In the fall of 2003, Carol and I went to Spain. These are the notes I made on that ill-fated trip.
October 15-16. A cramped seat on a moderately full flight from Philadelphia to Madrid. Uneventful, uncomfortable, and glad to be in Madrid. Sitting in the airport cafeteria after a mediocre salad, waiting for the flight to Bilboa on Spanair.
As Carol comments, it doesn’t feel very Spanish yet - except for the language and the people smoking. I’m exhausted - I can’t wait for to get to the hotel in Bilboa for a shower and a nap.
Getting ready for the trip really taxed my resources - I had too many deadlines to meet before we left. and the stress is just beginning to ebb from my mind and my body. Hopefully, more sense next time.
October 21. It is now about 8 p.m. on Tuesday, and we have been here in Marbella since Sunday, hostage to a flu-like illness that has dogged me since Saturday afternoon in Bilboa.
This is the first moment I felt the energy required to start writing again. An upset stomach, a sore throat and aching limbs - fairly classic flu, either picked up on the flight or the result of the flu shot I got the day we left
Bilboa was all we expected and more. The Guggenheim Museum is the main attraction, but it is a lively city with music and good restaurants, and a funicular that rises to a hill overlooking the city.
We managed to get in a good deal of sightseeing before I took to bed on Saturday afternoon. The hotel was funky but but clean and pleasant with an affable owner whose English was quite lovely to listen to.
We had expected to take a night train from Bilboa south the breadth of the country to Malaga, but I misread the timetables on the Internet. It ran only on Fridays and was sold out when we tried to book.
We ended up with a very expensive flight on Iberia, the national airlines, because the regional airline - with fares 40% less - was also completely;y booked on Sunday.
Despite my ills, we made it to Malaga on Sunday around noon, got the car - a Citroen Clio with stick shift, cheap bastard that I am - and eventually found our way to Carol’s apartment in the SKOL complex in Marbella.
The Costa del Sol stretches along the Mediterranean, and it is almost impossible to conceive of the incredible number of apartment buildings lining the coast for miles and miles.
In the three building complex we were in, there were 300 units. From the windows in our unit on the 6th floor, we could see dozens of similar buildings, most on the water but some set back a few streets.
Parking is a major issue - there was no provision made for parking when the original buildings went up. Only in recent years have developers been required to put in underground facilities. The Englishman who manages Carol’s apartment arranged for us to park underground, because finding a casual space is
Back from the sea, the mountains rise quickly, and the country retains much of its traditional character with gorges, forests, national parks, and a rich history going back to the Moorish invasions in the 7th century.
The ruins of Moorish castles still can be seen and visited, and I have been told the country has been little altered in many areas away from the coast. I hope to be well enough to spend a couple of days exploring, before we leave.
Carol has been taking very good care of me. While I rested, she has shopped and prepared meals, and generally been a generous caregiver, while I have been the cantankerous self that becomes most evident when I am ill.
To add to our woes, the caps on the jugs of maple syrup we brought to give as gifts worked loose in my suitcase - almost half my clothes were effected as well as some books.
The good fortune we had experiences our other trips over the past year had made me sloppy and careless. It would have been easy to put each jug in a sealable plastic bag.
The same sloppiness meant I hadn't brought anything to counteract my stomach woes. Eventually, everything got sorted out but my self esteem has taken several blows.
Marbella is a strange place for an American, with few others in sight. The town in full of Brits, who have been coming for almost a century to spend their holidays - and in many cases, to retire.
The complex we are in is strongly British - Kelly’s Pub, on the ground floor has Premier League soccer games from the United Kingdom every evening on television. (I suspect that one of the reasons there are few Americans is that Miami Beach offers the same amenities and atmosphere without the problem of language and transport.)
For the British, there are direct flights from Heathrow to Malaga, an hour from Marbella., while Americans have to fly via London, Paris, Lisbon or Madrid.
The city has kept control of the waterfront itself, with a beach along the entire coast open to all, and machines that daily smooth and groom the sand.
A walking road lines the back of the beach for miles, shaded by palm trees, lined with restaurants as well as vendors grilling sardines on open fires to be served at tables in the open.
The area we are in can be classified as a middle class neighborhood. Early today. in search of a yoga studio, we walked west into an upper-class area where the apartment buildings resembled castles, and the stores were showing leather jackets for men for 1295 euros (about $1600). And since there is underground parking in these newer buildings, there were actually empty parking spaces on the streets.
DIVERGENCE
I have committed every sin of omission imaginable. I packed no aspirin, no Tylenol except PM, no diarrhea or constipation medicine. Based on the exceptionally problem free two earlier trips this year, I ignored any possible glitches and have been beset by most.
Since last Saturday in Bilboa, I have been battling the remnants of the flu which put me down while there. The major leftover is congested chest, which I have tried to cure with OTC medications to little avail.
I left my blazer at the hotel in Bilboa, and despite the hotel’s promise to send it on , it hasn’t shown up and I have given it up for lost.
Yesterday, we drove to Gibraltar. Despite the warnings of long queues to exit the Rock, (it is British territory and you are crossing a country’s borders when you enter or leave) I decided to drive over the border on the basis that there didn’t seem to be a queue in sight.
Once in Gibraltar, we managed to drive nearly to the top of the mountain. Taxis have a monopoly on the last mile or so. We managed to get to St, Michael’s Cave, where a dinner party was being set up within the cave body.
Two Gibraltar ar apes - a mother and child - set themselves up as a grooming tableau across the road from where we parked the ca r, as though cued to do so.
We spent a pleasant couple of hours roaming the shopping streets, saw the ancient synagogue - locked tight - had coffee in the main square, and headed back to Spain.
Immediately, we were imprisoned in the artificial delays that the Spanish government has instituted on cars leaving the Gib, to show the government’s unhappiness with the political status of the island.
We spent over an hour in line, with some cars being searched to slow things down . It was clear phony - when we finally got to the guard post, we ere waved through without a glance at our passports.
The rock is indeed impressive, rising as it does from the sea just off the mainland, although there are similar mountains in the area. The nature reserve that covers most of the upper half of the rock appears poorly maintained despite the high fee charged to get onto the Rock - 23 euros (more than $30) for the two of us and the car.
There are tour buses available but we chose to be on our own - not necessarily the best choice in the circumstances.
The town, built on the more gently sloping western side of the Rock, is typical of many Spanish mountain towns - narrow streets, vertically joined together houses, everyone living it each other;s shadow. A very busy collection of shopping streets with imports from around the world. There is nothing of significance made in Gibraltar but it attracts foreign tourist and Spaniards on a huge scale.
English is spoken by almost everyone. Four synagogues - the one we visited was closed - a windowless building with sturdy doors and a combination lock on the front door.
The Jews have a long history in Gibraltar and continue to have a significant presence in the retail business, if the store names we saw were of any significance.
I am sure a more protracted visit would have altered my perception, but aside from the historical connections, there is little about the present community to admire.
Gibraltar has its own airport on a stretch of flat land between the island and the mainland. The single runway is sited approximately east and west, and runs at right angles to the road to the border.
Traffic shuts down when a plane prepares to land or take off.
You don’t see a lot of that .
A major British military presence continues in the harbor, with Gibraltar in the south and the port of Alegsirus on the north and west, with perhaps a dozen tankers and containers ships waiting to load and unload.
My journal ended at that point, as illness overtook me. We went on to spend a few days in Madrid, where we stayed with Karen Einstein. She got me to a hospital and a diagnosis of bronchitis.
We flew home early, and found the bronchitis was actually pneumonia.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
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