Spain & Morocco --- And a Reason We Travel

1. Colorado 

2. London/Salisbury 

3. Coastal England

4. Marple/Liverpool/Sandbach

5. Wales

6. Paris

7.  Adventures in Portugal

Flamenco supplies for sale

Given that we'd heard that the house we'd rented in El Puerto de Santa Maria had leaked during record rains, we drove with some trepidation from Portugal to the Cadiz province of Spain. 

The four-hour trip took us from the Algarve  through an unintended detour along a dirt road where we plodded along behind a horse and buggy. We'd been looking for a highly-recommended restaurant for lunch. There was no one in the place when we finally arrived, but every table had a "reserved" sign, so we were turned away. It was All Souls Day; perhaps the place was filled with spirits.

Our house...with the Taverna la Gaviota (Seagull Bar) below

We finally got fortified with food for the second half of the trip to a 130-year-old house in the center of El Puerto's old town. It was a Saturday, and the house was abuzz with patrons in the bar below. Every window was open to help to dry out the walls, some of which were streaked with water. Fortunately, the bedroom was dry and the house was in good shape. From the rooftop we could see the sun set over the castle.

El Castillo de San Marcos

The next morning, Dave went out to check on the rental car. When he returned, he sullenly informed me it was gone. I felt myself go pale, hoping I'd booked the right insurance in case of theft. He assured me it had probably been towed because the other cars on that street were gone, too.

I texted the homeowners, knowing they probably wouldn't respond for hours since it was the middle of the night in California. Our research revealed a police station about six blocks away. We set off, half laughing at the wackiness of our lives.

I exhaled when we learned that yes, our car had been towed. A cop indicated it was held in a fenced lot next door--and that it would cost $200 USD to get it back.

The cop explained in slow Spanish that the street we'd parked on became a taxi-only zone in the evening. He showed us on his cell phone a picture of a sign that apparently indicated thus. But when we went back to that street, we didn't find said sign. We called the event Tourist Tax.

We discovered later that only $100 was charged to our credit card. For some reason the universe gave us a 50% discount, which I especially appreciated given the next car calamity that would happen in a month (stay tuned).

Malecon of Playa de Valdelagana

El Puerto de Santa Maria, which has about 90,000 inhabitants, was conquered in the 8th century by the Moors, whose influence is evident in much of the architecture--and the fact that the castle retains features of a mosque it was built over.

Castle's Moorish influence

Christopher Columbus's first expedition to the Americas set sail from here. His pilot, Juan de la Cosa, drew his world map--the first that included the coast of the New World--in El Puerto in 1500. A bust of de la Cosa and a replica of his map were exhibited a few steps from our house.

Puerto's Port Sherry

The flat streets made for easy walking, as did the lack of traffic and crowds since we were there off season. Even though the cafes were lively, the town itself had a lot of empty and dilapidated buildings.

Octoberfest in November, in Puerto's town square

I especially enjoyed strolling along the beaches, shorelines, and a shady green space on the dunes. 

dunes

One pristine day we took the ferry to Cadiz. Winding streets opened up into large squares populated with outdoor cafes and street musicians. Cadiz is considered the most ancient city still standing in Western Europe. The Phoenicians established a port here in the 7th century. Knowing this, I thought about lives overlapping throughout the ages.

Approaching Cadiz

Roman amphitheater in Cadiz

Streets of Cadiz

When our friend Jimmy came to visit for a week, we launched into full tourist mode, going to a flamenco performance, enjoying evening tapas, touring the castle, and seeking out a sports bar to watch American football. 

Jimmy orating at the castle.

Jimmy's desire for a Packers game took us a beautiful area called Rota, that has a long malecon and square with an old church. The bar had great food--and we met all kinds of local characters.

Rota iglesia

Rota malecon

Jimmy at the Plaza del Toro,  where bullfights happen in the summertime.

One day the guys went sherry tasting at the famous Osborne Bodega just a few steps from our front door. Like port, sherry is fortified wine--but the former comes from Portugal, whereas the latter is from Spain's Andalusia region. 

tapas

Another day we took the ferry to Tangier, Morocco for a wonderful food and city tour. We lucked out with perfect weather and a great guide, 19-year-old Saad who grew up there and is majoring in international politics and economics, just like Dave did.

Saad was sweet and soft-spoken. He said it's rude in his culture to speak loudly. After all my years of teaching, I tend to project, so I reined myself in! 

I'd been to Tangier once before, 14 years ago, and was hounded to buy things. This time the experience was more tranquil. Most people either ignored us or smiled.

Tangier was more stunning than I'd remembered.

Tangier cats

Garbanzo bean pancake stand (that's Saad behind the guy with the red cap)

Spice shop

Sadd's friend showing a page of the Washington Post that featured his coffee kiosk

Best olives of my life.

We stuffed ourselves with coffee and tangines and breads and olives and desserts and mint tea. We walked along the twisting streets and got some amazing views. There were darling cats everywhere, clearly fed and tended for. One crawled onto my lap while I sipped  mint tea overlooking the Strait of Gibraltar.

Little lover on my lap, with mint tea

When I told Saad I'd been a university professor, he said he was honored to spend the day with me. He tried to say no to our big tip, but we insisted he take it for his education.

I'm writing this over a month later, and just yesterday I received a message from Saad:

Merry Christmas! ... Here are some pictures from my trip to Greece that I wanted to share with you because I told you  I was going, and you encouraged me to go and experience a new culture (that was awesome 🤩). Thank you for your support and everything. I appreciate it so much.

As I type this out, I can feel my heart expanding. It's hard to think of a greater reason to travel than the people we meet, whose lives we touch as they do ours.

If you're interested in our life of housesitting, budget travel and living in Mexico, check out my books Wanderland: Living the Traveling Life and Call It Wonder: An Odyssey of Love, Sex, Spirit & Travel. 

Adventures in Portugal

This is the 7th installment on our 8-month trip, following:

1. Colorado 

2. London/Salisbury 

3. Coastal England

4. Marple/Liverpool/Sandbach

5. Wales

6. Paris

Iconic Lisbon trolly

Our easy flight from Paris to Lisbon took about two hours. As our young cab driver navigated the car-clogged streets, he taught us a few Portuguese words. They were similar to Spanish, except with a strong "sh" sound. But when he told us he wasn't a fan of of Spain, hinting at an ancient rivalry, I figured I'd have to avoid speaking Spanish in an attempt to communicate in this country.

We lugged our carry-ons down precarious stone steps to an old apartment building. Cooking scents permeated the dark and narrow staircase. Dragging our stuff up to the third floor, we discovered that  a wide-angle lens had done its magic in online pictures. The place was Lilliputian, with a shower that I'd soon discover felt like a stand-up coffin. But we figured we could deal with it for three nights.

Our apartment was down this street.

I yanked open the slider over the sliver of a balcony to the squall of brakes, pound of footfalls, and coughs of neighbors as their smoke drifted in. Throughout our time there we'd be serenaded by enthusiastic conversations, laughter, arguments, and singing, that echoed along the alleyways all night into the early morning. 

We spent our time wandering the hamstring-exploding streets, exploring Lisbon's gritty wedding cake beauty, happy for stable shoes on the uneven cobblestones. Pausing on the steps to catch my breath, I'd take in signature Portuguese glazed tiles and a deep blue balustrade tagged with graffiti.

I adored the Museu da Marioneta, a magnificently curated collection of puppets from all over the world. Housed in a grand old convent, its throng of semi-animate faces created the aesthetic of a haunted house.

Another highlight was spending an evening with our friend Simone, her husband, and another couple. Months earlier, Simone had asked if we'd be interested in housesitting for them at their Pacific Northwest island home. That's when we discovered we'd be in Lisbon at the same time! After drinks at their bright and cavernous rental, we went to a dinner and Fado show. 

fado

At the intimate restaurant a woman and a man sang traditional, mournful folk music. The feeling of fado is infused with saudade, the Portuguese word for longing and a feeling of permanent loss. In other words, it would be a total bummer if it wasn't so beautiful.

Californians meeting up for the first time in Lisbon!

Serendipitously, Staci Greason and her husband Larry were also in Lisbon, and we met for a chatty breakfast. We'd been social media friends for years, and seeing them in person was lovely. Staci is the author of All the Girls in Town, a novel I describe as a #metoo love letter to women's friendships. I hope we meet again soon in another part of the world.

The last day as I was walking down the street, I looked up right into the face of Anne Parker, whom we'd met a decade ago in Baja! We'd been to her home-state of Colorado a few times but had failed to convene, and now the hand of fate threw us together in a European city of half-a-million people. We enjoyed dinner together that evening, grinning the whole time at the kismet of it all.

with Anne!

A car service arranged by the homeowner of our upcoming housesit picked us up and drove us twenty miles to Sintra, which took almost two hours due to traffic and holdups. The driver, however, was undisturbed and instead enjoyed phone calls that kept coming in to wish him a happy 77th birthday. He mentioned that his parents lived into their 90s. I asked him why, and he said that's just what his family does--adding that his parents didn't smoke or drink.

We'd landed this month-long sit through a connection and had never met the homeowners. They'd already left for India when we arrived and so we were shown around the vast property by the housekeeper. Our apartment was on the lowest level of this sprawling home on a property that included a pool, an additional two-bedroom cottage, a yoga shala, a vast vegetable garden, along with fruit and nut trees. There was a team of gardeners, so our only duty was to occasionally water some plants, feed Black Kitty (the feral beauty who lived outside), and care for Puzzles, the boney old feline who, when he wasn't sleeping, marched around protesting in a gravely meow.

Black Kitty

We soon learned that this gorgeous house decorated with colorful art and velvet and oaken furniture--and packed with books and games-- had glitchy sinks and toilets and wifi and light switches and faucets. Everything seemed abundant and on the verge of breaking. The profusion of apples and chestnuts in the orchard rotted on the ground. I googled how to bake chestnuts and we enjoyed their nutty flavor but couldn't make a dent in the excess.

I was seized by a longing for our simple life in Baja. There's a lightness to having a house you can clean in an hour. Not that we had to clean this Sintra mansion, fortunately. I also missed walking out the door to the beach or the desert hills. In Sintra, I soon found, I struggled to climb the mountainous cobblestone streets replete with lines of cars and towering buses squeezing through narrow lanes. One time as I hiked steep steps through a park, I fell and had an impressive ass-bruise that changed color over the days like a sunset.

We never used the pool because it was often cool and drizzly.

Walking the mossy property to pick kale and lettuce was akin to picking your way across ice, as everywhere was slippery. I preferred snuggling up with my journal, crossword puzzles, and Geraldine Brooks' Year of Wonders, which I plucked from their shelf. 

slippery!

One day Cheryl Beck Esch happened to be in town. She'd once interviewed me about housesitting on her podcast...and once again travel synchronicity hit. We were able to spend a day talking about life and adventures in person, rather than online.

with Cheryl

There's a magical, misty ancientness to Sintra, which is best known for being populated with castles. We went to the five major attractions:

1) Palacio National, a medieval royal residence whose white kitchen chimneys jut up in many views of the city. I loved how instead of religious iconography, it was beautifully embellished with swans and other creatures of nature.

Palacio National

2) The Moorish Castle, a hilltop medieval fortress we trudged to uphill from our house, is a stunning array of stone buildings rooted in the mountains that requires strong legs and no fear of heights to navigate.

Moorish Castle

3) Monserrate Palace, a palatial villa that served as the court's summer resort but in the 17th century became privately owned. Its yellowish-pink stones and golden hallways seemed to glow from the inside out.

Monserrate

4) Quinta da Regaleira, a four-story palace with extensive gardens. While I explored the grounds including lakes, fountains, and a chapel, Dave walked down into the so-called Initiation Well, a circular staircase that descends into the earth, meant to be a mystical journey. While he woo-woo'd out, I couldn't find our meeting spot and thought I might be lost forever in wonderland.

5) Pena Palace, a striking yellow and red building that stands atop the Sintra Mountains, was no fun inside due to the press of crowds. But we enjoyed strolling the grounds, more like a nature park with the towering moss-covered trees, stone bridges, and water features.

Pena gardens

Speaking of crowds, there were signs posted everywhere that declared SINTRA IS NOT DISNEYLAND. Locals were fed up with tourists, and it showed in some of their side-looks and impatience. As another massive tourist bus almost flattened me on a walk, I understood. I was finding Sintra enchanting, dreary, beautiful, and frustrating.

misty Sintra

I was happy when we spent time at the sea. One day we took the local bus to Estoril and walked along the malecon to Cascais. Another time we took a vintage 1930s trolly to Praia das Macas, where we had lunch overlooking the beach. The trolly had to stop at one point because someone had parked on the tracks! It took a while to find the car's owner.

tram

We generally ate Indian and Asian food, since Portuguese offerings weren't to our taste: salted cod, octopus, sardines, ham-and-cheese sandwiches. I craved fewer french fries and more salads and veg. As a nondairy guy, Dave sought out vegan pastel de nata, the famous custard tart. We did enjoy the ubiquitous piri piri chicken.

Carvoeiro

After nearly a month in Sintra, we rented a car to drive to Spain. Along the way we stopped in the Algarve, a coastal region in southern Portugal. It was heavenly to be near the sea in charming Carvoeiro, a cliff-side village overlooking turquoise waters. 

As we strolled, I got a message on my phone from our friend Stephanie, whose house we were renting in the Cadiz region of Spain. Record-breaking rainfall in the area had flooded many buildings. I clicked on a video she shared of water cascading down her house's stairs from the top to bottom floor. She had cleaners on the job and believed that in a few days the house would be dried and and ready for us. 

So we extended our stay in the Algarve a few more days, hoping that we'd have dry pillows to lay our heads on in Spain.

If you're interested in our life of housesitting, budget travel and living in Mexico, check out my books Wanderland: Living the Traveling Life and Call It Wonder: An Odyssey of Love, Sex, Spirit & Travel. 

Bye UK, Bonjour Paris

This is the 6th installment on our 8-month trip, following:

1. Colorado 

2. London/Salisbury 

3. Coastal England

4. Marple/Liverpool/Sandbach

5. Tales from Wales

Main square in Bath, England

After nearly two months in the UK, we were headed to a place I'd been waiting to experience for over 60 years: Paris. We decided to take a direct flight out of Bristol, England and build in a couple of days for the nearby historic city of Bath. Between Bath and Bristol is the village of Keynsham, where we stayed two nights in a 17th century inn that had good prices and easy access to public transport. We still had a couple of rides on our Brit Rail passes to use up.

At the ancient Roman baths

Bath is an elegant city with a fascinating history. It was amazing to walk through the Roman baths in the footsteps of people 2000 years ago. The curation of the site, including video recreations of ancient bathers, invites the feeling of time travel.

Lacock

We got a free tour of the city when two look-alike women pulled up in their tiny car, and we folded inside with their dog, Tiggy. The previous month in Sidmouth, we'd met these twin sisters, Cat(therine) and Hat(tie), and now we were reuninting in their home town of Bath.

Lacock Abbey

Cat and Hat took us to Lacock, a National Trust storybook village where scenes from Downton Abbey, Pride & Prejudice, and Harry Potter were filmed. Lacock Abbey, a gothic revival building founded in the 13th century, remained a nunnery until the suppression of the Roman Catholic institutions in England in the 16th century. After that, it became a private home. We explored the lush grounds with Tiggy romping happily in the grass. We laughed together so much, I'm pretty sure we knew each other in a past life.

Eating dinner with Maura & Anna overlooking the river.

One evening we took the train to Bristol for a sweet few hours with Anna and Maura, whom we'd met in China. This trip was becoming a reunion with people who'd taught at my university in Nanning, since we'd seen Kevin in Colorado and Paul in Liverpool. Bristol has recently been named a choice spot for expats by EatWalkLearn and Brent & Michael are Going Places. Based on the few hours we were there, I get it. The city is walk- and bike-friendly, has several universities, and is built around the river Avon.

We had considered taking the Eurostar to Paris, but the flight from Bristol was only an hour and a bit less expensive. However, after getting to the airport two-and-a-half hours before the flight, and dreamily imagining the convenience, smooth ride, and leg room of a high-speed train, we wished we'd opted for the rails. 

Oui!

But all regret evaporated when we stepped onto the streets of Paris and checked into the Hotel Henriette. I don't recall who recommended this affordable, darling place in a convenient location at the border of the 13th and 5th arrondissments, but merci whoever you are!

I was stunned to finally have made it to Paris. Can you believe I co-wrote a historical novel set during the French Revolution without having been there? My co-author was an expert in the era--and I'd done some of my own research. Because of this, I had weird deja vu moments throughout the week.

Sadly, Dave had developed a cold and a nagging leg injury, so I ended up spending a lot of time solo walking the streets. Fortunately he had been to Paris before. And while I would have loved to have experienced it all with him, I enjoyed wandering alone about 10 miles each day. I never took the metro, only a few buses because I wanted to see everything.

The first day set the tone for the week, when I discovered a tranquil rose garden behind our hotel. It was set in the Square Rene-Le Gall, a huge but magically hidden public park with shady tree-lined paths, hedges shaped like green snowmen, and a children's play area. I felt like Mary discovering the Secret Garden.

That day I wandered around a Sorbonne campus, through the Jarden des Plantes, and along the Seine where I viewed the magnificence of Notre Dame. It's under construction so I couldn't go in and in my mind saved it for another time. As I snacked on the best-ever ham-and-cheese croissant on the sidewalk at Cafe A Lacriose, it became clear this whole city is a feast.

I was stunned by the scope of it all. Everywhere I looked I saw something I could have gazed upon for hours. Every place I went, I wanted to spend a whole day there. I was already scheming on a way to return and stay for a few months.

Amantine Lucile Aurore Dupin de Francuil, aka Geroge Sand

In Luxemburg Gardens, I whispered to George Sand that I'd been on the edge of happy tears all day. Then I bought a sugar and lemon crepe on the street and made my way back to the hotel. 

That night, Dave and I went to St. Julien le Pauvre, a gothic church on the Left Bank, for a classical piano and cello concert. Built in the 13th century, it's one of the city's oldest religious buildings. Hearing Handel, Schubert, Mozart, and Pachelbel in this 13th century building would send shivers through a statue. 

piano & cello at St. Julien's

The next night we attended another concert at the larger Egalis-St.-Germaine-de-Pres. My spirit rearranged itself as I heard Ave Maria and Vivaldi's The Four Seasons performed by a quintet. In our travels, we always seek out soul-enlivening music and dance and all the arts.  (At four months into our trip, we've gone to jam band shows in Colorado, a musical in London, a rock concert in Liverpool, a choir in Wales, a Fado show in Portugal, and flamenco in Spain.)

Earlier that day, I found 27 Rue de Fleurs, where Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas lived from 1903-1938. It was quite a moment standing there, imagining the domestic and creative life of these two extraordinary women. Here they held Saturday literary salons attended by the likes of Picasso, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Sinclair Lewis, Guillaume Apollinaire, Marie Laurencin, James Joyce, Ezra Pound, Thornton Wilder, Sherwood Anderson, Georges Braque, and Henri Matisse.

Everything looks like an oil painting.

That day I walked through Montparnasse and outdoor markets, to Bon Marche. I visited the Hotel National des Invalides and gardens and crossed the Seine to Tuileries Gardens, where I savored a croque monsieur at an outdoor table and checked out a vintage merry-go-round that struck me, somehow, as quintessentially French. Maybe it was in Amelie? If not, it could have been. 

Dave rallied on Day 3 to go to Sainte-Chappelle, which he was looking forward to seeing again but was disappointed at how crowded it was on this free-entry day. But the push of people didn't diminish this jewel of a royal chapel.

I wanted French onion soup all day, every day!

We also went to Musee d'Orsay, housed in an 1898 glass-roofed railway station with a monumental golden clock. It has the largest collection of impressionist and post-impressionist masterpieces in the world. In other words, just another day in Paris! It was crowded, too, but even so I had sublime moments alone in front of Renoirs and Van Goghs--and other paintings I remember searing into my brain as a kid when I leafed through an art book my parents had on the coffee table for years.

Luxemburg Gardens

I loved Luxemburg Gardens so much that we went back together, strolling amidst the sculptures and lush flora, while people read *real* books on green chairs scattered about. 

One little corner of Sainte-Suplice

Later we made our way to Sainte-Suplice, the third largest church in the city, built in the 17th century. A service was just ending as we walked in. The orchestral Grand Organ, which is considered a national monument, boomed as people rose from the pews to watch a procession of priests in imperial garb. The church is a jaw-dropper, with Delacroix murals and soaring architecture.

My favorite piece in the Petit Palais

We also made it to the Petit Palais to view its eclectic collection of art from across centuries. And later I roamed the architecturally complex funhouse called the Center Pompidou to see the Surrealism exhibit. Being so immersed in art made me think about how humans have forever strived to express the spirit and mysteries of life, in all its horror and beauty.

One of highlights of this trip was finally getting to see Shakespeare and Company, the famous English language bookstore that first opened in another location in the 1930s. It was closed during the war by the Nazis and later reopened in its current location in 1951. It became a meeting place for expat literary life in Paris visited by writers such as Allen Ginsberg, William Burroughs, Anais Nin, Richard Wright, Henry Miller, and James Baldwin.

tah dah!

Ever since reading Time Was Soft There, a memoir about a writer who lived for a time in the bookstore, I wanted to visit. The place is perfect, with its stuffed shelves, reading nooks, and a piano that someone was gently playing. I wandered around for an hour and bought Barbara Kingsolver's Pulitzer Prize-winning Demon Copperhead.

That night, I met up for dinner with a long-time Facebook connection, the poet Kaaren Kitchell, who has lived in Paris many years. While rain romantically stippled the windows and I devoured lush mushroom risotto, we talked for hours like old friends about literature and politics and people we know in common. I'd love to see her again. 

My one low-light was my tour of Versailles. Ironic, given how excited I was to see it since I'd cowritten that aforementioned novel about the French Revolution. First, no maps of the palace or gardens were provided. Instead, you had to use a QR code, useless for me since my phone didn't work there. Besides, I hate looking at screens in lieu of maps and menus. I know, I sound old. 

But beyond that, the rooms were jammed with so many people that progress was slow. From afar, everything looked sumptuous, but up close, a lot of the art and furniture and flora in the gardens was unkempt. Not one of the many fountains was running. A contrarian part of my brain laughed at how appalled the royals would have been at the plebes desecrating their possessions. I can't even find a picture I took of that day, so let me offer instead this one of the Pont Alexandre III bridge--an example of the artistry available to all everywhere you look in this city.

If you're interested in our life of housesitting, budget travel and living in Mexico, check out my books Wanderland: Living the Traveling Life and Call It Wonder: An Odyssey of Love, Sex, Spirit & Travel.