Donostia (San Sebastian) - Part III

The rain swept in overnight and the wind and pelting drops on my window awakened me before the alarm sounded (Just kidding...no alarm in this room!). Raining it was, but by the time I showered and dressed for my last hike about this amazing place, the clouds were breaking and the rain had ceased.

Yesterday I terminated the first half of my walk-about without climbing to the top of the NW peak. So today, I sneaked around to the smaller of the two harbors and took an old cobbled pathway to the crest.

Half-way To The Summit

View of the Old City - Mouth of the River Urumea

There was a stiff breeze, (a nor'wester about 30 knots I'd guess), blowing in from the Bay of Biscay. The swells were very lumpy and the tops were being viciously whipped, causing breakers far off-shore. I hope the photos captured the action as it was quite spectacular against the sky and even more dramatic when the swells collided with the exposed rocks and the seawall.



The trail down was very steep and I could tell it was rarely used, an alternate switch-backed pathway being the preferred alternative by most of the tourist hikers. The two routes finally intersected, and I wound my way down to the harbor barrio at the base of the peak.

It was a steep walk up and then back down of about 4 kilometers and I was ready for a break. In a short calle at the bottom of the footpath, I found a quaint, Basque neighborhood restaurant and decided to have a long lunch before heading to my pensione for siesta.



The menu was about as Basque as one could hope, and I ordered a crispy green salad, homemade bread and a glass of (you guessed it), Muga. After enjoing my salada and bread, I ordered steamed carrots, snap beans and lamb chops and a Muga Reserva to complement my entree. A little flan was a fitting finale!

This City will never cease to tug at my heartstrings and it will be very difficult to say good-bye and board the AVE for the 300 kph ride back to Madrid tomorrow. I'll let you know, if I successfully negotiate the subway from Chamartin to our haunt off Plaza Sol.

Tomorrow night I'll make the last pub crawl and bid adios to our pal, Carmelo, at Casa Toni. I'll try to pitch a couple coin into the bucket at Alhambra just to humor our Romanian transplant, she who kept us so well fed and well oiled.

If there's anything worthwhile at Cafe Central, I might shut my trip down with some Sangria and jazz...but it will have to be a damn site better than the last group we saw there! Eliseo Parra is a very tough act to follow!

"Adiós, hasta que nos volvamos a encontrar"

So...that's it for today. I'm off to siesta, then paseo and an evening carousing two or three of my favorite pinxtos bars. I'll need to "shut-it-down" early so I can drag this old body to the RENFE Station at 7 a.m. in the morning.

"Adiós, hasta que nos volvamos a encontrar" to one of Spain's loveliest cities.

Donostia (San Sebastian) - Part II

After a very gray prelude to the day, the sun burned through the mist and fog which had crept into the harbor from the Bay of Biscay overnight. By 10 a.m. it was nothing but blue sky tickled by a few wisps of remnant fog on the medieval ramparts atop the three peaks lording over Donostia's twin harbors.

After my ritual café con leche and "elephant ear", I began about a 6 km trek to the terminus of the SW seawall and then up the opposite side of the NE mountain peak. The terminal end of the paseo, which follows the beach, lies almost directly across from the path I ascended yesterday in my climb to the upper most artillery emplacements guarding the larger of Donostia's two harbors.

I won't bore you with all the details now...we'll save that for our get-together this summer. Suffice-it-to-say, it was pretty much a repeat of the previous day, just new views, different perspectives and the same amazing ambiance.

The walk did take me past the "summer palace" and the remnants of the old Roman causeway that connected the south-western shore with the mid-harbor island.

It still amazes me to physically see and touch objects that were placed over a millennium ago...even walk upon the cobbles laid by Roman slaves those many centuries ago.

Remnants of the Roman causeway

Catedral del Buen Pastor (Buen Pastor Cathedral)

 

Municipal building (foreground) Statue of San Sebastian on the ridge in background

Paseo and seawall along beach of the Old City

Donostia (San Sebastian) - Part I

The trip from Haro (Rioja region) is only a couple hours and very beautiful. You make several stops along the way, at Basque villages nestled in valleys or on the flanks of the Pyrenees. It is lush and green and extremely photogenic. Alas, I was behind the reflective glass of the coach windows, so it was difficult to take photos of the many picturesque Basque vincas nestled in the meadows and ravines of the beautiful Pyrenees foothills!

The café con leche at the bakery is awesome! (So is the Barista)

I arrived Donostia shortly after mid-morning and quickly discovered the City's immense charm; it is unbelievable...ancient and modern all at once. My pensione is absolutely terrific. I am situated in the Old City and within 500 meters in any direction are beaches, two harbors full of anchored pleasure craft (no commercial ships other than tourist and rescue craft apparent here), tons of eating places and an amazing bakery that rivals Cadiz!

The first evening in Donostia, I decided to get a bit more 'native' and find a local place to watch España take on Croatia in the Euro Cup futbol match (clad in a new España jersey of course!).

I searched for just the right pinxtos (peen-chos) bar, one with succulent lamb skewers, at least one litre of delectable tinto Muga and an LCD screen on which to watch the game.

My quest successful, I joined a lively crowd of Donostians to watch the match.

El Día Siguiente (The Next Day)

Each day keeps getting better...despite a bit of rain. Said rain abated about 10 a.m. this morning, so I ventured forth in my new Spanish leather foot-gear which is now stretched to a comfortable enough extent that I can hike for hours without incurring painful blisters.

Donostia is a delight for those who enjoy a vigorous walk-about. Today I scrambled up the old rock stairways to the mountain peak that separates the two harbors and their entrances. The summit has a gigantic statue of Saint Sebastian, under whose watchful eye, the City was defended by four small citadels one on either side of each harbor.



The cannon emplacements were at successively higher levels, four emplacements in this case, housing several cannon. Formidable, crossing fire-power that successfully defended the harbor for centuries!







The highest emplacement is probably close to a thousand feet above the harbor entrance and, at one time, was populated by huge cannon. It had to be an amazing feat to first, provide an access up the steep slopes, transport tons of stone up the mountain to build citadels, revetments and gun emplacements, and then, haul all the cannon, ammunition and stores up the mountain as well!



The views are dramatic and breathtaking. Tomorrow, my plan is to hike the other harbor's magnificent beach perimeter and scramble up the mountain's opposite side. After that, I'll search the barrios, do some window-shopping and sample some more Basque cuisine...maybe even have a glass or two of local wine.







I'll attempt some more photos and try to describe the Basque food...although I probably can't find enough superlatives to describe the subtle and unique, herb-enhanced flavors of the Basque pinxtos and raciones. I may succumb from gluttony before it's time to leave!

I wonder, what will the next day bring?

MUGA – The Ultimate Bodega

The shutters and windows of my apartment were left slightly ajar overnight to coax the fresh country air into the parlor. Early morning sunlight stole its way through the curtained windows and tickled my eyelids until no longer I could resist the beckoning promise of a new adventure...this time flying solo without the aid and benefit of Tom's excellent command of Spanish dialects, his knowledge of the geography and cultural morays of each Spanish venue visited.

I went to the open window to catch a glimpse of the early sunrise and breath my lungs full of crisp morning air. As I cast my gaze out the half-shuttered window portal, the first of this day's many surprises and delights caught my eye.

 Directly across the calle and about twenty feet above my window, perched atop a brick chimney, was a long-legged stork, standing on the edge of its huge nest of sticks and twigs. I recalled from folklore that good fortune is promised the family whose abode is chosen for the nest of a stork family. So...I adopted the folklore and interpreted this sighting as an omen that my stay in Haro would be filled with nothing but good fortune.

Two hours later, after my morning coffee and pastry, I directed my footsteps down the cobbled pavement until I reached the stone stairway leading to the bridge crossing the Rio Ebro.

Rio Ebro

The crisp morning air and bright blue sky was absolutely energizing and I stopped briefly mid-bridge to listen to the water as it gurgled and splashed its way over a shallow rapid downstream of the bridge about 150 meters. Swallows darted back-and-forth over the swirling water, snapping their little beaks as they captured and ate the tiny insects, invisible to the human eye, which hovered close to the water's surface.

There are three Bodegas clustered on either side of the railroad tracks about 2 kilometers from the village. Muga is the largest and most modern. The approach to the Bodegas, along a narrow, cobbled calle, wound through a vineyard and past a small cluster of pastel colored houses with terracotta roofs and a beautifully crafted stone lane to which the little villas were tied by similarly laid flat, stone walk-ways leading to their vestibule(s).

The neighborhood's entry was a set of huge, wrought-iron gates supported by stone columns either side of the entrance. Baskets of blue and yellow and red and white flowers cascaded down the columns to add a splash of color against the gray stone, adding one more dimension of beauty to my morning paseo.

The cobbled walk-way eventually led me to the railroad tracks and an underpass which allowed access to the adjacent Bodegas, one of which was my much revered Muga. There was no doubt now, that my long-held fantasy of standing amidst the giant fermentation vats and oaken casks of aging Tinto Muga was a mere heart-beat away!

My pace quickened measurably with intermittent pauses to snap a few photos as I approached the entrance of Bodega Muga. Everything, from the gardens, to the century-old stone buildings to the setting at the foot of the arroyo on which perched it's ancient host village, Haro, presented an aura of quality and ambiance that can only be associated with tradition and antiquity.

It occurred to me that Muga is, at the same time, both an antique and a treasured artifact of a wine making culture that spans at least one, perhaps as much as two millennia in the valley of Rio Ebro!

Muga reception area and gift shop

I hastened to the Bodega's entry, climbed the stairway and stepped into the foyer of Bodega Muga's reception area and gift shop. The next tour was scheduled an hour hence, so I wandered about lusting after the beautiful jewelry, glassware and other items promoting or complementing Muga's impressive selection of tinto and blanco wine.

As I wandered about, I noticed an open door to another foyer that led one outside the reception area. In this foyer was a magnificent bronze statue and stairs that led, presumably, to offices on an upper floor.

Appended to this small foyer was a glass-walled room with a large, approximately one meter wide LCD viewing screen. I assumed that this would be the place where tours congregated to view a video prologue that is patterned after the vignettes you can view on Muga's impressive web-site.

Another large glass exterior door, tied the foyer exit to a long, sloping ramp-way that paralleled a gated calle and an approximately three meter high stone wall with cascading vines of colorful morning glory spilling over the top. I couldn't resist stepping through the door, drifted down the ramp and begin casually strolling the calle.

The calle led to the rear of the building and a plaza-like area for vehicles either delivering or loading freight. The plaza was used as well for employee foot traffic transiting from building to building. The center of the plaza area had a peaceful garden and some benches...probably a resting area for employees taking a break for lunch or a brief respite from the afternoon's heat underneath some flowering trees.

Immediately behind the plaza, was a long, stone building and a loading dock, filled with empty pallets and stacks of seasoned oak. I was to learn a little later in the morning, that the oak planks were remnants from sections of logs, source of the hand-made staves for Muga's oaken wine casks and barrels.

 I started snapping off photos as fast as I could, mesmerized by all that was before my curious eyes and totally inchoherent of the fact that I was probably in an unauthorized area of the Bodega. Duh!! There wasn't anyone within sight-or-sound...until a loud and somewhat distant voice interrupted my muse.

“Ayyy...Senor!...blah blah blah blah blah............!!!!!” (Excited Spanish vernacular that I was incapable of understanding, but from the man's tone and temperament, concern was very, very obvious and there was no second-guessing that his intent was to ride me out of the area).

As the man approached and confronted me within finger-thumping distance of my chest, I raised my hands, palm-up, and with a shrug of shoulders said, “Lo siento, no comprende o no hablo español,” and smiled. I then made a sweeping gesture and said, “muy bonito, ¿verdad?” with eyes held open wide in wonderment.

Fortunately, the man was small in stature and not in the mood or temperament to do anything but to gesture emphatically for me to follow him. I was suitably embarrassed but at least attempted an apology that was not received with the least bit of sympathy or understanding.

The man led me back the same way I had ventured forth. He had a lively discussion with the Senorita who was obviously in charge of the tour operation and gift shop. Casting a last lingering look with a scowl that could have shriveled grapes to raisins, the man turned on his heel and disappeared behind double-doors of the glass-walled tasting room.

The young Senorita approached; I held my breath, expecting a polite invitation to depart the premises, knowing that Jonathan and our friend, Tom, would be terribly ashamed of me and disappointed that I had blown the opportunity to complete this long-awaited tour.

La Senorita was tall, dark-eyed, olive-skinned, immaculately dressed and her comportment was exactly that of a high-bred, educated Spanish lady. In a word, she was muy beautiful. She held out her hand and with an engaging smile said, "Bienvenido señor. ¿Hablas español?"

Never have I been so reluctant or embarrassed to admit my mono-lingual status. Fortunately, she was multi-lingual, and with my “Spanish-challenged” vocabulary unmasked, she asked if I had, perhaps, been separated from my tour. I immediately seized this “face-saving” opportunity she deftly presented.

I explained that I had recently arrived hoping to join a tour, having traveled 7,000 miles to visit this, the source of my favorite tinto Rioja for years. She patiently and pleasantly explained that there were, unfortunately, no English-speaking tours available on weekends. “However,” she continued, “there is a tour that begins in about 10 minutes to which there is one remaining pass. It is narrated in Spanish, but you are welcome to join as my guest if you wish.”

I was flabbergasted at her generosity and hospitality and with as much grace and composure as I could muster after being such a “doink” and wandering off on my own, I gratefully accepted her invitation.

Muga - Bodega Tour Guide

She inquired as to how I had originally become aware of Muga, and when I told her of Tom's childhood in Spain and his discovery of the Rioja wines on one of his many trips back to his beloved Spain as an adult...and the story of Jonathan's $90 bottle of Muga Gran Reserva...we had a good laugh together! She shook my hand, and with her warm and sincere welcome I was instantly, completely and forever, a Muga patron of infinite loyalty!

Ten minutes later she found me, handed me my Tour Pass and led me to the room from where my first “self- guided” tour had begun. With an impish little smile, she introduced me to my Muga Tour Director...non other than the man who had interrupted my reverie in the “back-plaza” not more than twenty minutes back in time!

He was not amused by my presence!

Late in the afternoon, I retraced my steps along the cobbled calle with my Muga stemware in which I had sampled several delicious wines in Muga's tasting room. The tour's concluding gesture to its loyal clientele was truly a pleasure and very instructive. (I did manage to compound my previous devious behavior of the day, by abscounding with the corks from some Gran Reserva and the very refreshing Blanco). I'll do my best to get the wine glass in one piece across Europe, Asia and the Pacific Ocean, back to Seattle where it can grace Jonathan's collection of stemware.

I gave thanks to the Stork, to whom I had delegated responsibility for the day's good fortune earlier in the day!

                                          Mission accomplished!

Haro? Where's Haro?

Well I hadn't heard of it either until I searched for the location of my very favorite winery (Bodega), Muga, the delicious Tinto Rioja that Tom introduced to my Son, Jonathan, who in turn, introduced it to me several years ago.

My opinion...it doesn't get any better!

Muga Gran Reserva is somewhat infamous in our family, I having purchased a bottle, which was presented to my Son on the occasion of his betrothal announcement.

Infamous because I paid ninety bucks for it at the former Fernando's Restaurant in Seattle, where we threw the party for Jon.

That purchase always raised the eyebrows of my beautiful wife, Joyce, whenever the name “Rioja” came up in conversations about fine wine!



She never said a word however...it was just that certain kind of look she would cast my way... as if to say, “ninety dollars...really?”


I had promised myself, that if I ever had the occasion to visit Spain, I would find my way to the Rioja Region and the Muga Bodega just to see how this wonderful libation is painstakingly coaxed to perfection, from vine to the amazing wine that it is.

So...on the same morning that Tom headed back to the States, leaving me “Spanish lingo-challenged”, defenseless and on my own recognizance, I also departed Madrid on the 200 mph RENFE AVE, destination Haro, the village of Muga's residence for well over a century and five generations.

The AVE deposited me in the town of Zaragoza where I switched to the slower moving commuter train that would take me to Haro.

Renfe Zaragoza - Transfer Facility and Hotel

The train followed a serpentine route that paralleled the beautiful Rio Ebro, a small river that had, over the centuries, slowly etched its channel between two ridges along the base of the Rioja valley. From time-to-time I would spot a one or two or thee hundred year old villa, crafted from stone and terracotta, still occupied, still active; surrounded by fields of grain or miles upon miles of tenderly manicured wine vineyards.

Here-and-there the gently sloping, fertile valley floor is interrupted by a mound perhaps several hundred feet in elevation...or even a small arroyo. The summits of many revealed the remains of medieval watchtowers or citadels, and, on one occasion, the remains of an old Roman fortress still silhouetted the skyline more than half a millennium from the time of its occupation by the foot soldiers and legions commanded by none other than Julius Caesar, himself!

You can almost feel the presence of Roman ghosts and I swear their breath rides the incessant breeze that sweeps down from the mountain ridges every afternoon to ripple the sea of waving grain or cool the skin of ripening grapes!

Rio Ebro's serpentine path

After over two hours of swaying and “click-clacking” our away along the Rio Ebro, my train came to an abrupt halt and I exited the coach onto a deserted platform. I was about 2 or 3 kilometers from the village of Haro which perched on the crest of a steep hill in the near distance. My only company was a lonesome, gentle wind.

The station was absolutely empty...not a sole stirring on this late Friday afternoon. Luckily, I had availed myself of the train's “comfort station” before disembarking, or I would have been up the proverbial creek with no paddles. The only challenge immediately before me was to determine the location of the pensione which I had rented for the next three nights. Not a taxi or any other vehicle in sight, I began walking the winding, cobbled street towards the village.

There were three Bodegas adjacent to the railroad and not too far a walk from the station. In a short- sleeved knit shirt, and slightly shivering, I approached a solitary watchman at the entrance to a Bodega about 500 meters from the station. Alas...the Watchman spoke no English, but I had written the pensione's name and address on my itinerary which I showed to the young man.

With a few gestures and a lot of headshaking and laughter, I finally got his message; follow the cobblestone road until I reach the bridge which crosses the Rio Ebro. On the other side of the river, cross the road and find, then climb, the old stone steps ascending the ridge until it terminates in a small plaza at the top of the steps. Turn right, and after a hundred or so meters, I should come to Calle Martinez Lacuesta, then turn left up the calle and look for the number “11” above a doorway. That would be my place, my pensione, Apartamentos Senorio de Haro, for the next three days.

I took his sketch and trundled down the cobble road, crossed the bridge, ascended the stone stairway, turned right at the plaza, intercepted Calle Martinez Lacuesta and Wallah! There, low-and-behold, was a number “11” above a mammoth, but locked door about 300 meters down the calle. I pressed the door button labeled, “Impresario” and waited. Nothing! So...here I was outside a locked door behind which (presumably) was my bedroom for the next three nights.

All I could do was sit on the curb and wait, hoping someone would enter or exit before nightfall! Luckily, a couple with keys appeared. They allowed me to enter and wait in the small foyer while they disappeared behind another huge door.

About 45 minutes later, the Impresario appeared, tidied up the paperwork and presented keys to a lovely apartment on the third floor.

After a quick shower, I hustled to a tapas bar on a small plaza just a short stroll from my pensione and had my fill of Muga Blanco and goodies. I returned to the apartment and crashed, trying to imagine what would be my introduction to the Muga Bodega the following day.

I could never have imagined!

Granada and The Alhambra

Few architectural engineering achievements during the course of human history, rival that of the Alhambra. The 15th Century Moorish Citadel  has few equals known to contemporary man.

On-going renovation

The Alhambra's Moorish palaces were built for the last Muslim Emirs in Spain and its court, of the Nasrid dynasty. After the Reconquista (reconquest) by the Reyes Católicos ("Catholic Monarchs") in 1492, some portions were used by the Christian rulers. The Palace of Charles V, built by the Holy Roman Emperor himself in 1527, was constructed inside the Alhambra's Nasrid fortifications.

After being allowed to fall into disrepair for centuries, the Alhambra was "discovered" in the 19th century by European scholars and travelers, with restorations commencing. It is now one of Spain's major tourist attractions, exhibiting the country's most significant and well known Islamic architecture, together with 16th-century and later Christian building and garden interventions. The Alhambra is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and the inspiration for many songs and stories.
 

My only request of travel buddy, Tom, was to carve one day and one night out of our schedule, hopefully en route back to Madrid from Cadiz, for a self-guided tour of this magnificent edifice and international treasure.

Tom was quick to accommodate my request. There are no words with which I can adequately describe the experience of spending a day viewing the Moorish era artistry and craftsmanship that comprise the Alhambra.

I substitute a brief photographic journey of our day trekking the citadel grounds in lieu of attempting to describe this remarkable and stunning achievement of the Moorish artisans.

Our day began by walking the steep two kilometer, cobbled calle leading to Alhambra's entry.

Early morning paseo

Additional on-going archaeological excavation and restoration

Breathtaking vista from a Citadel rampart.

The Alhambra was extended by the different Muslim rulers who lived in the complex. However, each new section that was added followed the consistent theme of "paradise on earth". Column arcades, fountains with running water, and reflecting pools were used to add to the aesthetic and functional complexity. In every case, the exterior was left plain and austere. Sun and wind were freely admitted. Blue, red, and a golden yellow, all somewhat faded through lapse of time and exposure, are the colors chiefly employed.

Typical Moorish architecture of the Alhambra

Of the outlying buildings connected to the Alhambra, the foremost in interest is the Palacio de Generalife or Gineralife (the Muslim "Garden of Arif," or "Garden of the Architect"). This villa dates from the beginning of the 14th century but has been restored several times. The Villa de los Martires (Martyrs' Villa), on the summit of Monte Mauror, commemorates by its name the Christian slaves who were forced to build the Alhambra and confined here in subterranean cells. 

The Torres Bermejas (Vermilion Towers), also on Monte Mauror, are a well-preserved Moorish fortification, with underground cisterns, stables, and accommodation for a garrison of 200 men. Several Roman tombs were discovered in 1829 and 1857 at the base of Monte Mauror.

General Life Villa (above)

Garden of Arif or "Garden of the Architect"

It is extremely difficult to articulate the overwhelming impact conveyed to anyone with a sense of human history, who visits Alhambra. It is, without question, a triumphant achievement of human creativity, ingenuity and physical effort. Hopefully, Alhambra will remain forever, one of mankind's enduring monuments.

Cadiz

Three days in Madrid's cathedrals, markets, museums and tapas bars leave one fatigued and eager for a respite. 

In the early morning coolness we strolled across the cobbles of Plaza Sol and scrambled down into a subterranean tunnel to grab our underground ride to the exit at Atoche Renfe. We exited the subway and ascended on an escalator to exit in the user-friendly, futuristic hub of the Spanish National Rail System, RENFE.

Spanish National Railway - RENFE's AVE Train.  Operates at speeds up to 310 kph (192mph for the metric challenged)

There was time for our morning ritual of café con leche, fresh squeezed zumo de naranja (orange juice) and a flaky croissant before boarding our ride on the AVE (Ahh-vey), destination Cadiz, traveling at nearly 250 km per hour. (This is the medium-fast train). The U.S. Could learn something about rail travel here! Best of all...it beats the heck out of dealing with the frenetic scene at an international airport!

The rail route took us across the dry plateau between Madrid and Seville which was populated by hundreds of vincas and hundreds upon hundreds of olive groves. The land appeared already parched and dry in these first few days of June. The year's first rotation of alfalfa had been harvested and lay curing on the ground and fields of patata and sweet chilli pepper were already in bloom.

Spain's substantial investment in alternative energy was very apparent from the many solar farms and large numbers of huge windmills we spotted on the horizon of many ridges. The solar panels mimicked thousands upon thousands of golden faces populating sunflower plantations as both, the panels and the sunflowers, followed the sun's journey across the sky, collecting its energy for their individual and diverse purposes.

From time-to-time, we could spot the ruins of medieval period structures and remnants of the Roman occupation that dated back to the time before Julius Caesar's tenure as the senior official in charge of this Roman outpost. Despite its focus on adoption and utilization of high-technology energy and transportation infrastructure, Spain continues to also value and invest in restoration and maintenance of her priceless ancestral inheritance.

After a few hours and with very brief stops in Seville and Jerez, we finally reach Cadiz and exited our sleek AVE coach. We took a taxi from Cadiz's Renfe station about 2.5 kilometers into the Old City and found our apartment, home for the next week in this ancient and historic venue.

Entering our Cadiz Apartment

Our apartment was in a restored building conveniently located near a small family market, a lively tapas bar and only a half kilometer from the beach.

There's a difference between Madrid and Cadiz. The latter is elegant after a different fashion, steeped in Moorish tradition and history, presenting a distinctive micro-culture (including its own dialect and tasty, local beer). After the blazing afternoon heat in Madrid, it was refreshing to feel the Atlantic Ocean's on-shore breeze wind its way through the calle, cooling the apartment during siesta.

Plazas and parks in Cadiz perfectly compliment the life-style in this relaxed, coastal city. In the evening, joining paseo, we pass  many beautiful entradas to homes connecting the calles until reaching one of the four primary plazas connecting the calles of the Old City.

The plazas teem with families, the littlest kids racing hither-and-yon, chasing soccer balls or riding their trikes and scooters about the plaza. In a condensed and compressed living environment, plazas are the perfect venue to dissipate the youthful energy of wee ones under the watchful eyes of grandparents and parents, who sit on the perimeter of the plaza, wine or aperitif in hand, to chat away the troubles of the day and catch up on the latest gossip.

The Spanish are wonderful conversationalists, always gesticulating with great emotion, as colorful in their expressions as are the sunsets under which they carry on until the twinkle of the first stars appear in the clear evening sky.

Cadiz boasts an unbelievable open air food market, nestled between ancient Roman ruins and a 15th century plaza. Its fish, meats, cheeses, vegetables and pastries are of unbelievable quality and freshness. It is the perfect start to a new day in the Old City, to sit at a nearby outside table, sipping café con leche, nibbling churros and watching the market activity escalate along with the early light of morning.

The central market in Cadiz' old city

Freshly caught fish from the Atlantic Ocean

From the market, it is a short stroll to the two Atlantic Ocean beaches which frame Cadiz in a giant semi-circle of soft beige sand and the low, foaming breakers which ruffle the surface of the blue Atlantic. By mid-day, the sand is punctuated by a thousand dots of colorful umbrellas, reminding one of a Seurat painting. We impaled the beach with our umbrella amongst the colorful parade of tanned bodies and rotated between plunges in the water and prone collapses on our towels to soak up the early summer, Spanish sun.

The beach etiquette and routine in Spain differs measurably from that which we are used to in North America. It is common to see the tanned, semi-nude bodies of adults and children under the semi-tropical sky. The beach residents are unabashed and unassuming in their behavior.

Additionally, there are occasional vendors who stroll by offering soft drinks, ice-cold beer and even the refreshing tinto verano (wine, cold lemon-lime soda over ice with a slice of fresh lemon) to thirsty sunbathers. I never witnessed a drunk or disorderly individual, nor did we witness a beach littered with the refuse from picnics and drinks. The Spanish seem to harbor a subtle pride when it comes to their personal appearance and the maintenance of a pristine, natural environment.

All this in concert with a preoccupation for cleanliness in their neighborhoods, plazas and parks. In Cadiz there is little (if any) graffiti insulting the magnificent structures that straddle the time from Roman occupation to the Moorish residency to the post-Medieval revival of the Christian kingdom and on to present times.

As I stroll atop the medieval wall that has protected this magnificent harbor for centuries, I can gaze out to sea, scan the horizon, and imagine seeing the silhouettes of the Nina, the Pinta and Columbus' Flagship, Santa Maria, as they departed on their first voyage to the New World.

I relish the fact that here, where I stand atop the revetment of a medieval wall in Europe's oldest city (dating to the Phoenician empire), hundreds of cannon protected the harbor from whence Columbus sailed over 600 years ago on his remarkable voyage of discovery.

In two days I will visit the catafalque of Columbus at the Cathedral of St. Mary of the Sea (the world's largest cathedral) in Sevilla to pay my respects.