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This is my personal journal of my experiences in Spain.

In March of 1999 I traveled to Europe where I visited Spain & Morocco to see the land of my Sephardic ancestors. I visited Madrid, Toledo, Cordoba, Granada, the Costa Del Sol, Gibraltar, Tangier, and Sevilla. This paper is somewhat historical, and somewhat personal. In reference to years, I use the Jewish reference BCE (before the common era), and CE for the (common era) for instead of the christian BC/AD. It is quite detailed to my personal experioences so that anyone reading it would have a full understanding of what my trip was like.

Landing in the Land of my Ancestors

There was a cold draft as the door opened on the 747 and I walked down the dark staircase from the upper deck seating to the doorway of the plane. I immediately noticed the bright overcast and rain that early morning. I saw mountains in the distance, and for a moment thought I was back in Colorado or Northern New Mexico. I walked down the few stairs and touched my foot on the somewhat noisy and soggy land of Spain. I was in Madrid. One of the very few family members ever to make it back to this once former troublesome and maddened land where the Jews were expulsed more than 500 years ago. I was there to see and witness the former cities that once hosted the ancestors of the Sephardic Jews in there Golden Age.

My journey would take me through Madrid in the central part of the country, then a bit more south to old Toledo, further south I would visit Cordoba and Granada, then travel westward towards Malaga, Algicarias, the Costa Del Sol, the British possession of Gibraltar, a brief but not to dull excursion across the straight of Gibraltar to Morocco in North Africa, and then back to Sevilla and eventually back to Madrid.

I t was just me traveling. Me that is, and my new green backpack. I got off the plane and walked a long trip through smoke filled corridors--which are somewhat normal in European airports. It seems the health warning of cigarettes and smoking has not caught up with Europe yet. Also, don't picture the airport (though its large) like an American modern airport. The Airport was dull, with few pictures, and a lot of long boring corridors, not the fanciful artist type with special lighting, walking people conveyers and food courts like we have here at home. Here in America Airports want to be "the new place to shop." Over there Airports are for getting off the plane, and out of the building.

I walked up to customs where I encountered two men dressed in all black of the Madrid Policia. They ask how long I was staying, and asked for the purpose of my visit. After getting waved past them, there were two men in green fatigues who were from the Civil Guardia (National Military Police) who just seemed to visually check us all out with their eyes as we walked past them.

Barajas International Airport is about 15 minutes from the center of Madrid. I took one of the numerous little white taxis' into the heart of Madrid. It was kind of like someone whose never been there arriving by ship into the port of New York, and immediately wanting to take a cab to Timesquare. I had the cab drop me off on Gran Via. I found the street on a map, and figured it would be a good place to stay. Prior to the "Gay Twenties" Madrid was a Castilian town both in appearance and in its customs. Madrid has been suffering from a continual growing crisis. The growing crisis of traffic and crowds can be seen any night of the week on Gran Via--one of the largest two way streets in the busiest part of old Madrid. To be there any evening is some what to a kin to being on the Hollywood Boulevard or 5th Avenue on a Saturday night. There was neon everywhere, traffic and horns shouted from the cars, and people were all over. One of the first things you notice in Spain is that compared to the United States, there were many more people out at night. Its tradition that after dark about 7-8pm, many people take an evening paseo (stroll). They come out together, friends, neighbors, families, and walk around the public squares, and parks. The atmosphere on the streets is vivacious and friendly. Its very active, and few people seem scared about such things (i.e. muggings etc.) as we here in America would feel nervous about. Spaniards eat dinner generally starting around 9pm, and if your going to a nice restaurant, dinner generally starts about 10pm. I found a small "pension" (kind of like a small apartment you rent for an evening--good, but not fancy like a hotel). My little room was perfect. It was clean, had a bathroom with a shower and hot water, color TV with 6 full channels of Spanish shows (including cartoons overdubbed in Spanish), a full size bed, and view over looking the city. After dropping off my side kick "the green pack" and taking a much needed nap, I took a leisurely walk around Madrid, and got something to eat. I visited the first of many famous places. I took short hops in taxis when I could not find a place on foot, and used my broken Spanish to ask the drivers questions. They appreciate the attempt to speak in their language, much like I we would here at home. I visited the Plaza de Oriente. This was a modern lush garden of trees and grasses where concrete and brass statues of all the famous Spaniards were lined up in rows. It was a huge place bordered by the Royal Palace. The Palace was built over the site of the old Alcázar of the Austrias, destroyed by fire in 1734. It is built of Guadarrama granite and Colmenar limestone. On December 1st, 1764, thirty years after a major fire, King Charles III took up residence in the Palace for the first time; it's is now considered one of the finest palaces in Europe. I took a taxi ride back to Gran Via, and walked up the narrow street to my pension, I was tired, and tomorrow would come fast.

The next day I was up and checked out by 6am. I had an hour before the surface train to Toledo left the station. It was still dark out, and the ground was wet from heavy rain the night before. I took a taxi to a place I have read about for years; a place where many Jews met there end in a miserable state--I visited the Plaza Mayor. The first large urbanization project in Madrid. It was built at the place of the medieval Arrabal Palace in the first years of the 17th century by Juan Gómez de Mora under King Felipe III. As court and business place it has been the big stage of Madrid since its beginnings. The Plaza was quiet all except for a few pigeons walking around. It looked like an open air square surrounded by four walls of very old buildings in which one enters the square through old Arches that lead to the narrow medieval streets. In the evenings and on weekends its very "touristy," but at 6:15am on a weekday, its dark, hollow, haunting, and reminiscent of the days when a Jew standing in the Plaza, was soon to be charred alive.

Onward to Toledo

I took the train (called RENFE) for about a dollar from Madrid to Toledo. You go down stairs like in a subway, but once you are down there, you see a wide open area with about ten tracks. There were many places to eat in what I would describe as very large and fancy kiosks. They look like small bakeries that had everything from fancy danish and fresh squeezed zumo (juice) to ham and red wine. I had a churro and Cafe con Leche before the train ride. You know you're not in New York when you realize your having coffee out of a porcelain cup and saucer standing in a subway! Though the red trains depart from down below the ground, they ride the rails on the surface. It was a quick 60 minutes to Toledo. I was in a train mostly of morning commuters going to work, and if you could not hear them talk, you could be in Chicago or New York and not even know it.

After exiting the train in Toledo you are immediately struck by the architecture of the station. It looks like a 12th century Islamic building, and you think (as I sure did) that it was an old historic building, however--after searching around, I found someone who told me it was only built in 1920, but since the Islamic architecture was so embedded in Toledo's background, they made the "new" train depot look like an old building. It was quite impressive. It was still drizzling out so I took a taxi to Plaza Zocodover. This is the center and small square inside the old city.

When the Romans arrived in Toledo in the First Century C.E., they found a "very well-defended city," situated on a mountain and surrounded by a river. The Romans, several centuries later, built a massive wall that kept Toledo safe from invasions for centuries and thus left their mark upon this city that had previously been little more than a pre-historic, barbaric settlement on top of a mountain. Though time and conquerors destroyed most of what Rome left behind, remnants survive. Columns from the second century grace Synagogues that look like Mosques, and the layout of Toledo remains distinctly Roman even though the Muslims tried to disguise its origins.
The Visigoth people stayed in Toledo from the Fifth Century C.E. until 711, when the Muslims, with their vast armies, strange new religion, and potent weapons obliterated them. Though some of these Visigoth Christians remained (called "Mozarabes" in Spanish), they were basically forced to do things the way the Muslims wanted them done, and because of this radical shift in ideals and in leadership, Toledo became a Muslim city. Toledo, even after more than 1000 years, still looks the part of an entirely Muslim city (with a few differences, such as the Gothic cathedral dominating the landscape). The streets are narrow and laberynthine, and the major parts of the Islamic city still remain. El Alcazar, for instance, even derives its name from Arabic ("Alacazaba") and means, literally, a fortified zone. The "Medina," or actual city, is the most laberynthine part, and the streets, narrow and filled with Islamic-style houses, have no logical plan, just as the Muslims designed them. Some baths survive, and the market district or plaza of which I first visited (Zocodover) even continues to wear its Arabic name which means "animal market" thought I saw them selling cigarettes, candy, and of course, there was a small McDonalds there!

All throughout Spain the narrow gray streets combined with the tall buildings that block out much sun make the cities a bit chilly by letting the winds gust up through the darkened streets and alleys. I walked up the incredibly steep darkened hill to the highest ground which stood the Alcazar. It is a vast, square building with four famous towers. In the beginning, the Romans used it as a palace, then the Moslems, then the Christians. It changed hands so many times over such a long time that its facades are all distinct according to the time period and style of when it was built. The western facade is of renaissance form; while the eastern one is medieval with three cylindrical battlement towers. The Alcazar has been the victim of fires in several occasions. In the year 1170, it suffered its first fire. A century later, French troops torched it again, and in other occasions after its renovation in 1867 and 1882, it burned again. At the outbreak of the Civil War in the 1930's, the Military Academy was housed here and at the end of the conflict, it was completely destroyed. Later on it would be completely reconstructed, and today it houses the Army's offices and a museum. Today tours are conducted, its a great photo opportunity. When you look down from the eastern slope of the hill leading into the Alcazar, you can observe how the houses of Toledo are grouped in a semicircle around the structure. Looking down at the old roof tops and iron work that is out side the windows, you can see the Stars' of David that have been ornamentally produced on he old window facades everywhere.

Jews were a part of Toledan history since the last years of the Roman occupation. They came and existed (probably) peacefully with the Romans. Though the Jews were never the dominant group in Toledo, they were always an important part of the city. They became known as moneylenders, merchants of fine cloths and precious metals, and intellectuals and were generally well-respected by the other peoples of Toledo. The Visigoths were the first Christians in Toledo and forced the Jews to stop practicing their religion openly. The Muslims basically left the Jews in peace and only required them to pay taxes, just as they did to the remaining Visigoth Christians. The Christians, however, had the most stormy history with the Jews. The last years of the Jewish occupation in Toledo were filled with severe violence and radical oppression starting around 1391, until the Jews were finally expelled from the city and from Spain as a whole in 1492.

It was a short cab ride up very steep and long hill to my first of two stops, Sinagoga del Tránsito / El Museo Sefardí. This is the original Toledean Synagouge ordered to be constructed in 1336 by Samuel Leví, treasurer of King Peter I of Castille and Advocate of the Spanish Jews; its walls are decorated with nazarí plaster (Muslim dynasty that ruled in Granada from the 13th century to the 15th century) with Hebrew inscriptions. After the expulsion of the Jews it stopped being a Synagogue and came under Catholic control. Today it is a museum, an obligatory stop for Jews from all over the world, and has some nice "exhibits" (artifacts) on Spanish Jewery in the Sephardic Museum.

There are stores in Toledo everywhere that cater to tourists, especially Jewish tourists. There are also tons of tour buses and groups from all over. I heard groups speaking French, German, Russian, and Portuguese. I stopped in a local tourist store and bought the obligatory remembrances that I took home with me. Later I was hungry so I stopped in a small cafe/bar type of place. I realized after looking at the menu I had no idea what I was about to order, so to be safe I ordered Pan con quesso y Coca Cola. Safe for any tourist, a cheese sandwich and a Coke. Note: I noticed they ate lot of cheese sandwiches in Spain.

I took the short walk down the hill and came upon the other monumental stop. Another place I have read and heard about for years. It was the Church (originally a Synagogue) called the Santa Maria la Blanca. Originally constructed around 1180 as a Jewish Synagogue, it is the oldest medieval Synagogue left standing today. Because the Jews didn't possess an architectural or artistic style of their own, and they borrowed from the people that happened to be in power wherever they were living. In Spain in the eleventh century, Mudejar (Islamic) art was dominant, and so this Synagogue was constructed in this style. After the Christian conquest of Toledo, many of the Jewish Synagogues were turned into Christian churches, Santa Maria la Blanca included. Though this building has since become a Synagogue again (in a touristy museum sense), the Christian altar and the name remain. Only in Toledo can you see a Synagogue in Muslim style with a Christian altar named "Holy Mary the White." In 1391 it was Vincent Ferrer Martinez who first mobilized the Christians to rise up and violently over take this Synagogue in the midst of the Toledo Jewish quarter which lead to the beginning of the Spanish Inquisition.
It was mid afternoon now and I needed to get back to Madrid for my day of traveling was not by any means complete yet. After shopping a bit and wandering around such old buildings, I had a Coke at a bar which had an Internet terminal that looked like a video game. You put in about 500 Pesetas (about $3.50) and you get 10 minutes. I sent an e-mail home, and took a moment to read CNN news and find out that there was a new war starting in Kosovo, Yugoslavia.
Toledo to Cordoba via Madrid
Leaving the cafe I headed towards a stone archway made of giant hand cut stones that at one time was the entrance to the city, but now was an emence exit for cars to drive through one way coming in. I left through this portal and found myself walking downhill for quite some distance until I was out of the ancient city and in modern Toledo. At an intersection where major digging and construction was going on I looked down and to my surprise I found bones. I picked one up and looked at it; using my past experience of human anatomy, I identified (to myself) what looked like human vertebrae, as well as an upper arm (humerus). There was a lot of bones scattered over a forty foot ditch--I set them back down, didn't ask questions, and moved on. A taxi took me back to the railway station, and within an hour I was back in Madrid.
Though there was a lot of traveling this day, at least the two different trains (the local to Toledo and the "AVE" or high velocity train) were in the same station. I stood for 40 minutes in a cloud of cigarette and cigar smoke also known as the queue to purchase a ticket for the AVE. The train was nice, nothing like any train I have ever been on. Its more like sitting on an airplane than on a coach on railroad tracks. Your ticket looks like one from an airport, and then they screen your baggage just as poorly as any airport in the USA does. You get on the train stepping over the very non-OSHA approved 2 foot drop between the train and the tracks. From the inside, entering the AVE train was like stepping on a plane. It was exceptionally clean, quiet, and crowded. There was a bathroom at the head of each coach, and the trains were air locked together. On your seat you find a brand new box with headphones (the type you can use in a walkman radio) that are provided to watch and listen to the movie and pre departure safety instructions (in Spanish of course). I seat belted myself in, took out my cassette player, and continued to listen to The Spanish Inquisition by Cecil Roth. I didn't realize the train was moving until I practically looked out the window. It was absolutely silent, it moved like a solid tank, and their was no clatter of the rails. Very streamline, very accommodating, and very expensive! One of the things making the voyage so pleasurable, was that where traditional train tracks run over and down hills, the AVE railroad had removed all hills, and cut through any rising in the countryside. It's an essentially flat journey by a powerful machine.
I arrived in Cordoba about an hour and a half later to a very contemporary and bright train station. I was truly in Southern Spain, a part of the country known as Andalucia, and it was a bit warmer. It was about 4:30pm, and the sun was about to go down shortly. At the tourist information booth I met a Turkish man and his friend who were in Spain on business. They spoke English (as many young Turks do) and all three of us inquired about rooms that were cheap and near the Barrio de Santa Cruz (the old Jewish quarter). The woman sent us to a hotel that was downtown Cordoba that was only a few minutes away. I asked the Turks if they wanted to split the fare to our hotel, and they happily agreed, though subsequently they paid the fair in full-- happily refusing any money from me. Out of the open window in the mini van taxi I got to see my first glimpses of Cordoba.
Cordoba was founded by the Romans and due to its strategic importance as the highest navigable point of the Guadalquivir River, it became a port city of great importance, used for shipping Spanish olive oil, wine and wheat back to Ancient Rome. The Romans built the mighty bridge crossing the river, now called "El Puente Romano." But Cordoba's hour of greatest glory was when it became the capital of the Moorish kingdom of Al-Andalus, and this was when work began on the Great Mosque, or "Mezquita," which--after several centuries of additions and enlargements--became one of the largest in all of Islam.
When the city was reconquered by the Christians in 1236, the new rulers of the city were so awed by its beauty that they left it standing, building their Cathedral in the midst of its rows of arches and columns, and creating the extraordinary Church-Mosque we see today. Cordoba's treasures include the Alcazar, or Fortress, built by the Christians in 1328; the Calahorra Fort, originally built by the Arabs which guards the Roman Bridge on the far side of the river from the Mezquita, and the ancient Jewish Synagogue, now a museum. Cordoba's medieval quarter, once the home of the Jewish community, is called "La Judería" (The Jewry--the Jewish Quarter). It is a labyrinth of winding, narrow streets, shady flower-filled courtyards and picturesque squares such as La Plaza del Potro.
The city was much more modern then I thought it would be, and more modern than Toledo could ever be. There were palm trees in Cordoba lining the modern double divided roadways that were somewhat similar to those in the States. I went upstairs to my hotel dropped off my pack, and went exploring. It started to rain and just like New York City, all the umbrella sales men came out hawking their wares to the public. Making one of them happy, I purchased one small black and brown umbrella. Walking I noticed a chain link fence surrounding what looked like a grassy area at a public park. After getting closer I realized this was an archeological dig that was going on. About 15 feet under the surface of the modern asphalt thoroughfare was a road going perpendicular made out of huge stones, each one the size of a trash can that were locked in tight place making a somewhat level path. Along the side of the path was a small ditch of some type that seemed to be used for water transportation. I read the sign that was posted in Spanish to read that this was remnants of the ancient Roman road across Andalucia (southern Spain). Now 2000 years later, only a slice of the road about 4 foot by 40 foot was exposed to sunlight.
It was dark now so I went window shopping and people watching in the crowded shopping area outside my hotel. The streets were lit up with neon signs advertising items from shoes to leather jackets. In Spain, leather was in--everyone was wearing leather! Whether it was a skirt, jacket, boots, hat, purse, or book bag, everyone was sporting some type of dead mammal. It stopped raining and I found an old tattered store that had coins in the window. I walked in and attempted to speak with the shopkeeper. Through hand gestures, my broken Spanish, and his broken English we were able to understand each other. I walked out of there with some old Spanish coins from the 1600's, and he had a better understanding that his regular U.S. postage stamps from the 1976 bicentennial weren't worth more then a few bucks--not the thousands he thought they were--he was disappointed.
The next morning I took a bus to the end of the line (just to look out the window and watch the town go by) and then took a Taxi to Plaza de Colon. It was a bright and clear outside and I was excited this would be the day I would get my rental car. It took a while, but I eventually found the place, got the car (the rental place spoke English!), got fuel, and was off like a heard of turtles on greased linoleum up hill! Traffic was a nightmare. Forget the saying: "you drive like a New York City taxi driver," in Spain, the taxi drivers make NYC drivers look like professional chauffeurs.
I drove to the "old town" and parked the car. I took everything I owned including the rental contract from the glove compartment, and took a walk to the Juderia of Cordoba. The walls were white washed and cool. The ubiquitous white walkways, alleys and narrow streets helped cool the air as it rushed through. Cordoba is a very old city. When the Moors conquered Spain in 711 C.E., they made Cordoba their capital. Cordoba flourished as a major Roman settlement from the 1st century B.C.E. to the 5th century C.E. and subsequently was captured first by the Visigoths in 572 C.E. and then by the Moors in 711 C.E. In 756 C.E., Abd-ar-Rahman I, a member of the Umayyad family, made Cordoba the capital of Moorish Spain, and for the next 250 years the city was one of the world's great commercial and intellectual centers. In 929 C.E. Cordoba was becoming the largest and most cultural city of Europe. Cordoba is also the birthplace of Jewish philosopher and physician, Rabbi Moses ben Maimon "Maimonides" in 1135 C.E. The city declined after the early 11th century as Muslim rule in Spain disintegrated, but it remained a center of literature and scholarship. The Islamic culture of al-Andalus was adopted by Christians and Jews living in the kingdom. This culture continued even after the Moorish Caliphate fell to Catholic rule.
As the capital of the most powerful kingdom in Islam, Cordoba was a city of half a million people. It contained thousands of mosques, tens of thousands of shops and libraries which boasted hundreds of thousands of volumes, and it's luxury goods were coveted all over Europe. Cordoba also boasted the first street lighting in Europe. Students and merchants came from all over Europe, Africa and even Asia to this cosmopolitan city which dominated Andalusia for three centuries. In 1236 the city was captured and became part of Spain, and it was later captured by France during the Napoleonic Wars (1799-1815). I went up the and down the narrow meandering streets for hours. I stopped to see the large statue of Maimonides in the Plaza de Maimonides. The statue was nice, but the plaza was nothing more than a 1500 square foot opening between some whitewashed buildings. The statue was presented by the Spanish government some years back as a "token" tribute to the birthday of Maimonides. This same "plaza" was once called the Papal plaza, and was the site of some horrendous burings of Jews.
A bit further up one of the tight walkways I came upon the address of 20 Calle Judios (20 Jews Street) which was the old Synagogue originally constructed in 1315. If it wasn't for the open doorway you would walk right past it. You step into an open air patio area which leads you into the brick building. Inside the foyer the roof above you is supported by large wood beams. The inside is cool, damp, and typical of your standard medieval building. On the right was the small curved staircase which lead to the women's gallery upstairs that looks over the large open hall facing east by three fancy arch-like windows. The main hall of the Synagogue is decorated with white plaster that has Hebrew inscriptions of the Psalms in old Moslem (style of the day) calligraphy all around the circumference of the room. This 680 year old Synagogue subsequently became a church, a home for patients with rabies, a shoemakers guild, a church again, and then around 1928 after 20 years of preservation it became a national Spanish landmark. The building has had over 3 more renovations since that year, and now is a major attraction for tourists to visit, mostly of Jewish extraction.
I walked around the gardens and small plazas that inter wound the white walls of Cordoba. I even took a moment to snatch an Orange from a tree in one of the old plazas' in the Jewish quarter. I was approached by my first Gypsy. How it works is that two or three Gypsy women come up to you and put a sprig of an herb in your hand, then they attempt to "read" your palm--they then expect some money. These women were everywhere. The females read palms, and the males stand around holding small shoe shine boxes waiting to assist the next well dressed tourist with a shine. It was now about noon, and the hot Mediterranean sun was making the day somewhat uncomfortable so I picked up some souvenirs, removed the parking summons from my windshield (I call it a souvenir), and made my way back to the road. Cordoba might have been the home to Jews many eons ago, my family included--but it was no longer. Very little remains of the once great past the Jews had there, but this very little is so very important.
Granada on my mind
It was time to move on to my next destination "Granada." The city is located at the foot of the "Sierra Nevada," Spain's highest mountain range. I got on the well signed, but poorly striped Spanish "Autovia" and headed South towards the mountains. I drove along the lightly rolling hills passing lots of open space. The roads were completely modern and paved, with lane each way all the way to Granada. I passed hours of black olive trees, many old brown castles, lots of green pastures and lots of bright blue sky. I drove a while and was ready for lunch, but unlike American highways, there really is no place to stop every few minutes for something to eat. I saw a small mercado on the road so I stopped and went in--of course I took everything I owned with me! This really was a small store, so there was not much of a selection. I bought a can of ravioli (not traditionally Spanish--but it looked good on the label!) and some pan (bread) and a one liter box of naranje zumo. I noticed all orange juice, as well as milk in Spain comes in a box with a small plastic opening on top, and its not refrigerated.
As I drove south to Granada I listened to my Judy Frankel tape of old Jewish Spanish songs. couple hours later I started to see the tops of the snow capped mountains approaching. The roads started to wind a lot more, and before I knew it I saw the signs saying "Granada."
I pulled off the highway and drove toward the signs that said "Alhambra." The Alhambra was the touristic jewel in the crown of this city. The Alhambra is a walled city and fortress. It was built during the last Islamic Caliphate during the Nasrid Dynasty (1238-1492). The palace is lavishly decorated with stone and wood carvings and tile patterns on most of the ceilings, walls, and floors. Islamic art does not use representations of living beings, but heavily uses geometric patterns, especially symmetric (repeating) patterns, so you see many stars, squares triangles etc. Almost unrivaled for beauty and architectural splendor, the entire city has been declared a Spanish national monument. It lies at the foot of Spain's Sierra Nevada, and on the edge of an extraordinarily fertile plain. The city is the provincial capital with a university, and about as many tour buses as New York City. On the right of the city lies the Albaicín, the city's oldest quarter; on the left rises the imposing Alhambra. The Alhambra is nestled in heavy forested area, typical of anything you would find in the United States at the base of the mountains. The fertile area of Granada was already settled in the 5th Century B.C.E. and was known as Iliberis in Roman times. The city was founded under the Visigoths, whose domination ended with the Arab victory in 711. 'Elvira' (Granada was just a nearby settlement) was ruled by a viceroy dependent upon Cordoba until the fall of the Caliphate in Córdoba in 1031. During the next two centuries Granada was ruled by the Berber dynasty of the Almoravides and then Berber Almohades, until the first Nasrite King, Mohammed I, established a kingdom in 1241. After the capture of Córdoba by the Christian armies in 1236 the town increased in importance, reaching its brilliant zenith under the rule of the Moorish Nasrites, who were tolerated by the Castilian Kings. The Alhambra was the only surviving outpost of Islam in Spain until the last king of Granada had to relinquish the city to Ferdinand and Isabella at the treaty of Santa Fé in 1491. However, from 1570, following the expulsion of the Moors who had rebelled against the repressive measures of Philip II, the economical and historical importance of Granada declined. Vital irrigation systems which were destroyed at the time were not rebuilt until the 20th century, and today they are back functioning again.
The structure of the Alhambra is a massive brick and rock complex on the high plateau, the Cerro del Sol, which overlooks the town to the Southeast. The massive towers and gates surround the former Islamic palace complex emphasizing its fortress-like character; there are also ring walls and the remains of the Alcazaba. The latter was built by Mohammed V in 1238 in a shimmering red stone, which led to the description 'Calat Alhambra' (Red Castle). From the top of the Torre de la Vela, which is about 87 feet high, you get a panoramic view of the Sierra Nevada. The steep winding road up into the Alhambra park passes through the famous Puerta de las Granadas, a triumphal arch decorated with three pomegranates.
Walking through the woods you come to the Puerta de la Justicia, built in 1348. Above the gate´s first horseshoe arch there is a carved hand to symbolize defense against evil, and the second horseshoe arch is decorated with many Arab inscriptions. You walk into four right-angled bends (for reasons of defense), then you come to the entrance to the Alhambra Palace itself. Nearby the Renaissance fountain (1545) dates from the time of Spanish King Charles V. To the west of the square there are the former buildings of the Alcazaba (fortress); to the east there is the Palace of Charles V and to the north the Palacio Arabe (the Alhambra Palace). The Alcazaba is enclosed by ramparts, several of its towers survive and I walked amongst them. The Torre de la Vela is the most significant one, dominating a magnificent panorama of the city and surrounding areas. From one of the surviving towers you can look Northwest down about 1000 feet to the valley of white roofed homes. You can also look out into the distance to the many small caves where the Gypsies still live today. To the South you see the modern Granada mixed with the old city.
I stayed the night just 100 feet from the Alhambra in the Hotel Algecairexs. This was a nice hotel, they even parked your car in the garage below the hotel for free! The hotel had many tourists--many Japanese! I had a nice room with walls made of dark wood with a balcony that sported a breathtaking view of the modern city. I arrived late so I took a nap, then went for a walk around the Alhambra. The street outside the hotel was dark, and was essentially an asphalt road that ran through the woods. The grade was intense so even though I took a nice walk (down hill), I had to take a taxi back up for about $3.00. I went to some stores and picked some items, including a set of lithographs of the Alhambra, and the famous book by Washington Irving: "Tales of the Alhambra" which was leather-bound with gold edging. I retired to my room and had dinner on the patio looking over the city. Later I started to read Tales of the Alhambra while noticing the nice aroma of the fires the Gypsies had burning down the hill.
The next morning I woke up early. It was overcast, wet, but not raining. I purchased my ticket and went on my walking tour of the Alhambra. They rented me a small plastic "radio" looking thing which spoke in 5 different languages. As I walked, I would punch in a number from a signpost--then hold it to my ear and hear about exactly I was seeing. As I was walking along I met up with a couple from Seattle, Washington. The man was a professional builder and his knowledge of masonry and brick were very interesting as that was what most of the setting was made of. He taught me a lot as we walked. Both he, his wife and myself walked together for an hour and took pictures for each other. Later that afternoon I took a taxi down into the city and visited "the King & Queen."

On the large space once occupied by the main mosque of Granada, a group of Christian buildings of great artistic interest were erected after the Reconquest (1492) which includes the Cathedral, the Church of El Sagrario and the Royal Chapel (where Isabella and Ferdinand are entombed). Remember now, Isabella and Ferdinand, and subsequently their schizophrenic daughter Joan the Mad (Juana la loca) are the monarchs who kicked the Jews out of Spain, kicked the Moors back across the Straight of Gibraltar to North Africa, and sent diseases to the New World in exchange for all of their gold. The Cathedral was built between 1518 and 1704, and although started in the Gothic style, most of the structure is Renaissance. When you first walk in you first see much elaborate wood work that has been covered in pure gold. Walls and art pieces 30 feet high. This is all gold that was taken from the "New World" and brought back to Spain. There were many old paintings from the Flemish, Italian and Spanish Schools of the 15th century. I paid my admission fee for the "privilege" of seeing the tombs of the Catholic monarchs. This is how it works--there is a narrow staircase which leads down about 12 steps to the tomb which is underground. There are bars blocking the opening that are only wide enough for one person at a time to have a view and their own peace (or say some choice words) with the monarchs. I held up the line as I flagrantly took pictures of their tombs under the "no fotos" sign, as well as gave Ferdinand and Isabella a few "nice" gestures with my middle finger! By having a moment to do this--at this point if I was to leave Spain, I truly felt like my journey would have been complete. Fortunately however it was not.
After fending off many Gypsies, I walked down the street looking for something to eat. It was Saturday, and Saturday in Spain is like Sunday in the States. Most stores were closed, but I found a nice busy restaurant that was decorated in the front with a lot of brass, and a small kind of shady cafe in the back (decorated as fancy as your high school cafeteria). I sat down and ordered off of the menu. I guess they had lots of tourists because the menu had pictures and no words! I ordered "una plate numero quatro por favor." I got a platter with some iceberg lettuce mixed with canned corn, a couple of scrambled eggs, some asparagus stalks, and a hamburger (I think that's what it was) made out of some type of red meat that the man assured me was not pork. After lunch I picked up some post cards and a Twix, and took the first taxi I could back to the hotel, it was now about 11:30pm. I took the half hour before check out time to repack my now very heavy pack. After check out I departed beautiful Granada and headed further South towards the coast.
South to the Coast
Getting back on the highway I drove south with really no specific city in mind. I was ahead of schedule and was fortunate enough to take my time driving. One of the first significant towns I passed through was Motril. I then went west along the coast. Coming over the hills near the coastal town of Salobrena I saw my first ever sight of the magnificent Mediterranean Ocean. An ocean known only in my family to my ancestors. The roads now were running like a ribbon carved in the seaside hills just above the shore. I pulled over at a low point in a view station and was about blown over by the strong winds. The sea was slamming up against the rocky sea wall and the spray slapped me in the face. The Mediterranean coast of Spain could be likened to southern Florida twenty years ago - a place of opportunity, beauty and tranquillity (well, it's a lot prettier!). Many foreign-run businesses operate along the coast and in the islands with everything from dentists and doctors to English food supermarkets, realtors, builders and, newspapers. There are theater and singing clubs, associations, golf, bowling, and water sports on the ocean...life need never be dull. I continued on along the highway called "N340" passing Cala Moral, Calahonda, and stopping in Marbella for lunch. I continued on to San Rogue where I saw the road sign "La Linea de la Conception." This was the point where Spain's adversary Gibraltar, a British colony since 1713, which has its own government, has a border crossing. The English speaking people of Gibraltar consider themselves an independent country tied to the United Kingdom. Spain still has its eyes on Gibraltar, and they consider it a thorn in its side, and have often made the border crossing difficult or closed in the past. As I was coming around a bend going Southeast I saw the massive "Rock of Gibraltar." I stopped the car and pushed the door open against the wind to take a picture--it was a fantastic site.
Visiting Gib
Driving into the town near the border of Spain & Gibraltar you come across a barren, poor, sparse area of working class people. Lots of open space, motor scooters, ports, and bars. There also seemed to be "too many" young people just hanging around and watching people. There was a slight sense of trepidation and unsettledness in the air. It was a brilliant clear day, with high gusts of wind so close to the sea. There are no signs in the Spanish town that direct you to Gibraltar--another indication that Spain really wants nothing to do to support tourism in "Gib." I tell you, Spain can take a lesson from Disney World on how to be hospitable to the misdirected tourist. I came upon a lot of traffic and taxi's backed up--and this is how I noticed I had arrived at the "line." You can drive across to Gibraltar with no problem, but driving back to Spain involved a long wait in line, and possibly subsequent search or questioning--another anti-Gibratar tactic. I drove around the area for parking. There were many tall buildings very remenecent of the projects built in New York. There were strangely dressed characters who would "watch" your car for a few pesetas (dollars). I found out later they really did watch the car, but would look the other way at the car right next to it unless the owner threw them some money. I found a street with no watchers and a lot of parking. I took everything, left the car unlocked (so any scavengers would not break the windows), and headed into the strong wind toward the border. Crossing into Gib was as easy as showing my passport to the British agent who stamped it.
When you first see the Rock of Gibraltar, whether it is from the air, from the sea or from either the Costa del Sol or the western end of the bay, you notice its impressive stature towering isolated above the surrounding countryside. Gibraltar is a beacon which signals the position of the Strait of Gibraltar, the narrow neck which separates Europe from Africa and provides the only link between the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea. This beacon which attracted the early inhabitants had many advantages as a home. Being limestone, the Rock which is geologically very different from the surrounding landscape is riddled with caves. Over 140 have been discovered so far. Those which had openings to the outside world made perfect shelters. Hundreds of years ago the climate was colder than it is today which meant that the sea level was lower; off the eastern cliffs of the Rock, a large flat sandy plain stretched out towards the distant Mediterranean. It was more than likely full of good hunting.
So why is Gibraltar, a lump of limestone, so different from the surrounding countryside? It all has to do with events which took place long before any kind of human had appeared on the face of the earth. The first thing to remember is that limestone is made up of millions of small shelled animals which have died and settled in the sea bed; slowly these shells harden and become rock. So another point to remember is that when you walk on the Rock you are stepping on an ancient sea bed! Imagine then, for millions of years, a mass of limestone is growing under the sea. This is happening around 200 million years ago. The continents look nothing like they do today. As Africa barges into Europe, the land folds and forms mountain chains like the Alps. Other chunks are pushed out of their position. One piece is thrust westwards and comes to rest where Gibraltar is today. It is very different from the surrounding countryside which is made up of younger rocks. Gib remains as a narrow peninsula stuck to the end of the Iberian Peninsula, linked to it by a narrow isthmus. This isthmus, covered by buildings and a modern wide runway, is made of sand. You can still see this sand on the surface in places. Many still refer to Gibraltar as an island. Historically, biologically, even politically it has been an island even in recent times, but physically it is a narrow peninsula. The Strait (that separates Gibraltar from North Africa) and the Rock were known in the classical eastern Mediterranean world. According to legend Hercules passed through here and opened up the Strait, creating the pillars which received his name (Hercules to the Romans). These pillars are still clearly identifiable today; the Rock of Gibraltar on one side and the Jbel Musa on the other.
In somewhat modern times, Gibraltar has been fought over and taken back and forth by the Moors, British, Dutch French, and Spanish. The last fighting took place in 1779 when the Spanish lost to the British, leaving Gibraltar in the UK's hands. Twice during the first half of the twentieth century the value of Gibraltar as a strategic naval base was proved. In both the 1914-1918 and the 1939-1945 wars, Gibraltar was a key point in the antisubmarine campaigns. If you control the mouth of the Mediterranean, you can control subs entering. Gibraltar "under ground" developed as miles of tunnels and chambers were dug out of the limestone and an underground city, with its own electricity supply, telephone exchanges, frozen meat stores, water distillers, bakery and hospitals was created. There is also a modern strategic air radar control center in the Rock.
Crossing into Gibraltar felt like a combination of entering a military base, as well as a tourist spot. There were British military aircraft, police, jeeps and radar towers, as well as straw hats, cameras, sandals, and shorts. I made the journey across the runway which is the what you must do if you wish to go to "downtown" Gib; I just kept my eye on the traffic lights for pedestrians to go-or-don't go to avoid all aircraft. I entered town and was happily surprised to see what looked like a very small contemporary U.S. city. There was a Shell gas station, bars, restaurants, general srores-and yes, everyone spoke perfect English. I walked around a while, took photos, saw the bunkers carved into the side of the Rock from when Gibraltar was under siege in the 18th century, and saw the Moorish tower on the East side of the rock. I bought something at a newspaper stand just so I can change in some Spanish coins for some "Gibs." Gibraltar has is own unique currency with an impression of the Rock minted on the back. My visit was brief, but it was great. I took a taxi back to the border so I could talk with a local. The driver told me he came from a military family (as most on Gibraltar do) and he was born there some 45 years ago. He said he would not want to live anywhere else. Its interesting to note that even though both Spain and the UK are both in the European Union, there is a sign as I was crossing the border back into Spain that stated "if you have any problems with the Spanish delaying entry, you should complain to the European Union complaint office." Because Spain still--wants Gibraltar back, they have been recently discourteous so much that they have slowed traffic (both cars and pedestrians) to lines of almost 6 hours. I had no problem that day. I had a clean cut young military officer who looked like a Marine right out of boot camp ask me for my passport and asked me in English "how man cigarettes or alcohol do you have?" I said none, I only came to take a picture of the Rock, and he waved me right through. Interesting to note the Spanish workers (with their lunch boxes in hand) ahead of me in line just waved hello and walked in--no passport, no documents, just a wave. I went back top my car which seemed to be untouched and said good-bye to windy Gibraltar on the road back to the southern highway.
I jumped back on the highway and traveled another hour before passing the mostly industrial port city of Algeciras. I was almost at Tarifa when I stopped at a great overlook (Cortijos de la Joya) where I got my first great view of Africa. I pulled off the road and went into a small restaurant that was filled with auto travelers, both Spaniards and tourists alike. Though the view of Africa rising across the Mediterranean was breathtaking, it was the roaring sound behind me that got my concentration--the roaring I had heard was the super large Spanish wind turbine generators (modern windmills) that generate electric. Because the blades are so huge, and they spin so slowly, they produce a low frequency "humm" that I felt through out my body. They rose on the hill over looking the sea taking advantage of the steady gusts. Later I found these wind mills were some of the largest used anywhere in the world.
I arrived in Tarifa (the most Southern city in Europe) about 15 minutes later. It was about 6pm, and it would be dark soon. Except for the ruins of medieval walls around the city, this city was not unlike a southern California or south Florida beach city. Tarifa is now known for its wind surfing, and so there were many stores selling ocean going sports equipment and catering to tourists from all over the world. I stopped in a small travel agency to buy a ticket for the ship to Tangier, Morocco. Though I purchased the ticket in Tarifa, I found out I had to go back about 20 miles to Algeciras for departure. The ticket was for 9am the next morning. I took the rest of the evening seeing the sights in city. It was evening now and Tarifa was nice. It was comfortable, safe, and the people were hospitable. I was driving back east looking for the first place I found to stay. I finally found an English speaking radio station that was being broadcast from Gibraltar. I heard that tonight was the night to set the clocks ahead (they do it a week earlier in Europe), but I was not sure if that was only in Gib, or if it meant all of Iberia. This was a big problem! You see, I didn't know how to ask someone if the clocks needed to be changed in Spanish, and there were no indicators this had to be done tonight. I couldn't miss the boat in the morning. I stayed the night in a hotel right off the roadway on way back to Algeciras. Instead of becoming frustrated with my lack of language expertise to ask the question of time change--I just set the clocks to awake me very early.
I checked into a pleasing roadside hotel that was dark and stately inside. The art work on the walls spoke of historical Gibraltar, Tarifa, and all of the Costa del Sol. I wasn't dressed for the particularly nice restaurant, so I ordered room service. I had some eggs, butter flavored with potatoes, and a famed mini-loaf of Spanish bread. After dinner I relaxed and finished my book on the Spanish Inquisition. I went to sleep early--tommorow would be a big day.
I'm on the road to Morocco
The clock goes off and I am up! It's sometime between 5 and 6am and I am rushing out the door to make the boat to Africa (wow, never thought i'd say that sentence!). I followed the directions the travel agent in Tarifa gave me to the Puerta de Algeciras. I found quick parking in a take-a-ticket lot and hurried to the dock. I pictured a dock that looked like in the movies with the old decreped wood mooring posts and a lot of passengers--nope! This was modern facility that at first appeared to be a small airport terminal. I went in the terminal walked around, and asked a policeman for the ticket validation counter. I ended up leaving the terminal, having to go back to the parking structure where the "ticket" booths were. The ground floor of the parking structure was set up with two long rows of "ferry ticket" booths that had to be a couple hundred feet long. I had my ticket stamped by the man at the counter (I was happy to find it was valid!). I was given a small green decal to wear on my shirt, and told to go stand in a group "over there." That decal was the only thing that all of us in the "tour" had in common, and it was joked that if we lost the sticker we would have to stay in Morocco! I immediately noticed others in the group were speaking English, and we all engaged each other in conversation. The first question we asked (as most Americans abroad do) is where we were from. I met Stan, a man in his late 40's from Michigan who had light blond hair and a graying mustache. Dave who was from Montana wearing a blue wind breaker and a Yankees cap; and Ken (also from Montana) was a tall blonde man with a blondish brown mustache, slightly balding with a well chewed cigar hanging out of the corner of his mouth. All three of them were in the US Navy Reserve and were in Spain for two weeks of service--today was a day of free time so they elected to take the trip to North Africa.
A dark man with two day beard walked us out of the ferry ticket bazaar and hurried us through customs (with no stops) and into the terminal. Everything ran smoothly like a greased wheel. He got us up to the Spanish guards who met us with a smile and stamped our passports showing we left the country. We crossed over the gangway and boarded the big white ship. The ship to me seemed like a smaller than usual cruise ship. It was nice and seemed clean, but my new friend Ken the Navy man said it was an old diesel boat probably about 30 years old. You couldn't tell, but it had a flat bottom to accommodate coming into shallow ports, and because of this the ship rocked more than usual at sea. We made are way into a lounge room that had hard plastic chairs bolted to the floor. I found one that was not cracked and put my pack down. There was a line forming around the edge of the room leading to a Moroccan immigration official who was inspecting passports. I stood in line for 20 minutes before I got my chance to answer his questions, then slammed his stamp against my passport and said move on. About 2 hours later, the mid deck of this ship where we were (or as we called it "the lounge") was filled with people wall to wall speaking many different languages, Arabic, French, German etc. There were many women with covered faces and men in sandals. There were more people from Morocco going back to Morocco then there were Spaniards (if any) going to North Africa. A gentle sway and a gust of diesel fumes told us we were on the move. We went exploring on the boat climbing up to the outside deck. Outside the view was beautiful as we moved out of port and into the Mediterranean. We stood together (for safety?) on the stern of the boat as it pulled out and turned east headed towards the mouth of the Atlantic. It was a bright day with just a touch of haze in the air. Beyond us you could see Gibraltar rising out of the sea, and ahead across the waters the Atlas mountains of North Africa coming into view.
It's strategic position makes Tangier the crossroads of civilizations, and gateway to the African continent. It looks across at Europe from the shores of the Atlantic and Mediterranean alike. As a meeting point of routes to so many different destinations, Phoenicians, Berbers, Portuguese and Spaniards had all left their indelible mark on the city. By the 14th century Tangier became a major Mediterranean port frequented by European trading vessels bringing cloth, spices, metals and hunting birds in exchange for leather, wool, carpets, cereals and sugar. After an unsuccessful attempt to seize Tangier in 1437 the Portuguese finally conquered and occupied the city in 1471, converting the great mosque into a cathedral. For nearly many centuries the town was passed back and forth between the Spanish, Portuguese, English and French. During World War II Tangier was completely controlled by Spain, reverting to international authority in 1945. Tangier was thus powerfully Europeanized and still retains traces of the multiplicity of influences which permeated the city during that period. With independence in 1956, Tangier became a fully integrated part of the Kingdom of Morocco.
The trip took three hours from Spain to Morocco because the ship doesn't go straight across, instead it goes east to the start of the Atlantic and then turns into port. We took turns taking the obligatory pictures of each other with Gibraltar in the background, and spent the time talking about ships, history of the Straight, and wondering what direction exactly Italy and Egypt were in. It was cold, the breeze and the sea spray made for one cool trip. There was really no wind coverage on the ship except for a couple of doors on storage bin that we managed to lean up against on the deck. It blocked the wind and made the trip more comfortable. As we were pulling up to the coast we pulled out our binoculars and caught a glimpse of (beautiful?) Tangiers. The buildings were reminiscent of the long time French occupation of this land and for a moment you thought you were looking at Paris--at least till you got closer.
We hurried back down the stairs only to find the locals (who must do this often) were packed against the door like cattle at feeding time. Unfortunately there was no where for us to go so we just stood around. There was one particular drunk Moroccan who made some not-so-nice comments towards us because we were Americans, but he was silenced by a friend almost as quick as he opened his mouth. It took a while, but the gangway was eventually opened and we made our way to the friendly policeman who looked at the picture on our passports and waved us through. I was in Morocco, wow! After a few minutes of standing around and making some small talk, our master of ceremonies arrived. He was short only about five feet tall with a long sand orange jalloba and a green fez hat. He was wearing thick dark glasses and spoke perfect English. "Hello everybody-my name is Habbibi and I am your guide for today!" Habbibi hustled us quickly back through the terminal building and past the guards and check in points. We went down stairs to a big abandoned parking lot where a new white mini van picked us up. I sat next to a curly red headed Spanish woman from Chile who was making her first trip to Spain.
"Hello everybody, my name is Habbibi and this is your driver Abdullah," said our green fez wearing guide as we began to drive around town. The streets were barren and no one was driving (except us). He told us that today was a holiday in Morocco. It was The Festival of Sacrifice, called "Eid ul-Adha." This festival is celebrated throughout the Muslim world as a commemoration of Abraham's willingness to sacrifice everything for God, including the life of his son Ishmael (Isaac). Because God spared Ishmael, substituting a sheep instead, Muslims commemorate this occasion by slaughtering an animal (sheep) and distributing its meat among family, friends and the needy as a special act of charity for the occasion. It is an old holiday with its roots in the Old Testament which helps many poor Muslims giving them the unusual luxury of eating meat during the four days of the festival.
Even though this day was a Muslim holiday, and that poor people would be partaking in some good food, it didn't change the fact that every man (there were no women) walking around town had a big huge butcher knife in their hand. I was in a city with buildings, stores etc., where there were no cars driving except the one I was in, and everywhere I looked there were men with bloodied clothing and butcher knives--some having 2 or 3 knives in hand. Add to it the fact that we in the van were outsiders, well...lets just say it wasn't the most comfortable feeling.
The van took us around the "modern" part of Tangier passing by the Governor's home where we saw one of the two guards falling asleep against his rifle. We drove over some hills seeing some beautiful green country and eventually stopping at a dirt field where there was about a half dozen hawkers and a couple of camels for that necessary camel ride--of which I passed up in exchange for a couple of pictures of my new camel friend. About 15 minutes later we were back in the van and on the road to the Medina. As do most of the Kingdoms towns, Tangier, "the White City," possesses its "Medina," the old Arab town.
Because the holiday was today, all of the shops, street cart peddlers and markets were closed. The streets truly were barren. We pulled into a circle in the old part of town known as the kasbah. The streets were littered with trash and there were many scruffy looking men walking around. We got out of the van and the guide told us to stay together and walk quickly. We walked into what we in America would call an alley, but were streets in Morocco. These were small white washed (I mean this in the paint name only--not cleanliness!) walls that went between two levels of homes. The walkway between the buildings were running with blood and ashes everywhere you looked. Though I never witnessed one being killed, it was evident that everyone was sacrificing animals by the blood, and cooking them over 55 gallon drums. There were many were young men and children running around and singing. One boy was proudly holding up a rams head that was burned to a black char on a piece of steel rebar while dancing around to Arab music blaring from a boombox. Other boys were dancing and shouting what sounded like happy chants while holding up the sheep's horns. Axes, hacksaws, knives and hammers were all being used on the bones. Though the situation was quite unusual and intimidating, when you made eye contact and said "hello" (in English, French, Spanish or Arabic) the boys would smile and say hello right back. These young people really seemed to enjoy and appreciate when someone paid a bit of attention to them and said hello.
Habbibi took us up some stairs to a restaurant where musicians were playing Arab songs. We sat at a long table and got to chat with our other members of the tour group. I met some students from Portland and Seattle who were traveling, as well as some Swedes (who spoke perfect English). We had couscous and lamb kebab as we listened to the violin and oud music. I purchased a Coke in a bottle written in all Arabic to take home as a little souvenir. It was a cozy little traditional place. We left the restaurant and our guide took us through the old parts of town.
We walked around the narrow streets and alleys in the "kasbah" which is the name of a traditional fortress in towns in North Africa. The kasbah served as the seat of the local ruler, as well as the hiding place of the local population during attacks. The kasbah was constructed for defense, with high walls and small or no windows. Often kasbahs exploited the terrain, and were situated on hill tops, or near the approach to harbors (such as the one in Tangier). At times all villages had their own kasbah, and the existence of a kasbah was a prerequisite for the survival of the village. Today the kasbah is open and made up of hundreds of individual flats where the poorer people live.
It didn't take long for the hustlers and street merchants to come out of the woodwork. Many, many different people right in your face wanting to sell you things as we walked. The guide kept walking at a pretty quick stride, and we almost had to run at some points to catch up--the last thing we wanted to do is lose our guide. The Navy guys and I watched each other's back as the street vendors were here, there, and everywhere! "Can I sell you this brass camel-only 5 dollars, please, please-you rich American!" said one hawker. Subsequently I found responding back to them even with a "no" was a bad idea--it only made them follow you more. The novelty of the little sales man following after us wore off pretty quickly and we were left in almost a strangle hold of street hustlers two inches from our faces begging us to buy anything from them. Some of us gave in a bought a few items (hey we're not going back to Morocco for while anyway!), and some stood fast and bought nothing. The guide eventually took us into a store that had expensive items. Something as small as an ashtray made of brass had a tag with the price in "dirhams" (Moroccan currency). The store owner took us all up stairs and put on the traditional rug show/sale where his five workers roll out about 50 rugs--one on top of each other as they tell you about them. Later, the rug man walked up to each person and asked if the wanted to buy one. "We take credit cards--you rich Americans!" shouted the joyful sales man. Dave the guy from Montana traded his cheap wind breaker for a small rug, and one of the students bought a mat sized rug for about $40.00. After a bit more shopping we left the overpriced market (the only one open) and went on the other half of our walk.
It was getting warm out now as it was almost 3pm and we were getting tired. Tired of the street hustlers, tired of walking uphill, and tired of the stench. While standing still for a moment waiting for everyone to catch up one cute litt

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