Reflections

My travels through Southern Spain, Morocco and my weekend in Paris afforded both an inner and outer journey. At times what I saw and chose to photograph functioned largely as a backdrop/diversion from my deeper thoughts. Sometimes I was trying to sort out culture--how did Roman culture transmute into the cultures of Spain, Morocco and France? And then what about the Moors and the Jews? What traditions did they generate....and apart from architecture, what of their worldviews still remain?

I allowed myself to entertain observations about ethnicity--how is the expression of French culture different in Morocco than it is in Paris? And what happens to the French West Africans, the Middle Easterners, the Indians and the Asians who make France their home? Quickly I sensed that being French (like being American) is a cultural identity/a point of view that has nothing to do with genetics. On the plane back to America I sat next to a woman who looked decidedly Asian and she told me she was French. As her story unravelled I noted that she was born in Korea and at the age of nine was adopted by a French family. She no longer speaks Korean--her entire worldview is that of a French woman. She was coddling a small baby, speaking to it in French and soothing it with French nursery rhymes.

The more I thought about her story, the more I faced that today, more than 500 years after the European Conquest, ethnicity/identity are completely separated from physical appearance. The peoples who the Europeans conquered can now be found living in Europe as Europeans. While my grandparents hailed from Russia and Roumania, my identity is that of a baby-boomer American feminist whose influences include academic anthropology, sexology and certainly California naval-gazing!

Much of what concerned and confounded me on this trip were the distinctions between tourism, independent travel and cultural anthropology. Much of how I've engaged the world is that of a self-styled anthropologist/seeker. I throw myself into odd/unknown circumstances, get batted around and then sort out what happened--what that might reveal about me and of course this new/odd culture. While at times painful, it's also what I live for. Probably my most intense engagement of this approach was going to the Hammam (public bath) in Essoira, Morocco. In that moment I allowed my body to be handled in whatever ways were considered normal by my fellow bathers. Still, much of this trip I lived in the safe, momentarily captivating world of tourist sights and pleasures. While my couch-surfer hosts provided me access to other worlds, I largely found myself more interested in the tourist stuff. In Barcelona my hosts invited me to attend a vegetarian potluck massage-exchange and I bagged it, figuring I could do that any time I wanted at home...and that while in Barcelona I'd rather go walk down the Rambla (quite like Santa Monica's Third Street Promenade) and explore the old city. Now home in LA, I'm hosting couch-surfers from Europe who would much prefer going to Disneyland, Universal Studios and photographing the stars on Hollywood Blvd. While they might give lip-service to attending vegetarian potlucks, I understand fully why they probably won't.

Having signed up for an organized tour in Morocco, I was largely fed through the tourist sights and activities. I struggled. It was so not me. While some members of the group bonded into a family, I was forever wandering off...trying as best as I could to have my own experiences. And the Moroccans I'd met on these brief wanders were kind, friendly and engaging. Certainly there were the numerous young men who believed that befriending a foreign woman might provide them access to something good! (It was all playful and nothing problematic ever occurred...) One of my sweetest moments was in an Internet Cafe in Marrakesh when I asked the young woman attendant about who wears headscarves and why. She was in her early twenties and dressed in Western garb and without a headscarf. She described a friend of hers who had just started to wear one. Then that friend came in and we began to talk about how her life has changed since starting to wear one. Suddenly, the woman took off her scarf to show me her short curly locks, we all marvelled at her pretty do, and then we giggled as she replaced the scarf. I suppose it is access to those inner worlds that makes travelling special to me.

The Louvre

One cannot do the Louvre justice in an afternoon visit. I saw what I saw ...and relished it all. To the left is an amazing sculpture courtyard.

This is the head of saint jean the baptiste.

And then there was this gorgeous being...

Sculptures of the Dead

While visiting one of the sculpture sections of the Louvre, I became captivated by sculptures of dead saints and priests--who were all depicted lying peacefully on their backs with a hand over their hearts.

In this one the dead subject is surrounded by his attending nuns...and at his foot lies his beloved dog.

Notre Dame Cathedral

Construction for this ornate and amazing monument began in 1163 during the reign of Louis the VII--and it was completed about 200 years later in 1345.

Sales in Paris

Even pricey Paris has sales....

Music and Dance on a Paris Sunday Afternoon

Sunday Afternoon Dancers

Musicians Playing Traditional French Music

Gay Dancers

Paris Evening

The Science Museum Reflection into the Ourcq Canal


L'Orucq Canal Reflection

Golden-lit Walkway

The Mona Lisa Experience

Viewer/photographers of the Mona Lisa


One of many signs directing Louvre visitors to the Mona Lisa

Yes, my photo of the Mona Lisa

Mona Lisa Photographers

Mona Lisa Posters at the Charles de Gaul Airport

I remember gazing up close at the Mona Lisa when I was 20. There were no digital cameras then and viewing a painting, was just that. One didn't need to photograph it, too. And I don't remember it being covered with glass...and certainly it wasn't cordoned off so that viewers had to stay 20 + feet away!

Newly Arrived West Africans at Work

I spoke to a guy selling Eiffel Tower trinkets and he told me he was from Guinea (West Africa) and had been in Paris for a couple of months.

Tourist Paris

Paris is absolutely jammed with tourists catching a look at the sites!

Picnic Along the Seine

Countries that can be called from a Parisian Call Center

North and West Africa are well featured here... And yes there are countless Moroccan Restaurants in Paris (I'd had enough couscous and tagine for awhile) but for many Parisians they were great places to eat something delicious.

Worldly Paris

The Paris I remember from 35 years ago was a bit snooty and very white. If one couldn't speak decent French one was pretty much dismissed. The Paris I found this time featured a veritable melange of the world. There were West Africans, Asians, Indians and people from every port of the Middle East. And then of course there was the beloved Bohemian arts scene with bottles of red wine shared by scruffy picnickers along the Seine and dusty galleries filled with creations from times gone by.

Views of the Eiffel Tower

There are apparently many options for engaging the Eiffel Tower. One can climb up as far as the main platform or one can take an elevator up to even higher levels. I chose to take a series of photographs and move on rather quickly....

Postcard from Paris

Visiting Paris was an afterthought -- I'd put much thought into strategizing my tour through Southern Spain and Morocco; and all I'd done to prep for Paris was book flights in and out and arrange to couch-surf with Martine, a sweet woman who lives in the 19th arrondisment (section). The last time I was in Paris I was 20... Then I had my series of 20-something adventures: I'd met some kids who lived out in the suburb of Melun, attended their all-night parties and then got got waylaid at the Gare du Nord train station by an older man who'd invited me to have a drink with him when I should have been boarding a train to Amsterdam. (I ended up spending the night in the women's bathroom sharing my sleeping bag with a French girl who'd also missed the train.)

This visit was decidedly more adult--I attended no all night parties and no one managed to take advantage of me:) Martine took me along with her to one of Paris' summer festivities for Parisians . It featured an hour-long boat ride along the Ourcq canal and then dancing on a barge to a series of performers who belted out traditional French songs and such. The next day I took in tourist-Paris--visiting the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower and indulging in a boatride down the Seine.

Leaving Morocco

My last night in my old medina riad was very special. I climbed to the roof top garden and sprawled out on a lounge chair and took in the warm night breeze. Around 10 PM the nearby mosque filled with worshippers one more time and their thick chanting percolated into the night air. Eventually I wandered back into my sweet little room, wrapped myself in a light sheet and slept. In the morning I walked out to the main square and bought one more 3 dirham glass of orange juice, slowly savored the last bits of Moroccan nectar, packed my bags and caught a taxi to the airport. I'd booked a flight to Paris on EasyJet which is kind of the Southwest Airlines of Europe with no assigned seating, etc. I feared it would be a bit of a zoo, but it worked just fine.
The flight was filled with French people--suddenly the veils and headscarves were gone and I entered a very different world.

A New Cycle

My group tour ended this morning and quickly I began to engage Morocco on my terms. The group had provided this ever present bunch of friends to share meals and a bit of the sweetness and support of a family. This morning I tracked down an academic conference on population, culture and sexuality. Despite that the proceedings were in French and Arabic, I gleaned a fair amount--certainly not all of the content, but much of the style e.g. many presentations were overviews of a subject (e.g. family planning) rather than original research. The presentation on STDs had very graphic images but none depicted infected genitals. Research results on a study of obesity amongst Marrakesh women noted a sedentary lifestyle and culture-based dietary practices but failed to note that wearing huge caftans absolutely hides it all, certainly making the wearer less anxious about her looks! (Probably only a foreigner like me would note that...) I also chatted with a researcher who had surveyed the sexual behaviors of Moroccan teens. He noted that about 5 percent were sexually active with more males than females. Our discussion then led to a fascinating chat about the impact of feminism/economic opportunities for women and it's incumbent impact of female sexuality

Then I found my way to a different hotel and a very different scene. The group hotel had been in the new city and the hotel I had reserved for myself turned out to be in the thick of the Medina (old city). The taxi I caught refused to drive into the Medina, leaving me to wander the alleys until one of the street urchins spotted me and led me down more alleys and over to the hotel. As I approached the hotel, a throng of men were leaving the adjacent mosque--I crowded along the side of the alley to let them pass. The hotel itself turned out to be a little paradise with gardens, cushioned sitting areas and more sweetness than I could have imagined for less than 30 dollars a night. After settling in I began wandering the streets, trying out Berber cosmetics, chatting with women about who wears headscarves and why (very varied--and generally not an indication of religiosity).

Tomorrow morning I wrap up Morocco and leave for Paris. I'm curious about the differences in cultural expression between the French Motherland and this melangé of Berber, Arab and French.

Dried Fruit and Nut Display

The produce all looks gorgeous...and the flies are free:)

Marrakesh

Marrakesh has been the last stop for our whirl wind all over Morocco tour. It's a bit odd ending here in that for many people this is their only stop in Morocco. It's a big city with gorgeous parks, a very large medina (old town) with a huge open square. The square is filled with snake charmers, men with tamed macaques and street musicians who all offer their presentations for hefty tips. Then there are fresh orange juice vendors, dried fruit and nut vendors and then a super-large market where crafts ranging from leather goods to caftans and jewelry are offered for sale. Haggling is part of the scene. It's been fun to bargain hard for whatever.... In the end I remain pretty clueless over whether I've gotten a good deal or just had fun bargaining:)


The main square at night

The main square filled with shoppers (and sellers)

My Adventure in a Moroccan Hammam

Hammams are communal baths which are found throughout Morocco. There is one near the hotel we're staying at here in Essoaira and this afternoon I went for a visit. I'm still reeling from culture shock! First walking around the streets of Morocco I've only seen women veiled and draped...and suddenly in the Hammam, my eyes do a double-take as I walk into a world in which the children are completely nude and the women are wearing just panties. Altogether it seems that Moroccan women actually have a greater degree of comfort with their bodies than most Western women! I was guided into a room in which most of the women were either scrubbing themselves or their children. Being new at this I was assigned a washing assistant. First I was handed a slimy piece of brown soap and instructed, in sign language, to lather myself up. Then buckets of water were poured over me.

Next my assistant put on a very abrasive glove and began to exfoliate my arms, legs and feet. She was really rough and at moments I would motion for her to stop. Then she began scrubbing areas I've never scrubbed before like the sides of my neck and under my arms. No parts were left untouched as she grabbed at my breasts and well under my panties..

Then my hair was washed and combed into a Berber style with a plastic head massager. Finally I was led into another room and told to lie on my back. She virtually got on top of me and started to pull at my arms. This was part of a massage which included lots of pouncing and grabbing, smacking and twisting. In that no one seemed to be concerned about what she was doing to me, I figured it was all standard behavior. Eventually she began pouring pitchers of water on me--I joined in and poured water on her...I was almost tempted to slap and pull at her, too--just to get even!

I left in a culture-shocked daze...

Extracting Argan Oil

There are many women's cooperatives which engage in the labor-intensive practice of processing the argan nut. Argan primarily grows in Morocco and Mexico, but it is only in Morocco where there is a nut/seed. The nuts are harvested, cracked open to harvest the oily meat (which has a decidedly bitter taste) then toasted (or not) then pound with a stone and then run through this hand-crank extractor to access the oil. The oil can be used for cooking as well as for a range cosmetic creams, soaps and oils.

Inside a Berber Village

We visited the High Atlas mountains and I wandered through a Berber Village. Being on the edge of a river bed, the houses were made from stone rather than clay. (I was charged a couple of dirham for the right to photograph the cute cow...)

Learning to Make Tangine

Our teacher shows us how she selects the meat

This is the finished stew

It's cooked in a ceramic casserol dish with a cone-shaped lid over a low fire.

Some of the many flavors that can go into seasoning a tangine--pictured here are ginger, pepper, salt, cumin, coriander, garlic and saffron

Taking in Beautiful Morocco

Driving through small towns

After we left the Sahara Desert we drove through a number of small towns each with particular cultural ane religious practices: in one, women appeared in public wearing full black veils wherein only one-eye could nakedly engage the world. I'd seen pictures before but it was quite chilling to to actually witness the practice. Later we stopped at a local market and I just mingled among the other shoppers. At one moment a gregarious Moroccan woman extended her hand to shake mine. My right hand was full and so I offered her my left. She refused it, laughing as she reached for the proper hand. I laughed along with her, considering what a cultural misfit I must be! Then I went over to a vendor who was selling scarves and I selected four pretty ones...

Moroccan Donkeys

Donkeys are used both in the countryside as well as the cities for transport as well as for hauling stuff.

Monkey Finger Rock Scape

This range in the mid-atlas mountains are referred to as monkey-fingers...

Dogs of Morocco

Basically they are mid-sized, free to roam and in good shape.

Todra Gorge

After the desert we headed off into the mountains and spent the night at Todra Gorge with a rushing river and huge rock faces that draw climbers from all over the world. After dinner we walked down the canyon and took in the blazing stars.

The Sahara Desert Camel Experience

I ride a camel

Riding camels (actually dromedaries in that they have only one hump) is primarily a tourist activity. Nonetheless it was super picturesque. We set off around 5 in the evening and rode for a couple of hours and then stayed at a Berber-like camp amongst the Sahara Desert Dunes. We were fed tangine (traditional Moroccan stew) and fell asleep watching the stars. It was an absolutely beautiful night!

Morocco's Gender/Dress Divide

My tour guide Hussein wearing traditional Berber Dress, other days he wears jeans and t-shirts.

When I first arrived my eyes kept landing on the veiled women. And I kept wondering what makes a woman decide to veil herself. Does she gain safety? Respect? Does the covering of her skin add to her allure? Do veiled women feel restricted?

Moroccan culture is actually very varied: There are Arabs, Jews (though most have left for Israel), Berbers (with many distinct tribes) and tourists and business people from all over. There is complete tolerance of self-expression through dress. Some days a man might wrap scarves around his head and wear a full caftan while other days he might wear jeans and a t-shirt.

Shopping in Morocco

Shopping Carts at Marjane, Morocco's Costco-like Mega Market


At Marjane one can buy everything from dried fruits and nuts to western clothing and furniture and alcohol (which is not widely sold due to Muslim prohibitions).

Nonetheless, the local markets serve the masses, here are how goods are displayed:

What's for Sale...

While I've been hit on to buy carpets, silk and leather goods, here's what's being sold in local markets...

Walk Street of the Rabat Medina

The Medina in Moroccan towns refers to the old city-centers where the streets are so narrow that people must walk single-file!

Moroccan Cats Big and Little

On the edge of the Atlas Mountains there are some winter ski chalets where the big cats are featured in a garden. And now is the season for a zillion feral kitties...

Moroccan Macaques

Cute and reasonably friendly!

Volubis--Ancient Roman Settlement

Important in Roman Times, too!


Fish Mosaic

Always Drama...

Triumphal Arch

The Centerpiece

We explored the ancient Roman Ruins in Volubis which was a principal city through the 3rd century. (It was destroyed by an earthquake in the 4th century). Prior to the Roman habitation (replete with mosaics and baths) it had been a Carthaginian settlement.

Joining a Tour

I'd been travelling solo for 11 days when I arrived in Casablanca and joined a group tour which visits the highlights of Morocco. There was a part of me that was very tired of sorting everything out on my own and largely eating meals alone. I'd found myself nearly counting the days until I'd have a built in family. Initially I was very happy. Suddenly I had 15 new dinner mates and no longer had to sort out hotels, activities or meals! My honeymoon lasted about a day and a half and then I started wanting to be free to wander. I found myself feeling uncomfortably different and counting the days until it would end. The worst was finding my very independent self fed through the Moroccan tourist culture with a multiple course traditional dinner, live music and belly dancers. The following day we were taken on an arts tour where we were taken to a series of shops where our guide would receive a commission on our purchases. The shops had overpriced goods--it made me so uncomfortable to see so many of my travel mates blowing wads of diram on things they might have purchased in a local market for a third of the price. And then I felt like a stingy-scrooge for barely buying a thing.

Grand Mosque in Casablanca

Casablanca is largely the economic capital of Morocco. It's filled with high rise buildings that abruptly stop at the sea. It does have a massive mosque thqt has been known to accomodate 25 thousand worshippers inside and 80 thousand in the surrounding plaza.

Views in and out of the train from Tangiers

The train to Casablanca

After being shuttled through Moroccan customs, the next order of the day was to get myself to Casablanca where my tour group would be meeting. While several worldly Moroccans had advised that I take a first class bus somehow the Crosby Stills and Nash song about taking the Marrakesh Express kept ringing through my ears and I grabbed a petit taxi to the train station. Within minutes of my arrival I found myself on the 11 am train that would eventually connect to a Marrakesh bound one. I bought a second class ticket with hopes of mixing more with the locals.. In one moment I was part of a lively conversation with a soccer referee, a college student and a businessman. I hadn't spoken French in years and somehow it rolled off my tongue. The air conditioning was out and veiled women gazed shyly in my direction. At one moment I became captivated by a sleepy woman sitting across from me. Her veil kept slipping off and her long pink caftan looked hot and itchy. Her husband would periodically fan her her face and rearrange her garb. In an idle moment I snapped a photo. Her husband caught me in the act and demanded that I erase it. I complied. Then he grabbed my camera and inspected the remaining photos to be sure I would not be able to take his wife's likeness with me. The train took a circuitous route through Rabat rather than following the coastal bus route and I arrived in Casablanca six hours later sweaty and pretty culture shocked.

The Ferry from Algeciras to Tangiers

I woke up early and made my way down to the ferry terminal which was just a short walk from the hotel, bought a ticket and followed a maze of entry ways which ultimately put me on one of the many ferries that make this crossing. Within minutes culture shock hit. I had never seen so many women in headscarves in my life. I was captivated. I watched as each of their unique personalities seeped through all the layers of fabric. Here are some of my photos from the boat:

a little bit of Malaga

covered walk street


central cathedral

Malaga

I caught a bus from Granada down to the gorgeous coastal city of Malaga. Having run the numbers, I faced that I would have just enough time to look over the Picasso Museum, catch something to eat and find my way back to the bus station. It worked. I found a most delicious vegetarian restaurant, serving eggplant grilled with tomatoe sauce and cheese and pasta with wild mushrooms. The Picasso Museum had every little scrap of paper he had ever scribbled on...at one point I noted, this man was really into women...the way he looked at them--how they impacted him--he must have been an amazing lover. Then I wandered into a world press photo exhibition on water and violence. Very powerful photography. Every moment in Malaga had to be treasured in that I had so little time.

I then caught a bus to Algeciras, chatting the whole time with a clinical psychologist from Granada who is a practicing Buddhist and lives a life at least as unconventional as mine. After the busride along the gorgeous Southern coast we landed in Algeciras. It was too late to catch a ferry and so I found a little hotel and crashed for the night

The Alhambra

Lacy Moorish Architecture


Reflecting Pool

Tile Ceiling

Star-studded ceiling

Garden walls...

Yesterday I flew to Granada and wore myself out exploring the Alhambra. It´s absolutely exquisite...and a bit reminiscent of the Taj Mahal. Prior to being taken over by Isabel and Fernando (who sponsored Christopher Columbus´ trips to America) it was a Moor stronghold. And much of the lacy architecture is quite reminiscent of the Moorish influence in India. I took a zillion photos...looking for special angles and views of the buildings and the gardens.

Abortion Rights Poster in Granada

A 2 Euro Store

Rather than a 99 cents store, there´s a 2 euro one...

Solar Panels on a Spanish Tiled Roof

Deia

Hillside homes in Deia


Deia Home

Arturo Rhodes new works exploring the backseats of cars

Music for a back seat...


Oranges and a note on a back seat

Lovers in the backseat

Arturo in his studio

My friend Michael lived in Deia. He was working on a writing project and had described what a special place it had been to live and work. The edges of Deia feature restaurants and cafes for drive through tourists to catch a meal or a drink... I wandered the dusty paths looking for Michael´s friend Arturo. I made at least five wrong turns and eventually found a farm house with the name ARTURO I figured I´d arrived. It was the sweetest visit. We talked as if we´d known each other for years...discussing art, creativity, dreams and passion. He´s working on an exhibit featuring the backseats of cars.

Hard Times in Soller

I landed in Soller and proceeded to wander around the plaza, explore a little museum and investigate oranges and pastries. After enough of it all, I figured it was time to look for the bus to Deia, an artist colony that´s about 30 minutes away by car. Eventually I found my way to the bus stop and was informed the next bus would leave in 2 and a half hours. It was a little after 1 and basically life shuts down for the afternoon siesta. I positioned myself on the road to Deia and figured I´d try to hitch hike. (I had no patience to wait so long for a 30 minute bus ride). I tried and tried...and all the memories of hitching through Europe when I was 20 zoomed into my brain. Then mostly truck drivers would pick me up...and hit on me every way they could. This time I was just hard on my luck. Eventually I check into a cafe and ate a leisurely lunch of salad, a pate sandwich and a bit of beer. I chatted with an Irish ex pat about Darwin and evolution and made the most of my very long wait.

Train to Soller

I took this very touristy but fun train ride through the mountains from Palma onto the otherside of Mallorca...and the coast town of Soller.

J Torrents Llado

Self Portrait as a Gorgeous Young Man

Painting

One of Llado´s delicious paintings

J Torrents Llado´s home-studio has become a gallery since his untimely death at age 47 in 1993. It´s a very personal look into the life and creations of this very talented designer-painter.

Around Palma

Sculpture from the P March Museum Courtyard

Octopus at the Aquarium

Jelly Fish at the Aquarium

Remains of the Arab Baths

Explorations in Palma

During my time in Palma I did a day of wandering...discovering archeological remains of the Arab Baths, the former home, now museum, of painter-designer J. Torrents Llado, the P. March Museum (with both modern sculpture and loads of renaissance work on Jesus´ birth)...and then finally I got out to the new aquarium. It was a day of wandering down sweet cobblestone streets, taking loads of photographs and then bumping into more enchanting stuff. It was a day without maps...just taking in whatever there was...and however it came to me.

Depression and the Arts in Spain

There are this posters all over Palma with a depressed looking male and another with an equally depressed looking female, advising viewers that help is available. Meanwhile the arts are everywhere. Not functional art. And no longer are artists funded by the church to depict all the many variations on Christ´s birth and crucifiction. Rather the arts that are celebrated here are about personal expression. And as I understand the Spanish youth are much more inclined to become artists and designers than to do something ¨practical¨ like become printers or builders. And with double digit unemployment here in Spain (all construction projects have been halted due to lack of capital), they´re in a society-wide quandry. For a people who are drawn to the darkness and individuality of being artists, it´s a got to be a tough road... and one I very much understand.

Spain´s Eurocentricism

I´ve been thinking about Spain´s position in the world. Once one of the major conquerors and ultimately exporters of culture. And here and now the Spanish people barely acknowledge the culture and creations of Latin America. They´re more likely to consider themselves European, identifying with other Europeans in terms of style, sensibility and perspective. Meanwhile the music they listen to is more likely to be (North) American. The cultures they spawned in the Americas are viewed as low and uninteresting... Quite different from the close cultural sharing (e.g. TV, radio and music) that occurs between Great Brittain, the U.S., Canada and Australia. Interesting.

Travel as Meditation

I decided to change my point of view about being a lonely solo traveller. Instead I´m thinking of everything--the sites, churches, food, photo-ops, etc. as a backdrop to go deeper into myself--my thoughts--my dreams. Rather than going to a retreat center in some isolated spot, I use the challenges of figuring out where to go, what to see, what to eat as the process for engaging my easily distracted mind. Whatever conversations that come are a bonus rather than things I clamor for. So much better!

Palma, Mallorca Arrival

Last night I caught a late night ferry from Ibiza and dozed through the 2-hour journey to this relatively staid Balearian Island. Here in the capital, there´s lots more going on than tourism. Last night I caught a cab over to my Palma digs which is a cute hostal (small hotel) that´s a noisy bar until about 1 am. The staff were all expecting me (they have relatively few guests here) and showed me to a small room. Down in the bar the owner allowed me to use his computer to catch up on email...but being dimly lit (duh, it´s a bar) and missing the ¨m¨key I trudged along barely. Suddenly a very drunk patron put his arm around me...the bar owner told him to stop. It was weird in that I hadn´t been touched in a couple of days...and my body was sort of craving any sort of contact, but advisedly this kind really wouldn´t work:)

This morning I´m doing the first day wander...found my way down to the port...and to this Internet cafe with with fast computers where all keys work!

Wandering Around Palma

Palma, Mallorca Marina

First Looks at Palma, Mallorca

School Children in Palma

Formentera Beach

Making the Best of Ibiza

Ibiza, while steeped in history and once a quiet haven for hippies from Europe and beyond, is largely a party town for the rich and gorgeous. The 20-something women visitors from France, Italy and Germany all sport absolutely perfect bodies...while a smart well travelled woman like me can be pretty much ignored. So I just found things that pleased me....like a late-morning breakfast bar run by a super-friendly woman from South Africa. I´d request variations on her standard menu like two eggs instead of one egg and sausage...and she´d always throw in an hour of free Internet time. Then this morning I decided to explore Formentera...a nearby much more peaceful island. I found my way down to the harbor and bought a roundtrip ticket for the day. The line I picked (many companies run the half hour trip) was popular amongst locals in that for them they offer super cheap fares. Upon arrival I looked over the port and realized I´d need to go inland to find something nice. I wandered over to a local bus and the driver asked where I wanted to go. I replied, ¨a nice beach.¨ After exchanging a couple of euros, I hopped on and arrived at an amazingly gorgeous spot. I had a menu del dia lunch of grilled sword fish and octopus salad and a glass of wine...and then dove into the ocean and swam and swam. Eventually I took a break for sun bathing, swam again and then caught the bus and then the boat back to Ibiza. After showering off the beach at my hotel, I made my way over to the port to catch an evening ferry to Palma, Mallorca.

Yachts in the Ibiza Harbor

People arrive by yacht from all over Europe...

The Evening Mass

As I was wandering the streets of the old city of Ibiza I found my way into a gorgeous church that overlooks the city. And soon after I entered mass began...

The Burger King Doesn´t Allow Dogs, but does Serve Beer...

Ibiza Cat

Evening Cafe

Views of Ibiza

Sorting Out Ibiza

I´d heard of Ibiza for years, but it was always too faraway to even consider dropping in. Then routing my trip to start in Barcelona, suddenly the possibility of Ibiza became this weekend´s reality. It´s the land of topless beach bathing, swanky yachts, dance clubs that open at midnight and lazy afternoon siestas. Being here alone I notice everything...but I´m not having a true Ibiza experience of hanging\partying with friends... I´m largely doing the photo\anthropology observation! In planning the trip I´d spent days surfing the web trying to figure out the best place to stay..to locate myself near things but still be quietly at the beach. I did well. I´m at Hotel Maritimo that´s on the beach...and maybe a 15 minute walk from the rest of it all. The center of town is a mix of cafes, restaurants, a craft market and loads of shops. Some 40 years ago the island was the home of Euro-hippies...those that remain sell their tie dye\batik\handmade jewelry on the streets... And 400 years ago Ibiza was a Spanish fortress replete with canons mounted high above the city to defend Spain against invasions. Today tourists of all kinds (seniors, families with children, newlyweds and young ravers) make it their destination. I´m contemplating whether to go to an all night club in that I did sleep all afternoon:)

The Food

Barcelona is filled with delicious eating opportunities. There are endless snacks like pizza and sandwiches made from a sweet slightly dry ham and cheese. And more gelato (ice cream) stores per block than Venice Beach. Then of course there´s the paella. I tried one in a tourist restaurant and it was okay. Then last night some friends took me out and we had arroz negro which is rice made with squid, prawns, mussels and clams and it was spectacular. My meal was filled out with an aromatic salad, great wine, and a dessert which featured tempura fried fruit and curry ice cream. Amazing.

Street Music in the Old City

Around the Old City

Painted Doors and Walls

Old City Passage Ways

Kids Playing Soccer in the Old City

Lost Kitten Sign

Barcelona´s Old City

On the edge of Barcelona´s principle walk street, La Rambla, is the old city. It´s artsy, playful and steeped in history. There are countless cafes...and everything for the tourist who has money to burn. I wandered the streets photographing bent walkways, Gaudyesque murals, and the melange between edgy and ancient. I had a cold chai tea latte that was to die for and then eventually found my way into the history museum. They had a fabulous archeological displays of Roman baths, fish curing tanks, laundry facilities (which employed donated urine as a whitener) and the make-up used by proper Roman women. In a way little has changed, the women of Barcelona remain gorgeous and trendy.

Stained Glass Inside the Familia Sagrada Temple

Gaudi Inspired Reptile with Tourists...

Fantastical Reptile at Parque Guell

What Is Truth

An age-old question... posed at La Familia Sagrada by Gaudi

Stairway that looks like a budding flower

Gaudi was so inspired by nature (inside the Familia Sagrada Temple)

Familia Sagrada

Notice the cranes...it´s actively under construction (having been initiated by Gaudi nearly 100 years ago)

Inside Parque Guell

Fantastic Tunnels and Bridges...

Gaudi Inspired Graffiti...

Even the Bridges Have Twist and Sway

Along the Rambla...

Elaborately costumed human-statues grace the edges of The Rambla (central walkway of Barcelona´s old city) in search of photo ops (and tips)

Ceiling Details at Parque Guell

Walls and Details at Guell Park

Gaudi Roof Top

I felt like I was visiting a fairy tale world...

Entrance to Parque Guell

This is THE site of Gaudi´s spectacular architecture...

Taking in Gaudi

In the mid-19th century Gaudi designed amazing signature architecture that graces Park Guell and the Familia Sagrada church here in Barcelona. I spent yesterday exploring it all. Considering word etymologies, I do wonder whether there´s a relationship between gaudy and Gaudi. Anyway it´s all filled with sparkle and imagination. My eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets as I climbed into Park Guell and noted the ceramic tiled roofs with so much flowing movement. At the Familia Sagrada the attached gallery included an exhibit exploring the connections between nature and Gaudi design--with the shapes of columns looking like trees, stairwells looking like flowers, etc. The Familia Sagrada church complex is still under construction despite that Gaudi died in 1926 after being hit by a tram...and my photos very much depict all of the very active construction (cranes, etc.) that is still underway. Nothing like a long term (and multi-generational) art project!

Got Some Sleep...

After I posted to my blog yesterday I continued to walk down the Rambla. It was too bright to go to sleep, but my sleepiness had put me into an extremely altered state. I tried to enjoy the weird sensations of utter exhaustion. But mostly I was trying to stay alert enough to not bump into things:)

Last night I went to bed well before nightfall and awoke way after sunrise...I don´t think I saw a wink of the night. When I awoke I met the rest of the people in my couch surfer home. They´re all into ¨La Nueva Epoco¨ or New Age food (very organic) and activities (meditation). It´s a lovely contrast to the super-inorganic tourist foods I find during the day:)

Travelling in A First World Country

So many of my travel adventures have been to places where tourism is under development. Here in Barcelona it´s quite a breeze to sort out the metro and get to all of the sites. And the very moment I feel a slight bit of need for a bottle of water, a bathroom or a snack, it´s all comfortably available. Moroever there are so many people who look just like me (wearing day packs and carrying digital cameras), that I´m barely an oddity...so very different from Africa and New Guinea!

Perhaps the oddest thing is hearing Spanish spoken by light-skinned people. Living in California, the majority of native Spanish speakers have Indian roots in Mexico and Central America, creating beautiful golden-brown skin tones. Here the Spaniards look equally European as all of the hordes of tourists from France, Germany and Italy.

The last time I travelled in Europe I was 20 and it was 1973. Spain was so different then. Franco was in power--the streets of Madrid were flanked with countless uniformed guards and police. And there was no such thing as an Internet. I composed my letters on onion skin aerogrammes and received letters at American Express offices. There was no such thing as low cost flights (e.g. Easy Jet and Ryan Air) and I bounced around on a youth eurail pass. Then I was happy to stay at crowded youth hostels and now the thought of piling into a dorm room and sleeping on a bunk bed pretty much turns my stomach. I´m a bit different and many of the people I´ve been meeting weren´t even yet born!

So Tired--Negotiating a new everything...

I´m tireder than tired. Should just sleep it off, but it´s bright and beautiful outside so I´m wandering around in a daze. Thanks to Bonine (motion sickness pill) I did great. The flight to JFK was quite turbulent--but I was in spectator mode and weathered it well. For the JFK to Barcelona stretch I´d preselected a seat in a bank of three, hoping to stretch out. Then went I boarded the plane, the presumably empty seats were occupied so I sort of slept sitting up. YUCK! Upon arrival I was spinning in circles not knowing how to do anything. Finally I found a bus that took me to the Placa to Catalunya and then tried to call my couch surfer host. No answer. I wandered in circles some more and then decided to just go the the house anyway. Negotiated buying a metro card, taking the right trains, walking up and around the hills of the city and somehow got to the house. And lo and behold my host was there. (He´d just arrived.) He´s into a combo of Osho meditation, health food, and Internet marketing. And we had a nice chat.I´m trying to enjoy my state of utter exhaustion and extreme diorientation. (I seem to need help with everything from using pay phones to starting up computers.) Ugh. Me whose reasonably competant at home is a total ludite here.