It had continually puzzled me why photos of the Sagrada Familia cathedral in Barcelona always had cranes in them. Were the photographersjust not trying very hard? Or was the place so fragile that it needed constant restoration work? It never occurred to me that it might actually just not be done yet.

In the spirit of all the medieval cathedrals that already define so many European skylines, the Sagrada Familia (started in the 1890s) is taking centuries to build. After learning this, Monika and I were actually a bit disappointed and our enthusiasm was somewhat tempered. We had put up with hammering and drilling in the Sevilla cathedral and, to a lesser extent, in Cordoba as well. It was pretty distracting, and unfortunately took away from our experiences there.

It turns out,though, that construction work has a different feel than restoration work; a much more exciting feel. I think it has to do with the act of creation, which is just that much more visceral than simple preservation.



We spied a pair of workers making a plaster form, and geeked out over the exhibits describing the various building materials.



We'd like to return one day when the creation is complete and the scaffolding and cranes have finally been stowed away. We're curious what the space will feel like then.

A few fun photos from Barcelona:







There may not have been as many parrots as there were puffins in Ireland, but that didn´t stop Monika from taking lots of pictures!

On March 11, 2004, bombs were detonated on Madrid commuter trains. It turned out to be the work of Islamic extemists, trying their hand at some Bin-Ladenesque tactics. Tension involving Muslims in Spain is frankly nothing new, though. The Moors were around ever since they were instrumental in pushing back the Roman Empire from the peninsula, and after that there were about 700 years of wars between Christian and Muslim rulers (though, to be fair, there was also plenty of intra-Christian and intra-Muslim fighting going on at that time too).

Muslim rule in Spain centered first in Cordoba, then Sevilla, and finally Granada. In Cordoba, the Moors built a vast mosque. The multitude of candycane-coloured arches create a canopy for the forest of columns within its walls.



A few hundred years after the city fell under Christian rule, the inhabitants decided to build a cathedral. The mosque already had a pretty sweet location, though. So why not just plop the cathedral amidst this already existing forest of a mosque? It wasn´t really in use anymore anyway. You can see in the photo below where the builders interrupted the arches and built the more ornamented walls for the Christian building.



In Sevilla, they built a cathedral that was quite a bit bigger than the one in Cordoba. To accomodate this one, they needed to tear down just about all of the mosque it was replacing. The only two elements surviving to today are (1) the courtyard which was originally used to wash ones feet before entering the mosque (now filled with orange trees):



and (2), the minaret, which was expanded upon and transformed into a belltower (now called the "Giralda"):



Granada held out the longest against the Christian reconquest, in no small part due to the strength of the Alhambra fortress, which you´ve already seen in previous posts. It was finally conquered by "the Christian Monarchs" Isabel in Fernando in 1492, just a few months before they sent Columbus across the Atlantic in search of a passage to India, and set up the Spanish Inquisition.

The Albaycin was historically the most Muslim of Granada neighbourhoods, and has gone through many changes over the centuries. Its first new mosque in 500 years, with a pleasant little courtyard garden, was just built there in recent years.

Some images from the parks, courtyards, and gardens of Sevilla and Cordoba:

It gets pretty hot in Spain. Because it´s dry, the mornings actually start out quite refreshingly cool, but then the temperature builds until 4 pm, and stays right up there until around 8 or 9. And the sun beats down. Yesterday while we were eating out on a terrace a cloud passed in front of the sun. A number of us diners looked around furtively, startled. I think it may have been the first time it happened this past week (other than up in the Sierra Nevada). So what to do about all this heat and sun?

Enter siesta.

The siesta is, of course, a chance to take a break from the oppressive heat of the afternoon and, depending on who you ask, should last from 3 to 5, 2 to 6, 4 to 8, or maybe 1 to 8. We took advantage of the idea a couple of times in Granada and went back to our hostel to nap. At this point, though, we hadn´t yet figured out Spain´s eating schedule.

It turns out the big meal in Spain is lunch, which usually happens at about 2 or 3. At this time it´s best to find a seat in a courtyard patio, sip some sangria and have a nice meal (like maybe Paella!).





But then what do you do for food in the evening, if you´ve already had your big meal of the day?

Enter tapas.



Usually consumed at 8 or 9 pm, tapas are little dishes of things like smoked ham, potato omelettes, toast with fried goat cheese, or eggplant stuffed with shrimp and veggie ragout.



I think we may be getting the hang of this place´s rhythm.

For full effect, the following should be read in a loud voice while surrounded by a crowd of people in an enclosed space:

"Yeah bro, that´s sick. Alright, well I´ll call you back some time soon. I´m too wasted right now. And everyone on this bus is looking at me like I´m an American."

We showed up a bit early on the platform for our bus to the Sierra Nevada. It wasn´t a very big bus. Also coming for the trip were a pair of female Spanish hikers, a couple of guys with mountain bikes, another local, and one last character who will be introduced a little later.

After 45 minutes up the winding mountain road, and about a 12 degC drop in temperature, the driver let us off by the gate to the national park. Our last character asked the driver something that sounded suspiciously like "Chamonix?" Whether or not he was actually asking if this was the stop for the skiing village in the French Alps, the nickname "crazy old man" was assigned at this point and, as you´ll see, stuck.

We started our hike up the hill. It was not entirely what we expected. It turned out the hiking trail we were hoping to take was just a path criss-crossing an out-of-season ski slope. The altitude made the landscape devoid of any plant life taller than a patch of grass. The almost complete lack of other hikers made the open mountainside look barren, and frankly boring.

Of our busload, only the two Spanish girls and the crazy old man were also interested in hiking. The girls tore off straight away at their own pace and we saw little more of them.

Crazy old man had an interesting style of hiking. Have you ever seen one of those little wind up robots? You know, the ones that buzz forward a few paces, then turn to the left by some randomized number of degrees, and continue on their way? Imagine one of those, only wearing loafers and a windbreaker and clutching a leather attache case.



We had 7 hours to kill before the bus would come to pick us up again. Hiking across the ski hill quickly became tedious and unrewarding. As we walked along in this state of mind, our friend would come into view over the horizon, walking a few steps one way, a few another, and would then disappear once again.

"I feel like we´re some kind of lost souls, just wandering about in this limbo. I imagine this is what purgatory must be like."

Things actually did manage to pick up a little later on. We did end up encountering some ibex, who broke up the tedium.





And one of the peaks we reached did give us a nice view out into the valley.



All the hikers, including crazy old man, made it back to Granada safely that evening.