Day 7: Sevilla & Algeciras

Our excursion in Sevilla began at La Plaza Nueva, where we joined a dozen others for a Rick Steves-recommended walking tour with Señora Concepción Delgado. The wry-humored teacher took us on a fascinating jaunt through hidden alleys; a small ornately Baroque church; courtyards harboring clues to the town's Phoenician, Roman, and Moorish past; and the walled barrio of Santa Cruz, where trendy cafés now line the streets of the former Jewish ghetto.

We continued our own tour after the group dispersed, randomly following paths shaded by leafy orange trees and savoring a tapas lunch at Cerveceria Giralda (3 Mateos Gago) that I can only describe as... magnificent -- all under the watchful eye of La Giralda, whose bell tower is visible from almost every vantage point in the city center.

We caught a late-afternoon train out of Sevilla, mentally prepared for the 15-minute window and potential Amazing Race dash to our connection in Córdoba. While I was eagerly anticipating the sprint, my traveling companion was far less enthusiastic. Lucky for him, we arrived in Córdoba a few minutes early and caught our connecting train on an adjacent platform. Destination: the port city of Algeciras.*

The second leg of our ride was uneventful until the last hour when the scenery changed dramatically. Olive tree farms and fields of goats gave way to lush green mountains and a more winding route that caused the cars to creak and moan at each curve. Then as we neared Algeciras, I gasped at the silhouettes of gigantic storks (2-3 feet tall) standing in equally wide nests perched atop telephone poles -- like sentinels welcoming us to port.

Upon arriving in Algeciras, my naïve craving for "adventure" got us lost en route from the station to the hotel. But thanks to a lovely trio of chatty ladies, plus some broken Spanish and lots of animated gesticulating, we were escorted to the closest intersection to our destination. After an apprehensive hike through an eerily dark and silent patch of road, possibly the longest 10 minutes of my life, we cried "Hallelujah!" when the hotel loomed ahead.

Our gratefulness towards the kind strangers and for our safe arrival overshadowed the fact that the hotel had transitioned to "winter mode" that same day, meaning they had shut down its air conditioning for the rest of the year,...despite the 90 degree temps outside. In the hot breeze of the oscillating fan that we borrowed from the front desk, I drifted off to sleep with a wry smile on my face.

_______

*Algeciras = pronounced "al-hay-ci-rah"

Day 6: Barcelona & Sevilla

10 a.m.

"Si se puede!" - overheard on our steep hike up to Parc Güell in Barcelona.

Gaudí, what have you got in store for us up there...?

1:30 p.m.

Licking my fingers at Cervecería Catalana (236 Calle Mallorca), where we're savoring a tapas sampler of fried anchovies, boiled prawns, clams with pesto, fried potato tubes stuffed with cod, and salted fried hot peppers; plus a "mallorca sausage spreadt with cheese" flauta and, as a reminder of home, a mini hot dog and mini hamburger. Muy delicioso!

3:50 p.m.

RENFE AVE train 3942, bound for Sevilla, pulls out of Barcelona Sants station exactly on time, a good start to the 5.5-hour trip. We're once again sitting across from a pair of others, like on our ride from Montpellier. Are these dudes going to be chatting so animatedly the entire way...? As long as our legs don't get entangled, it's all good.

4:30 p.m.

The digital display at the front of the train says we've hit 298 km/hr (or 185 mi/hr). Whoa.

7:50 p.m.

Now the display says it's 34 degrees Celcius (or 93 deg. F). We must be pretty far inland by now. Hey, is that Dave Matthews sitting diagonally across from us? I start humming the opening tune to "Ants Come Marching In." No reaction from the guy. Could be that (1) he really isn't Dave Matthews or (2) my humming skills suck, considering my travel companion just muttered, "Are you humming 'Eye of the Tiger'?" No, sir, I am not.

10 p.m.

In Sevilla! We're at Restaurante Cervecería Mara (7 Calle Céfiro) for a late dinner, around the corner from our hotel and across from Santa Justa station. The concierge recommended this place for seafood (pescados y mariscos) and "barrio food". Unlike in Barcelona, we've encountered fewer people here who speak English, including at Mara, adding to our excitement as we anticipate each course of our meal. We just finished sharing an exquisite bowl of gazpacho with tomatoes, seasoned croutons, green peppers, and eggs as fixins'. A deep sigh accompanied each deliberate spoonful. Now we're watching our waiter expertly plate a grilled fish (half for each of us) with sides of potatoes au gratin, and sauteed squash and red peppers. My heartbeat quickens...

Day 5: Barcelona

Our daybreak Talgo train from Montpellier to Barcelona raced us past groves of olive trees and vineyards as we gazed out at the sunrise over the Mediterranean Sea. At the France-Spanish border towns of Cerbère and Portbou, whose train stations are merely separated by a short dimly-lit tunnel, smartly-uniformed police cruised through to check our passports and wish us au revoir...and bienvenidos.

We arrived at the clean and bustling Barcelona Sants station at around noon, and wasted no time in dumping our packs at our hotel and metro-ing to Plaça de Catalunya at the heart of the city.

As residents lowered their shutters to block the afternoon sun during their siesta, we embarked on a 2-bus, 6-hour whirlwind tour of the town on the top deck of the hop-on/hop-off Bus Turistic. We soaked in an uneven tan while gawking at the narrated sights, including Antoni Gaudí's La Pedrera, with its wavy facade; the towering sandcastle-like Sagrada Familia (which Gaudí started before his unfortunate tram-related death); the sleek Montjuic telecom needle at the main site of the 1992 Olympics; the Futbol Club Barcelona stadium, with its souvenir stands featuring colorful team accessories and all-things-Messi; among dozens of other landmarks.

As we traversed the city, we caught frequent glimpses of folks -- dressed casually as well as professionally -- riding around on Bicing bicycles. Apparently over 30% of Barcelonans regularly use the bike sharing program, which costs only 1.50 € to rent a communal bike for 2 hours.

We ended the full day with a paella dinner and exciting flamenco show at Palacio del Flamenco, where the fiercely intense female lead and mesmerizing palmas (hand clapping) sets made me want to jump out of my seat and stomp my feet, too.

Most useful phrase of the day: On és el lavabo, sisplau?

("Where is the toilet, please?" in Catalan.)

Days 3-4: Montpellier

"I think we're going into bullet mode."

And he was right. After what seemed like a brief intake of breath, TGV 6205 shifted gears, causing my window view of grafitti'ed walls on the gritty outskirts of Paris to suddenly switch to scenes of a lush green countryside. (Look, sheep!) My heart leapt at the sight of wind farms, sweeping the hills with their enormous white blades; and solar panels adorning roofs in otherwise rustic villages. Although the rolling landscape became familiar after a couple of hours, I felt like I could have watched this fleeting filmstrip all day long.

We reached Montpellier (in the Languedoc-Roussillon region of the south of France) -- and were warmly welcomed into the home of my other soeur francaise -- by lunchtime. Her villa, with its sun-heated pool and fragrant fruit trees, was a welcome resort after our 3.5-hr train ride. We ate, swam, frolicked with her rambunctious 2-year old at the neighborhood playground, wandered around a nearby 12th century château, ate again (ratatouille!), and sipped Muscat wine over photo albums until it was time to toddle off to bed.

Day 4 highlights: Blended in with the locals at a downtown fair, apparently "the place to be" for clubs and associations (e.g., for art, music, social services, pet rescue, civil rights advocates, religious groups, etc.); visited Musée Fabre, which featured a special exposition of local-born Alexandre Cabanel; rode around in the cheesy but fun le Petit Train; and, got a taste of amazingly friendly Montpellier hospitality when looking for directions.

Our stay culminated with a memorable family dinner, featuring an intriguing blue apéritif from Marseille; grilled merguez (spicy sausage) and brochettes (skewers); and gâteau aux pommes avec du fromage frais (apple pie with soft cheese), made from scratch. As I gazed across the shimmering moonlit pool, satisfied and calm, I recall thinking, "This is certainly the life." "C'est la vie."