testament to the mystery, beauty and refinement of the Islamic spirit of medieval Spain.  

Granada by night

 Cuevas de la Rocio

Flamenco Dancers

Winding our way down the hill, we were privileged to be one group of hundreds witnessing tourist flamenco in caves, a la gypsy.  We sat within the cave, listened to one fantastic singer/dancer and several other bad ones--and we got a free drink.  This, my friends, is a well-oiled tourist machine.  

The following day brought us back to the Albaycin to visit the new mosque of Granada.  Mired in 20 years of red tape, it was built next to the original mosque, now a Christian church.  Really, though, what is 20 years in a history of almost 1000?

Our guide, seated next to the corner with legs crossed, was quite accommodating--since he has just begun the fasting period of Ramadan and will not be allowed drink or food until sundown, no matter how long he stays in the hundred degree heat or how dry his mouth gets.  

 The qibla, which orients the mosque and prayer toward Mecca

the section for women is in the back to the left

simple with little decoration other than the basicoccasionally, the imam, or spiritual leader, will sit here

shoes must be removed and hands, face and feet washed in the fountain area outside

Mosque by day

 

Our entrance to Sevilla was greeted by wide avenues, roman ruins and islamic architecture.

The third largest cathedral in the world behind London and New York

 Originally the location of 3 synagogues, the conquering Christians built a church after the Pogroms of the 16th century.  The French, not to be outdone, tore it down and put up...an embassy.  Yup, still there. 

 sometimes the translations can be a bit hairy...beware online translator users!

 400 year old graffiti

one of the smallest streets in Europe

It hovers around 100 F

What I wouldn't give for some Dunkin' Donuts coffee right about now...but, oh, yeah, I'M IN SPAIN.

 La Giralda.  Build originally in the 1100's as a minaret, it was added to with Gothic and High Renaissance styles and is now a bell tower.

We've become largely nocturnal in this heat.  Today, we arrived in Cordoba where we are staying literally, across the street from what was the largest building ever built until the 1700's--a mosque that was able to accomodate up to a million worshippers.  The Christians who took over this area in the late 1400's, constructed a mosque in the middle of it.  Can we say, identity issues, anyone????

A serene evening and a future goodbye...

Since we are entering our last few days here, I find myself trying to describe this experience in words.  It is an intangible warm and lilting melancholy that I find perfectly encapusulated by a Valencian poet in 1177.  How interesting that my reality and his come together now.  I wish I could read it in the original Arabic. I will miss this place.

SERENE EVENING

A serene evening,

We spend it drinking wine.

The sun, going down,

Lays its cheek against the earth

To rest.

The breeze lifts

The coattails of the hills.

The skin of the sky

Is as smooth as the pelt

Of the river.

How lucky we are to find

This spot for our sojourn

With doves cooing,

For our greater delight.

Birds sing,

Branches sigh

And darkness drinks up

The red wine of sunset.

Muhammad ibn Ghalib al-Rusafi

d. 1177 (Rusafa, Valencia)

Would you like to follow in my butt prints?

This tree probably dates to the 1600's when there was a big push for botany. This is one of two plaza/parks that are populated with non-native species. From what I understand it is a Great _______ Fig.Cant remember the middle part...
Now showing The torres de los serranos, 1500's

local art gallery. loved the work by the door, on the wall

went out with Fernanda (host) and met some of her friends. this is one lovely lady named Candela. She is really an amazingly interesting and vivacious person!
THis is Candela's penis necklace. Pull the cord, and ... you guessed it.

This is the medieval town of Albarracin. It is now designated as a UN heritage site. We walked up and up and up. No railings, no safety warnings. Some brave souls crawled out onto the walls (where they were promptly overtaken by elderly tourists walking at a brisk pace with walking sticks). Ron scooted himself out there on his butt then issued an invitation. Ron, Determination is thy name! This complete and utter lack of concern for a person's safety would never be allowed in the US! (In Spain, they just figure you know better than to hang off the side of the walls, and if you don't know better, too bad for you!) Itty bitty streets are incredible. The view isn't bad either. :)