They Hate Me in Spain!!!

Why don’t they like me in Spain? What did I do? I am sweet and nice, I don’t bark, I don’t bite..and I don’t shed. What is wrong with this country?

So, Dad discovered that I could travel on the Barcelona Metro System with a Muzzle on…now, lets be honest here. I do not like wearing a muzzle…would you? Quite cumbersome and I spend most of the time trying to Houdini out of it. But, it does make travel easier…or so we thought.

Dad figured out how to take metro from our hotel in Barcelona to the train station and so we donned our packs, trudged to the metro station (100 feet away) and said goodbye to Barcelona, the Olympic village, the Gaudi Cathedral, the waterfront and so many nice people and headed for the train station and an early train to Seville, in the South of Spain. Dad went inside the ticket office and bought me a train ticket…no problem. But then, when we went through security before boarding, the world stopped…I needed a crate. Of course, I don’t have a crate…and couldn’t fit under the seat…so Dad went back and forth with the agent and finally convinced them that I was a service dog and he was mentally unstable…at this point, he was mentally unstable. Stuck in Spain and unable to get me on the train. At this point, Dad thought it had something to do with the direct, high-speed train. We arrived in Seville…again no willing takers on cabs so we walked to the hotel…about a 30 minute, late morning walk on a Sunday. The town’s cafes were alive…all of the patrons…men, women, children…all festive and joyful on a Sunday…outside at little tables, crowded around and eating all kinds of things I did not recognize and drinking wine and beer…lots of wine and beer…very family oriented…very jovial. We finally made it to the hotel…Dad actually thought of a great strategy. Since I can’t ride in cabs, Kecia took the bags to the hotel and got us all checked in…and Dad and I followed walking. In candor, Spain would have been much harder if Kecia had not been along.

We really didn’t have any plans for Seville…it just seemed to be an interesting place to go...and it is at the southern edge of the Iberian peninsula. So, Barcelona is Spain…but Seville is really Spain. Huge bullfighting ring, massive cathedrals and ancient buildings…and the “mushroom”…a massive structure that LOOKED like a huge group of mushrooms, spreading over this part of old Seville. Much like the Glass Pyramid in front of the Louve…not sure it fits…the local population is enraged…and thank God that Dad did not take me up the elevators to walk on the top of the mushrooms. Actually in the middle of the top where they have shops, offices and restaurants. Some highlights from our 3 days in Seville. First, we rode around this ancient city in a horse drawn carriage driven by Antonio and pulled by Lightining. What a great a way to tour the downtown city…the beautiful parks and ancient buildings. Really interesting architecture. We drove through the park across from the American Consulate called….The American Park…go figure. The ride was chilly but Antonio was happy to have me along. In Spain, you see ornamental orange trees everywhere. We asked Antonio if we could eat the oranges...he turned up his nose and said “No!” The oranges are very sour...later we found out that the French use these oranges to make marmalade...with lots of sugar.

After our ride, we strolled through old Seville…past the bullring, a major cultural part of this society. Everything was about bulls and matadors. We decided not to take the tour of the bullfighting arena…Dad has no interest in Bullfighting after being raised in El Paso, across from Juarez, Mexico. He remembers his Dad going to a bullfight once…and his description was gory. We walked through leather shops and hat shops and had tapas and wine for lunch. Well okay…it was Sunday afternoon…Dad has not seen a lot of football while on this trip…but Kecia found an Irish Pub in Seville which was showing the game. So Dad fed me and he and Kecia headed out to the Irish Pub to watch the game…the 3PM game comes on at 9PM…so they were starting late..but the thought of watching American football in an Irish Pub in Seville Spain…that was eventful. Dad said that the crowd was great, the food was really good (burgers, nachos and fries) and the alcohol flowed. Dad said that it was a little like sitting at Dock Street with Paul watching games….and the bar drew a number of American Expats living in Spain.

The next day, we spent more time walking around the ancient Spanish city with no real agenda. As we ate lunch, an older woman stopped in front of our outdoor table. She looked 75/80ish and reminded Dad of his Grandmother…slightly portly, gray hair with a lime green pantsuit and yellow sweater on…big gaudy sunglasses and a visor…and a very American “I have no idea where I am or what I am doing” look in eyes. And, she started talking…somewhat incoherently…to our waiter who just smiled and laughed and engaged her. Then she turned and started engaging with us. She was a lifelong New Yorker who quit life there and moved to Ireland because she left life in New York…but she fell in love with Spain so now she was touring Spain…she looked about 75 years old…she had spent the day before in Ronda…Ronda? Never heard of it. She said it was stunningly beautiful. Well, we had intended to take a train from Seville to Bordeaux France so Kecia could take a flight back to the states. However…the transportation strike in France weighed in and…well our train was cancelled. Ugh. So, what to do? Well, lets check out Ronda and Dad’s friend Dorenda McConnell strongly suggested that we visit Granada, Spain and the Alhambra Temple…so we are flexible…take the train to Ronda and then…on to Granada. As Dad is oft to say, “Semper Gumby!” Always flexible. So we booked out train tickets.

Once again, a nightmare at the Seville Train Station. Dad got to the station with an hour to spare and went to the ticket office to purchase a ticket for me. The ticket agent (again) did not want to let me on the train without a crate that fit under the seat. Dad explained “Emotional Support Animal” again…and we finally found an English speaking agent who issued me a ticket. All good…right? No…wrong. Again, when we tried to enter the platform through the entry point we were stopped. Same conversation. They took my papers and started making phone calls up to the head of the trains. Finally they agreed to let me on saying that “I looked like a “nice, well-behaved dog.” As an editorial point…I am far better behaved than most children on the train. I curl up on my blanket pad and sleep…they cry and, if old enough, run up and down the cars. I’m just saying…I cause no trouble. I don’t bark. And…I make people happy…so, I should be a priority passenger. Well, enough of that.

We safely at Ronda after a beautiful train ride across the southern Spanish landscape. Rolling hills and mountains with miles and miles of olive tree groves, many planted on the sides of the hills…very little sign of civilization…only an occasional simple adobe brick dwelling. We even saw a flock of sheep intermingled within the trees on the side of a hill. Just beautiful. I thought (momentarily) about exiting the train to help herd them…but herding Dad is a big enough job for me right now…actually I think herding sheep would be a lot easier sometimes. Back to Ronda…what an amazing beautiful surprise nestled in the southern foothills of Spain atop a high plateau with blue, snow-capped mountains in the distance. The real surprise was a massive, 100 meter deep gorge, called El Tajo, cut through the plateau by the Guadelevin River. The gorge bisects the town of Ronda and is spanned by three ancient bridges…the “new” bridge, was built between 1751 and 1793…so, even the new bridge is ancient. Our hotel had a balcony overlooking the gorge and the bridge, which was lit at night by a series of flood lights, was just spectacular. Dad took a number of photos of both the bridge and the gorge..and we sat outside our room and wondered at the beauty of nature while sipping Spanish Tinto Wine. By the way…in Spain, red wine is called Vino Tinto…not Vino Roja. Dad kept trying to order Vino Roja at a small outdoor restaurant on our initial night in Seville…they had no idea what he wanted. The waiter would ask, “Vino Blanco or Vino Tinto” and Dad kept saying Vino Roja…it took a while for Dad to figure it out…as the waiter got more and more frustrated with him. And Dad thinks he speaks some Spanish…HA! Needless to say, I was not included but Dad took the recommendation of the hotel and had dinner at a local restaurant, Restaurante Don Miguel, right across from the local (and celebrated) bull fighting ring…every town has a bull ring and Ronda’s hosts a well known annual bullfighting event. Dad had local Spanish pork along with a bottle of local Vino Tinto…and thoroughly enjoyed his meal. He is already getting tired of Tapas…although, in many bars, tapas are free as long as you keep ordering drinks. The next morning, we rose and packed and took a long walk around town before heading to the train station for our trip to Granada…again at Dorenda McConnell’s recommendation. Dorenda really knows where to go to see the beautiful sites! Anyway, we hiked for 30 minutes back to the Ronda train station…and Dad just walked through the tiny station and out to the platform without being noticed. He decided that it was better to ask forgiveness than to ask for permission when it came to me getting on the train. Our train was scheduled for a brief stop in Córdoba enroute to Granada…but again, a hitch in our travels. At Córdoba, the train stopped and they shooed us off the train into the terminal. I’m still not sure why…but outside the station were…buses for the rest of our trip. The agents looked at me with “that look” but Dad quickly explained “Emotional Support” and THEY LET ME ON THE BUS for the hour drive to Granada. As usual, I curled up at Dad’s feet for the journey…and we arrived safely in Granada and walked to our hotel…

Granada was incredibly beautiful and interesting...plazas, statues and fountains..the hustle and bustle of a city amidst the clear flavor of both Spain and Morocco, which is just across the Med from this part of Spain. It was originally settled by the Romans…who were later conquered by the Arabs. According to the history Dad read, it was the last Muslim city to fall to the Christians in…1492. The centerpiece of Granada history is the Alhambra Palace, built on the site of Roman ruins by an early Sultan…the Alhambra Palace is literally an old city sitting on top of a mountain overlooking the city. On our first night after dinner, we all hike up to the palace…and Dad was in pain. Knees and hips were sore from carrying the backpack and I think he just likes to bitch. Finally, at the top of the hill, we sited a dome that looked like the top of a huge, ornate mosque. We walked around the building…just beautiful…until we turned the corner and found ourselves facing…the Alhambra Hotel. It was a damned hotel with a dome. Cabs and limos pulling up to the door. Ugh. We continued on to find the Palace which was dark and closed. It was interesting though…on both sides of the wide dirt trail…were water streams running down the mountain. Dad learned the next day that this was the water system originally designed for the palace and surrounding village. Walking down the mountain back to our hotel was much easier on all of us…and I really enjoyed the long walk. The next day, Dad purchased tickets online to tour the Alhambra Palace (of course, I stayed in the room). He said it was the single, most amazing, beautiful thing he has seen on our entire trip. Huge, intricate and yet geometric. Everything was aligned…the columns, the arches, the fountains. All ornate yet all in balance. Dad is most comfortable in a geometric, linear world…and found the fortress enthralling. Now, by now, you know that everything with Dad does not go according to plan. He had tickets to enter the palace at 11AM…and at 11AM he walked through the front entrance to the estate, thinking that he was right on time. Oh no. The 11AM time was for entry into the palace, not the grounds. What they didn’t tell Dad was that you had a 1 hour window to walk across the gardens and enter the palace. Well, the gardens were beautiful, the little shops interesting and Dad just wasn’t in a rush…instead taking in the views and the majestic beauty of his surrounding. He walked through a Catholic Chapel (built on a site where they tore down a Muslim temple…go figure…and finally made his way up to the line for the palace…only to be told that his hour had expired and his ticket was invalid. So…over to the ticket stand…and the next available entry was 230PM. Time to kill. However, Dad found a wonderful lunch spot and enjoyed a tray of Spanish meats and cheeses along with a piece of fish and beautiful Spanish white wine. The highlight? The local cheesecake, served in a cup with raspberry sauce and a chocolate cookie. Dad told me that he wanted to lick the glass…but thought it was inappropriate.

One observation…both Granada and Ronda were “infested” by Chinese tourists…legions of them. They were everywhere, all packed together and all on a time schedule. The were a major presence at the Alhambra Palace…the influence and impact of the Chinese on this part of the world is very evident.

So…Dad has had his fill of Spanish Trains and dogs…so he took a cab to the train station and rented a car for our departure out of Granada…a diesel Renault. Since we will be driving across Spain to Bordeaux and dropping the car off there, the cost was exorbitant…but the peace of mind worth it. Plus I think Dad is really looking forward to driving through the Spanish country side. Dad’s last meal in Granada was at a restaurant again recommended by the hotel. He firs at stopped by a local bar and enjoyed a couple of local beers and free tapas. When he arrived at the restaurant and asked about cocktails, the first word out of the waiter’s mouth was…Lagavulen. Dad was in heaven…and the entire meal was fabulous. We leave Granada behind in the morning with wonderful memories of the beauties of the past and bellies full of wonderful food, great wine and Lagavulen! Unfortunately for me, Dad ran out of the food that I had been used to in Mougins. We visited a local pet shop and Dad bought food at the recommendation of the owner but…start of a trend…it did not sit well with my stomach. Diarrhea…what a mess. I want you to know that, when I had to go in the middle of the night, I always did my business in the bathroom…on tile or marble…trying to make it easier on Dad to clean up. He cleaned up my messes without complaint…I know he felt responsible for my food. I just didn’t like it when he would use toilet paper to clean me up…but I guess it beats dragging my heinie across the grass! In candor, I am happy to be spending so much time with Dad. Aside from Museums and meals, we are together all of the time.

So up early, packing. Dad retrieved the car from the garage down the street and off we went…still in the darkness and early dawn of the morning. Directions were good…the roads are wonderful. But, Dad needs his coffee and a pastry so we start looking for a way station…no problems. We are all happy and content. Kecia and I are sleeping (yes, Paul…I am in the backseat with my harness and seatbelt on…and it sucks. I may bite Paul when I get back to Annapolis…just kidding. I love Paul. We are headed to Madrid to drop Kecia at the airport and on to Bordeaux…famous French wine country…through the Basque region of northern Spain.

But that’s my next post…but for now, my paws are tired.

As always, thank you for reading!

Maggie…and Doug