|
Where I've been...
|
Seth Familian
|
Aug 13, 2001 14:43 PDT
|
Hey there!
Well, it's been more than two weeks since my last note, and believe it
or not, today marks the end of part one of my trip (well, technically it
ended last Wednesday as I flew from London to LA, but the insane amount
of traveling I've been doing in the interim still, I believe, counts as
part of my trip). Before wrapping things up and reflecting a bit on the
whole experience, I'd like to briefly catch you up on where I've been
since those first days in Cadiz.
After that night of dancing till near dawn to the energized, mesmerizing
drum beats from the Sudan, I spent the day wandering around Cadiz
finding hidden gems around (almost) every corner. The highlight of my
day was the (great deal of) time I spent weaving through the hordes of
shoppers at the Mercado Central, where I marveled at the mounds of fresh
veggies, piles upon piles of seafood (from whole seabass and grouper
staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at me from their uncovered bins to
slimy amorphous piles of fresh squid and octopus) and a few more exotic
things as well (crates crawling with live snails sold by the kilo).
As I made my way through this massive market, I soaked up a ton of Cadiz
culture (and a bit of the fish stench as well), for I found that these
huge open-air and covered markets aren't merely a great place to buy
tasty and cheap lunch food that'll last you days, but they're a unique
and often overlooked window upon the life and people of a certain place.
For this reason, the market in Cadiz (as well as other markets,
particularly in Spain) transformed into a particularly interesting (and
downright cool) subject for my photographs. While the people were of
course interesting, what I found equally if not more compelling were the
astonishing arrangements, patterns, and designs formed by the displays
of the goods for sale--especially the seafood. It's tough to describe,
but if you get a chance check out my photos from the market in Cadiz (as
well as the Nachtmark in Vienna) and hopefully you'll get a better idea
of what I'm trying to describe...
It would probably take pages upon pages to tell even a fraction of what
I saw and experienced in Cadiz, but trust me when I say it's one of the
most remarkable cities I've ever visited, and probably one of the two
best stops on my trip (Grunau being the other). Cadiz isn't a big city,
it's not a bastion of sophistocation (or sophistomacation, as I like to
call it), it's not a highlight for museums or art or "sights" (though it
does have some pretty amazing sights). Rather, it's an authentic city,
a living, breathing world where flamenco singers mount a stage every
Thursday and belt out empassioned lyrics sans-microphone to an outdoor
audience of thousands, where a giant sea wall and wide "camino" nearly
wraps the peninsular port and offers an unbroken view of the Atlantic
(the same that Columbus' contemporaries had) that almost makes you think
twice as to whether the world is really flat, where narrow cobblestone
streets are lines with tiny shops selling fresh meat and cheese or Jerez
(sherry) distilled only a few miles away in the surrounding countryside,
and where frothy waves crash onto sublime white sand shores that play
host to sunbathers by day and raucous, energized partiers by night.
That's Cadiz. That's why I liked it so much.
But sooner or later (and unfortunately it was sooner than later) I had
to leave Cadiz, for my time in Spain was running out (I had a fixed
flight from Madrid to London that unfortunately couldn't be changed) and
there were a few more places I wanted to visit before heading out. From
Cadiz I made a quick day trip to Arcos de la Frontera, an enchanting
white-washed pueblo set upon a steep cliff that overlooks a rolling,
endless landscape of tan wheat-filled hills and winding rivers. And
even though temperatures soared past the high nineties the day I visited
Arcos (causing me to seek the still sweltering shade at every turn and
even down almost an entire pitcher of sangria unfazed), Arcos was still
entirely worth the visit.
From Cadiz and its nearby Arcos, I headed to Sevilla, where I spent the
next few days marveling drop-jawed at the Alcazar (its gardens can
really only be experienced, not described) and the other myriad of parks
and plazas scattered throughout Sevilla, and my nights hanging out with
newfound friends from my hostel (Pension Cruces--a fantastic (and
fantastically cheap) place to stay). And from Sevilla I went to my
final stop in Spain, Cordoba, home of the beautiful, frustrating, and
downright incredible Mesquita. Why those adjectives? Well the Mesquita
was first a muslim mosque with over 1200 columns supporting its
astounding double arches of alternating red and white brick, but then
when the Reconquista rumbled through Spain, the Mesquita's minaret was
knocked down and replaced with a cross-bearing belltower, and 400 of the
1200 of the columns in the central part of the structure were removed
and replaced by--believe it or not--a full-on high-gothic cathedral. So
as you wander through a bewildering (and incredibly beautiful) maze of
islamic columns, each of which is hand-carved and individually
ornamented, you stuble upon an enormous cathedral in the middle of it
all! How surreal!! The whole sight was especially moving for me since
my trip through Europe had began with a tour of Turkey and its equally
incredible (and astoundingly detailed) islamic architecture intermingled
with structures from other religions, so to see the Mesquita in Cordoba
really brought my whole trip through Europe full-circle.
Aside from the Mesquita, I really couldn't find much in Cordoba to write
home about (though its apartment houses did have really beautiful
courtyards, if you could manage a way to sneak into them), but I think
my inability to find more things of interest in Cordoba had as much to
do with my own sense of "this trip is coming to an end" than it did with
the actual sights, etc. that Cordoba had to offer. And so sure enough,
that night a siesta that I had only intended to last a few hours turned
into a 12-hour night's sleep, further proof of my exhaustion and
psychological readiness for the hardcore backpacking part of my trip to
be over.
After a speed train to madrid and a quick flight I was in London, and
for the next three days I really did little more than get incredibly
sick, attempt to do a bit of sightseeing (I only managed to get to the
Tate Modern), and see relatives and family friends. My time in London
was simply much-needed downtime, and my sickness was probably due as
much to the fact that I "let my guard down" upon crashing at my family
friends' incredibly lavish London apartment than it was to any true
virus. And though I probably should've given myself a bit more than
three days to recuperate before heading off to Ireland to visit my
college friend Winnie, it was still time that my body was certainly
grateful for.
From London I headed to Cork, Ireland for a few days, where I basically
had more downtime and lived the truly Irish life: drinking lots of beer,
wandering the streets late at night, and indulging in the occasional
lymric or Irish Spring ditty. (Alright, I admit it wasn't that bad...)
Actually, my time in Ireland was really fun and interesting, as Winnie
showed me around Cork and its outlying countryside (which really is
nothing more than beautiful, unbroken, rolling hills scattered here and
there with cows, sheep, and the occasional abandoned and rusted-in car),
and also took me to a music festival in nearby Waterford (you know,
where they make the crystal...), where we stayed with Winnie's friend's
(Mark's) family and heard everything from traditional irish folk music
to ska-esque rock, all of which was topped off by a nighttime parade of
eerily-lit floats followed by crazed kids dressed in shark costumes (it
was a nautical theme), and a fireworks bonanza over the river. My
favorite moment was when Winnie and I, like typical American tourists (I
had given up the "savvy traveler" thing at this point), each bought
giant inflatable hammers and proceded to beat each other senseless with
them. Ah the life of a music festival in Ireland...
After Waterford I headed back to Cork, crashed for the night, and spent
the next three days (more or less) making my way back to Los Angeles,
only to turn around and go to Sun Valley, Idaho with my family for a few
days. Having just flown out of Sun Valley yesterday, I got on a night
flight to New York last night and now here I am, typing away at a
computer in Kinko's in the village, paying WAY too much money but
nonetheless psyched that I've finally caught you all up on where I've
been and what I've been doing these past few weeks! Whew!
to be continued in a second note,
Seth
|
|
 |
|
