Se-La-Villa

An early morning train ferried us west from Granada through Andalusia’s Spaghetti Western landscapes and hillsides rich with preening golden stalks of wheat and sunflowers. Upon arriving in Sevilla -- Spain’s fourth largest metro area and the hub of southern Spain -- a little past noon, we journeyed to our eclectic, musically-themed budget hotel. After dropping off our bags, we took a stroll through the cobblestoned streets of the Old Town. Looming before us was Sevilla’s famed Catedral, which was closed to tourists on a Sunday afternoon.

We briefly lamented our seeming inability to gain entrance to prominent sights on the first try before moving on to the next venue on Kaberi’s list (furnished to her by her cousin Amit). In short order, we found ourselves before the opulent Hotel Alfonso XIII, commissioned by the King of Spain for the 1929 Great Exposition. Following Amit’s recommendation, we stepped inside for a mug of decadently-rich hot chocolate in the gorgeous mosaic courtyard. Savoring the melted chocolate and an accompanying cream-filled pastry, we lost ourselves in our thoughts before the bill brought us back to reality (Vik was apoplectic over the cost, which he claimed compared unfavorably with the downpayment on our condo).

Taking full advantage of the perfect weather, we strolled through the Plaza Santa Cruz and around the Jardines de Murillo, where a number of tourists lingered lazily at the plaza cafes while amorous young Spanish couples engaged in vigorous public displays of affection on nearby park benches. With the afternoon heat building (literally and figuratively), we chose to seek shade and a quick nap at the hotel. That evening, we once again followed Amit’s epicurean advice and chose the Restaurante San Marco, an old Turkish bath house housing an Italian restaurant, for dinner. After a week of forgettable breakfasts and subpar tourist venue tapas, we were thrilled to enjoy a scrumptious meal on the road in Spain. Kaberi likened her gnocchi to light and airy potato pillows, and we jointly inhaled our velvety tiramisu in mere seconds.

The next morning, we took a circuitous route through the quaint streets back to the Catedral. Grumbling about the need to visit yet another church, Vik was only cajoled into entering after intensive lobbying on Kaberi’s part. The largest church in the world as measured on a cubic space basis, the Catedral anchors the Sevilla skyline and also marks the burial spot of Christopher Columbus. Nevertheless, the most impressive aspect of the structure was the Giralda, one of three remaining Almohad minarets in the world (the others are the Hassan Tower in Rabat and the Koutoubia in Marrakesh) and the only one able to be climbed by the general public. The Giralda's upward-sloping path was built to accommodate two horses side-by-side while the facing windows of every level provided clear city views. After scaling 340 feet to the bell tower, Kaberi took pictures to her heart’s content while Vik slowly came to terms with the notion that the visit was probably worth the price of admission.

We spent the rest of the day online, with cerveza con limon in hand, to finalize our travel arrangements for Morocco. Before turning in for the night, Vik made the fateful decision to close the wooden shutters of our room, thereby rendering us devoid of any natural light. Without a wakeup call or the benefit of Kaberi’s internal alarm clock (which much to Vik’s chagrin, is cued by the dawn’s first rays of light), we awoke the next morning several hours after our morning train to Cordoba had promptly departed without us on board.

Hurriedly making our way to the Sevilla San Justo train station, we soon discovered that we had lost the full value of our tickets. After purchasing a new pair and grumbling to ourselves, we caught the next train to Cordoba for a daytrip to see the Mezquita. After a brief bus ride to the site, we found a beautiful old mosque with an interior of alternating red and white striped arches. The Mezquita was once the largest mosque in the world. However, the building appeared diminished with all of its doors closed, confounding the natural pattern of light and airiness of its original design. More disconcerting, however, were the gaudy cathedral nave and inner chapels fashioned inside the structure after the Catholic monarchs expelled the Moors from Spain. We were somewhat heartened to read in our guidebook that Carlos V (the authorizer of the unfortunate renovation) had immediately regretted his decision upon seeing the finished product for the first time.

Without incident, we caught our northgoing late afternoon train back to Madrid. We were thrilled to be able to spend a night with Debashish and Iraxci at their home before our Morocco trip commenced. We enthusiastically washed several much-needed loads of laundry before being taken out to dinner at our hosts’ favorite sushi restaurant, the charmingly-named Sushi Ole, and drinks at the lace-curtained and British-owned Almeda.

Oh Granada

With no rail service linking Toledo with southern Spain, we ended up renting a spiffy red manual transmission Nissan hatchback to convey us to Granada. As the only member of the household able to operate stick shift, Kaberi warily assumed the driving responsibilities. Having learned to drive manual on the interior flatlands of the American Midwest, Kaberi was concerned with managing the rigors of the Spanish topography. Although one early modest incline exiting Toledo’s train station nearly proved to be her undoing (she stalled on the first attempt up the ramp), the remainder of the journey went smoothly and without further incident. Upon dropping off the car at the Granada train station, we both breathed large sighs of relief before taking a cab the last few kilometers to our midtown hotel, the quietly charming Hotel Palacio de Las Navas.

We quickly settled into our white-on-white hotel room per our usual routine: Vik setting up a wireless Internet connection and Kaberi devising an agenda by reading through the relevant sections of our Rough Guide. During this process, Kaberi learned that tickets to Granada’s flagship attraction, the Alhambra, were rationed daily, prone to sellouts in peak tourist season and best purchased twenty-four hours in advance on the web. When Vik logged on to buy two tickets for the following day, a Saturday, he sheepishly discovered that there were no tickets available. After the completion of Kaberi’s tirade about the entire trip being ruined by poor advance planning, we decided to try our luck with buying tickets at the attraction’s front gate.

After a 10-minute afternoon bus ride up Granada’s hillside, we found ourselves at the Alhambra’s front entrance. To our considerable surprise and to Vik’s considerable relief, it took all of five seconds to stand in line and buy two admission tickets. Furthermore, the Friday afternoon queue was quite modest, and we were able to enter the complex unabated and in short order. After strolling through the gardens, we followed the recommended itinerary of the audio tour through the older alcazaba complex. Per the guidelines of our tickets (which prespecified a 15-minute admission window), we entered the Palacio Árabe (Moorish Palace) grounds at exactly 5:00 pm, and happened to be the last two patrons allowed in the grouping. Taking advantage of the position, we lingered behind the rest of the group our time in order to take in the surroundings in relative privacy.

Without a doubt, the Palacio Árabe was the crowning highlight of our visit to southern Spain. It boasted exquisitely-beautiful carvings and adornment on a scale that we could scarcely imagine and, in so doing, dwarfed that of the Taj Mahal. One of the most astonishing features of the Palace was the stark contrast between the seemingly-bland exterior walls (a trademark of Islamic construction designed to ward off undue attention or “the evil eye”) in comparison to the stunningly intricate detail in the interior courtyards and private living spaces.

Exhausted by our four hour tour of the Alhambra in the afternoon sun, we made our way out of the complex in search of refreshment. After a kindly local tour guide personally led us to a charming plaza at the base of the hill, we enjoyed a quick snack of tapas and cool drinks while taking in the local charm. After returning to the hotel on foot, we relaxed and freshened up before heading out again to dinner a few hours later. The panoply of Spanish language signs at every turn made Vik crave Mexican food, and he led us to a dark, unforgettable Mexican joint in the center of town where our meal compared unfavorably with Taco Bell (nevertheless, Vik boasted a big grin for the next several hours).

With the Alhambra crossed off of Kaberi’s Granada To Do list, we approached the next day at a more leisurely pace. After an unremarkable hotel breakfast of jambon e queso (an apparent trademark of the region), we ventured to Mirarse de San Nicolas in the Albaycin, the Muslim part of town, to enjoy sweeping views the Alhambra from below the fortress’s embankment. After sitting down at El Huerto de Juan Ranas for a drink, we got a sampling of some extraordinarily-surly service apparently reserved for those of us dumb enough to spend 5 Euros on a miniature can of diet Coke. After catching a local bus back to the town center, we took our own time milling about, peeking in at the town cathedral before returning to the hotel.

In the evening, we walked to Granada’s main plaza and enjoyed an impromptu flamenco performance. Afterward, we had dinner nearby at a streetside café where we feasted on fresh local specialties as we watched the passing pedestrians (a number of whom were rather tightly-clad young Spanish women, much to Vik’s chagrin). With an early wake-up call awaiting us the following morning in order to catch the 8:00 am train to Sevilla, we skipped dessert and turned in early after a satisfying capstone day.

Holy Toledo

Midweek, we caught a sleek, high-speed morning train to the Spanish hamlet of Toledo located less than an hour outside of Madrid and designated an UNESCO World Heritage site in 1986. Toledo served as the capital of the Spanish Empire before the Moorish conquest.

With our overstuffed backpacks in tow, we looked like we had enough provisions to last us a month, especially in comparison to our more economically-equipped fellow passengers. After an unmemorable ride where Vik’s once-dormant allergies resurfaced to wreak unfortunate havoc on his mucus membranes, we rolled into town and made our way to our hotel inside the hillside town’s tall stone walls.

With only twenty-four hours earmarked for Toledo, we quickly dropped off our luggage and made our way to the Cathedral, located in the town center. To our surprise, the town was abuzz with activity, as several well-heeled Spanish families and elderly couples milled about the streets. As we neared, we noticed flowers adorning windows, flags draping from balconies, awnings shading the streets and the pungent aroma of rosemary wafting in the air. We soon discovered that we had arrived in Toledo during its famed Corpus Christi celebration. After a policeman shepherding the crowds informed us that the Cathedral was closed for the day, we lingered for a bit, taking in the colorful festivities before setting off to explore the town.

From the Cathedral, we walked to the Iglesia de Santo Tome, which housed the famous El Greco painting The Burial of the Count of Orgaz. As we stood front and center, we overheard a nearby tour group’s guide explaining the different influences of the Italian and Spanish schools of painting in the piece, pointing out the faces of El Greco and his son found in the piece, and highlighting that the year depicted in the artwork commemorated the birth of the painter’s son. Afterwards, we went to El Greco’s Toledo homestead, Casa Del Greco, where we enjoyed a private viewing of his The City and Map of Toledo (so precisely painted that it was later used in Toledo's reconstruction) and the Twelve Apostles. Properly impressed, we continued on.

To its credit, Toledo boasts a harmonious co-existence between Jewish, Christian and Moorish cultures, a fact that we appreciated as we walked through the town’s three distinctive neighborhoods. We visited Santa Maria la Blanca, an Almohad style synagogue that resembled a mosque and was subsequently used as a church. As we walked to the Islamic part of town, we once again passed by the Cathedral, where city cleaners were sweeping up sprigs of burnt rosemary and tourists were lining up to enter the massive building.

Quickly getting in line to buy entrance tickets, we basked in our stroke of good luck. In minutes, we found ourselves inside awed by the sheer size of the altar and choir area. Kaberi especially admired the strategic positioning of a skylight that allowed the sun to enter and illuminate the painted ceiling. We also noted the large, ornate gold cross housed in the center of the church, which, earlier in the day, had made its annual journey through the streets of Toledo. Finally, we walked to the Alcazar and visited the only remaining mosque in Toledo, the Mosque of Christo de la Luz, a small, airy structure situated by the Puerta del Sol.

Our only meal in Toledo was at Adolpho Colleccion, a chic modern restaurant with an excellent tapas menu. The head waiter enthusiastically translated the entire menu, allowing us to make fully-informed gastronomic decisions. After ending our day with profiteroles and ice cream, we returned to the hotel via cobblestone streets and floodlit corners, satisfied that we had seen most, if not all, of Toledo’s cultural highlights.

The Rain In Spain Is Mainly In The Plane

A short, uneventful flight out of Cairo delivered us in Zurich a few hours before sunset. After a frantic, last-ditch stab at flying standby to Madrid proved fruitless (Iberian Airlines’ staff struck us as excellent candidates for Indian government posts), we attempted to access the Star Alliance airport lounge in order to make a Zurich hotel reservation online. We were summarily twice denied entrance by rigorously-toilet trained Swiss attendants, the second of whom informed us that "nothing is free in Switzerland." Without missing a beat, Vik retorted, "Apparently, not even good will."

After booking a room via a bordering terminal’s telephone hotel directory, we spent a lackluster night at the garishly-multicolored and dorm-like Park Inn. Adding insult to injury, we were forced to violate Kaberi’s no-American chain rule and spend an extortionate $20 for two combo meals at the adjacent McDonald’s. The next day, we checked in early for our evening flight to Madrid and spent nine hours in the cramped One World Alliance airport lounge making hotel reservations online for our trip to southern Spain and Morocco. By the time we had settled into our laughably-mediocre business class seats (basically nothing more than ratty, old coach seats on an ordinary airline) on an Iberian flight to Madrid, we were heartened by our progress in securing a place to sleep for the next two weeks.

When the flight touched down in Madrid later that night, Kaberi pulled our passports out of our travel portfolio in anticipation of going through Customs. After being ushered through with nary a stamp of our U.S. passports, we made our way onto the airport train shuttling passengers to the main terminal. Upon reaching the baggage carousel, Kaberi attempted to return the passports to the travel portfolio, only to discover it missing from our shoulder bag. After spending a futile hour asking the relevant airport and airline authorities to check the plane and immigration control for a wayward black travel wallet, we dejectedly resigned ourselves to moving on to our downtown hotel. Turning in a few hours after midnight, we half-heartedly hoped that better news might await us the next morning.

When morning arrived, and a call to the airport turned up no leads, our fears of having been pickpocketed were confirmed. Thus, we greeted our first day in Madrid with the realization that our travel cash, around-the-world tickets and immunization records were now in someone else’s ill-begotten possession. We took solace in the fact that we had managed to retain our passports. Vik tried to cheer up an inconsolable Kaberi with two observations: (1) whoever was desperate enough to steal our money needed it more than we did and (2) nothing we lost was irreplaceable. Vik also took a measure of satisfaction from knowing that the thief would be on the receiving end of a brutal dollar to euro exchange rate.

After a quick breakfast, we moved from Madrid’s upscale Goya neighborhood to a more eclectic and central vantage point on Gran Via. In the process, we managed to upgrade our accommodations, as our bright room at the Hotel de las Letras dwarfed that of its predecessor. As we were within walking distance of both the Prado and Reina Sofia museums, the Palace and Royal gardens, and an assortment of bars and tapas restaurants, we took full advantage of the next few days to explore the majestic Spanish capital by foot.

As the highest capital city in Europe, Madrid proffered balmy, sunny days with pleasant temperatures and cool evenings. Capitalizing on the picture-perfect weather and armed with Vik’s new weakness, Starbuck’s banana java chip frappaccinos, we strolled the city’s wide, tree-lined boulevards, walking by grand buildings like the Palacio de las Comunicaciones and important cultural institutions like the fountain in which fans celebrate after a Real Madrid win. We also indulged in a variety of epicurean pursuits including chocolate con churros, pitchers of fruit-drenched sangria and delicious, assorted tapas.

We also managed to browse several of the city’s art collections. On our first day we took in the Reina Sofia’s Picasso exhibit, most notably, the huge Guernica canvas portraying the horrors of life under fascism in 1930’s Spain. The next afternoon, we visited the world-renowned Prado to see the Goya and Velazquez collections before rejuvenating in the shady Real Jardin Botanica next door. On our final full day in Madrid, we spent an hour and a half waiting to enter the Convento de las Descalazas Reales, a convent dating back to the 15th century where small groups of 15 were allowed to enter for a 30-minute guided Spanish language tour. After finally making our way in, we took in the architectural beauty and the treasure trove of art and sculpture donated by wealthy female benefactors.

Even with the many cultural offerings to absorb us, the highlight of our time in Madrid was seeing familiar faces. On our first evening in town, we were picked up by Kaberi’s cousin Debashish to have a home-cooked Indian dinner with his parents, Kaberi’s aunt and uncle visiting from Scotland, Madhulekha mashi and mesho, his wife, Iraxi, and their two young daughters, Daniella and Andrea. Debashish, an avid Real Madrid fan, made a point to show us the team’s impressive football stadium on the way. He also introduced Kaberi to her new favorite drink, cerveza con limon (beer splashed with Fanta). And later in the week, we caught up with Vik’s Stanford friend, Enrique, over an Italian lunch on Gran Via.

All in all, our time in Madrid, save for the inauspicious start, was enjoyable. As our time in the city wound down, we prepared to embark upon a tour of Andalusia in southern Spain.