tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24412183935846066122024-02-20T12:11:43.391-05:00Where's TrevorKeep in touch with Trevor as he makes his way across the world and read his story as each step is made!!!t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.comBlogger351125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-3539320658977251052018-06-14T11:34:00.001-04:002020-03-08T23:12:17.400-04:00At the Meadow - Zermatt, Switzerland<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Matterhorn caught in the clouds</td></tr>
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During my night's stay in Lausanne, I reached out to my host Silvia in mountain town of Zermatt to tell her about my change of plans. I shyly asked if I could stay an extra night being I was not going to be pedaling my way around anymore. To my surprise, she offered her home to me for multiple nights and I could have not been blessed to stay in that valley for a few days! After a quick walk about Lausanne in the morning to snap a few more shots, I hopped on the train to begin the next adventure - see the Matterhorn! As the train skirted along the shoreline of Lake Geneva toward Montreux, the valleys were growing more and more shadowed by the heights of the Valais Alps. Watching the lake fade from view, my attention shifted to the remarkable peaks and the villages that the Swiss had built on the sides of them! I was entranced by everything that I was seeing from my window seat that I nearly missed getting off the train in Visp to switch lines! I quick grabbed a pastry to help pass the time while I waited for the train to arrive at the last platform of the station when I looked up the valley that I was going to be going up. At that moment, I was partially thankful that my bicycle had gone missing for the road up was a steep one! Throughout the windy train ride, there were half a dozen times that the train required cog track to pull us up the narrow valley and my appreciation for the comfort of the train ride grew stronger by the second rather than me struggling up the road on my bike! After a series of tunnels blasted through the sides of the valley, the train finally reached the end of the line "in the meadow". The name Zermatt comes from Wallischer German 'zur Matte' meaning "at the meadow" which could not fit this picturesque mountain village anymore perfectly. </div>
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After walking about the narrow streets of the central area toward Silva's house, I began to notice that there were only these golf cart sized vehicles occasionally driving about the town. Come to find out that there are no cars in Zermatt! The streets were established centuries before and intentionally built narrow so that the eaves of the buildings would keep as much snow off the walkways as much as possible. Plus, not having traffic adds to the tranquility and gives a sense of time travel. That was not the only interesting aspect of Zermatt that caught my attention... Chocolate shops! I swear they were on every block as I made my way southward through the town. When I finally stopped craning my neck at the displays of confectioneries, I looked up to see one of the most recognizable mountains in the world shrouded in a blanket of low clouds. Even then, I knew that was the mighty Matterhorn before me and I could only stand there in awe of the mountain's beauty. After a few moments of standing there and taking a few pictures, I realized I needed to keep on going to make my walk to Silvia's to shed my pack and get ready for my adventures in this breathtaking alcove of the Alps.</div>
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t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com03920 Zermatt, Switzerland46.0207133 7.749117000000069345.8441993 7.4263935000000689 46.197227299999994 8.07184050000007tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-51884791977171108432018-01-05T13:50:00.001-05:002020-03-08T23:11:25.384-04:00City of Stairs - Lausanne, Switzerland<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cathedral of Notre Dame <br />in Lausanne, Switzerland</td></tr>
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I had a forlorn feeling as Geneva grew smaller from my train window knowing that somewhere back there my AWOL bicycle was without me. However, the adventure must continue and my host Vidal had a long list of 'angles' to help me see and understand Lausanne life. Before I departed from Geneva, I messaged him about my misfortunes that morning and my new arrival time and method. Once that message was sent, I disconnected from the electronic world for the duration of the lakeside ride. Setting foot in the <i>gare de Lausanne, </i>I strapped on my pack and pulled my bike cart out into the afternoon sun of the Olympic Capital. When making my arrangements with Vidal, he warned me about the confusing streets of Lausanne. He preemptively apologized for living on one of the most puzzling parts of the city and I told him not to worry. I had looked at the map on my phone while I was in range of WiFi while in Geneva and told myself I would be able to manage easily in the matters of navigation. Regardless, Vidal gave me as detailed instructions as anyone could possibly give and yet, once I was faced with this maze of streets I quickly understood his concern. He had warned me about the bewildering situation that surrounded his apartment and being surrounded by the web of Avenue de Morges and Rue de Geneve - quite literally a web! Some segments going north-south and others going east-west and all one after the other! See the map below and to the right to get a feel for this labyrinth of Lausanne! After I had found my way to Vidal's I was warmly welcomed with his request to relax and enjoy some wine from local vineyards dating back a thousand years before we set out to explore the city and I gladly took him up on that offer! After expressively telling him of that morning's three-ring-circus situation and a glass of wine, we were ready to go get a taste of Lausanne. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Map of Vidal's neighborhood in Lausanne</td></tr>
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While we walked, Vidal shared with me the fascinating history of Lausanne and the area, bits and phrases of the <i>Arpetan </i>dialect of French<i>, </i>and tips on getting around Switzerland inexpensively. Wandering around for an hour or so, our stomachs started to tell us it was time for sit down and eat. Being a courteous host, he asked me where I would like to eat but I really could not pinpoint my craving. Vidal then suggested go to a place he recently heard about which was a Thai restaurant and immediately my taste buds seconded that idea! Our stories continued as the courses of fiery and flavorful food came and disappeared until we both could not fit anymore. Needing to burn off the feast we just devoured, Vidal took me around the city, although it was more up and down rather than around as we climbed what felt like 40 flights of stairs in the matter of a few hours! He jokingly said that the International Olympic Committee chose Lausanne being getting around the city is a perpetual workout! The following morning after Vidal headed to work at the hospital, I wanted to make a quick trip to the Notre Dame cathedral atop the "hill" in Lausanne before I ventured back to the train station. Just a few hours prior, my city host had taken me up to the walls of the cathedral and I did not recall the way being so stair heavy as the route that I chose that morning! But, the end result was rewarding as I nearly had the Notre Dame de Lausanne to myself and the view from the "front door" was astounding over the city and Lake Leman onward to the Alps as I was about to embark onto one of the most famous of her mountains - the Matterhorn.</div>
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t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com1Lausanne, Switzerland46.5196535 6.63227340000003146.3448625 6.3095499000000306 46.694444499999996 6.9549969000000313tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-44432762011242279672017-12-29T14:38:00.000-05:002020-03-08T23:13:16.587-04:00Last ride of the AWOL - Geneva, Switzerland<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I started the morning casually with light breakfast and a quick spin on my bicycle to check out a few other spots in Annecy before beginning my three hour ride deeper into the Alps. My heading was set northward as I entered the Swiss Plateau with my destination to be the Peace Capital of the World and the home to the United Nations - Geneva. That morning's ride was phenomenal as I wound around bends and across bridges of this alpine byway taking me to the shores of yet another breath-taking lake with the sun shining down on my back. This could not have been any more perfect for a bike ride on my AWOL. Little did I know that this ride was going to be my last. </div>
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I had made my Couchsurfing arrangements once I got to Annecy in hopes of preventing the panic that I put myself in when arriving there. I found a graduate student that was willing to share his apartment in the heart of Genève for the night before my much anticipated lakeside bike ride to Lausanne. Knowing that he was not going to be home until around dinner time, I made my ride casual as I crossed the border from France into Switzerland. I took detours to international cemeteries, riverfront parks, and a few vantage points to take in the city on a wonderful Wednesday afternoon. As the sun reached down to the Jura mountains to the west I began my finding my way to the across the Arve to unload my gear for the evening. Once my bicycle and I were free of my bag and cart, I parted ways with my host for he was having a night out on the town with friends being the next day was a city holiday and I had a check list of places to see for myself! My camera and tripod snugly fit around my torso, I was ready to be off for an after-dark tour of Geneva but first dinner on the lakefront was in order! Once my belly was filled with an array of local cheeses and an entree of baked onions stuffed with spiced chicken and more cheese topped with a savory glaze, I was ready to get some sightseeing in and a quick visit to a potential future employer - The United Nations. </div>
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Once I heard the bells of the cathedral sound eleven strikes, I knew I ought to be heading back for the night to meet up with my host and then get some rest for the big ride the next morning. Getting to the apartment at about the same time, I locked up my bicycle on the rack in front of the building door and headed in for the night. Come morning, we had breakfast with one of his friends who was from India and we excitedly talked about my upcoming travels there until I realized I needed to get on the road. As we passed through the door, I looked to where my bike <b style="font-style: italic;">should </b>have been and then the wave of terror hit me. My customized AWOL bicycle had gone.... AWOL! My host, trying to calm my rapidly growing panic, reassured me that it was somewhere. He knew it had to be because he watched me lock the cable through my frame and double check the lock before we headed in for the night. My heart sinking to the lowest depths all while almost beating out of my chest, we began our search for my bike. We checked EVERY bike rack in the vicinity, asked the apartment building attendants, up and down, left and right to no avail. After I had come to terms with my bike wandering off "under new ownership", I asked my host to take me to a police station so I could file a report in hopes of collecting insurance on my custom-fit and custom-built bicycle. There was our next problem. When Geneva has a city holiday, they are serious about it being a holiday. Every police station we went to was closed for the day until a local informed us that the one in the main train station would be manned on this holiday. Well, I needed to go there anyway being that was going to be my ride from there on out and so my #WorldTour2015 bicycle tour came to an end but the journey across the globe continued nonetheless!</div>
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t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com0Geneva, Switzerland46.2043907 6.143157699999960646.1164762 5.9817961999999607 46.292305199999994 6.3045191999999606tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-52176103283420609642017-12-28T14:06:00.001-05:002020-03-08T23:18:42.371-04:00Pearl of the French Alps - Annecy, France<div style="text-align: center;">
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I discovered the beauty of Annecy while I was trying to coax my mind into letting me sleep and I was scrolling through Facebook when one of the suggested ads popped up with "the ten secret places of France". I ran the risk of this ad being click-bait and I am glad that I did! One place hooked my attention from the list and that was Annecy. Luckily, this lakeside city was an easy addition to my route across the European continent toward Munich for the opening ceremony of Oktoberfest. The 18th of September being 12 days away and the entire country of Switzerland to traverse by bike and occasionally train, I needed to get to this lakeside paradise quickly so I thought I would hop on a train from Avignon to Annecy. After my early morning ride from Nîmes with my side stop at the Pont du Gard for a few hours, I arrived in the old papal city of Avignon with a few close encounters with French traffic with a sigh of relief. Crossing the mighty Rhône river, I followed the signs guiding me to the city center and more importantly the <i>Gare </i>or main train station. I parked my bike in front of the 19th Century train station and ventured inside to check the schedule for getting to Annecy. </div>
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Skimming the board, it looked like I would be departing a little after 1500 which gave me some time to explore the city and more importantly get lunch! I chose the 3 PM departure time being the ride to Annecy would take about three and half hours and that would allow me time to find a place to stay and cruise the canals and shores of Annecy. So I thought! With a few hours to hit the historic spots of medieval Avignon, I began cycling around on a hot, sunny day at a casual, carefree pace over the cobblestone streets up to the <i>Palais des Papes </i>(on the right)<i>. </i>I found a small street cafe that caught my attention from their display of massive cookies and settled in at a table to regain some calories and people watch before heading back to catch my train. Remember when I said that this ride would be about three and a half hours? Somehow it ended up being nine hours. I was aware that I would be changing trains in Lyon but when I disembarked from the first train, I scoured the station in search of the information board to get to the platform for my second and final leg of the trip. The ticket in my hand denoted that the second train would be leaving in about 35 minutes after my arrival thus I wanted to find the platform sooner rather than later. Trailing my bicycle through the station to the assigned platform, I looked up to the marque and grew confused at the next incoming train. Confused, I saw a station official and asked him about my train and if I was at the right platform - along with all the other crucial questions a concerned traveler would ask. He squinted at the marque and then told me that incoming train was running late and in turn would make my train late "by a few minutes". Those few minutes ended up being an hour and forty minutes until it would arrive in Lyon! </div>
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Then we would have to wait in the station for an additional 40 minutes before taking off to only have more delays. My arrival to Annecy was significantly later than I had wished but luckily one of the hostels was still taking in travelers. Weary and worn, I finally found the hostel and was welcomed by a staff from around the world! I had intended on spending only one night in Annecy but once I saw they were going to be having a sushi night the next evening, how could I not extend my stay by an extra day?! Needless to say, I am glad I made that decision for I was able to witness this enchanting city filled with flowers, medieval markets, and beautiful people with the time that that this city deserves! ...and of course - SUSHI with a group of great people from all around this big world in the "Venice of the Alps"!</div>
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t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com1Annecy, France45.899247 6.129383999999959145.810829500000004 5.9680224999999592 45.9876645 6.290745499999959tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-53026921114057209082017-12-27T03:02:00.000-05:002020-03-08T23:19:02.752-04:00Pont du Gard - Nîmes, France<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am not too sure when I truly first fell in love with architecture followed with engineering, but I do recall when and where I first discovered the wonder of the Pont du Gard. My parents had a 30 volume collection of the 1954 Encyclopedia Americana as part of our family library. Sifting through the pages admiring the maps and images as my older siblings referenced from these pre-internet resources, I was able to travel the world with each turn of the page with my carefree 'research' as I was not in school yet. Arriving to the pictures of this place, I was piqued. Heaving the hefty book up the stairs to my parents, I wanted to learn more about this place. Skimming the information, my dad converted the encyclopedia jargon into comprehensible material my four or five year old mind could grasp. I was having difficulty getting just how tall the 'water bridge' was and then my dad leaned over the book and set his hand on my head. He then asked me to imagine how tall I would be if I stacked my standing body on top of itself 50 times and that is about how tall the Pont du Gard is. My little eyes grew larger as I tried to fathom this massive place as my attention drew back to the page with more inquisitive passion. I could attribute this experience to being the handful of snow that started the snowball that has been my life of travel, love of architecture and engineering, and the continued journey of learning. </div>
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To this day, this aqueduct captivates my wonder and imagination. As a student of engineering in the modern world with the technology we have access to today, my mind is boggled as to how the designers and engineers of this particular aqueduct system were able to build this wonder of the ancient world and still a wonder two thousand years later. The credit goes to Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa. Considered to be one of the greatest minds of Roman engineering as he laid out near perfect road ways across the expanding empire, integrated state-of-the-art municipal sewer systems, and of course, aqueducts to serve growing cities, all of which are still functioning to this day! One of the most recognizable structures of his craft is the Pantheon in the heart of Rome. The design was his, however he did not live to see the completion of one of the world's greatest engineering feats. Other honorable mentions of his include the <a href="http://www.wherestrevor.com/2017/12/frances-rome-nimes-france.html" target="_blank">Maison Carrée</a> in the city of Nimes, the reason behind this aqueduct, and extensive <i>Via Agrippa </i>of over 21,000 kilometers of roadway were created by his one man. Coming back to the Pont du Gard and the 50 kilometer aqueduct system that it stands a part of the intriguing fact that over the entire length of the system, it only drops 12.6 meters! Expanding out the overall length to 50,000 meters of channel for water to flow without being pumped or forced, these builders were able to wind a (mostly) leak-proof channel to the 50,000+ citizens of Nimes and only dropping elevation of 12.6 meters! In order to do so and with the little elevation difference between the source and the destination of the water, the Romans had to overcome the Gardon gorge. That challenge was resolved with the tallest Roman aqueduct at a height of nearly 50 meters and requiring three tiers of arches to support the near nine million gallons of water the aqueduct provided to the citizens of <i>Colonia Nemausus. </i> With credentials like that, I would rank the Pont du Gard in the top three of the Roman structures remaining today as marvels of engineering!</div>
t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com0Pont du Gard, 400 Route du Pont du Gard, 30210 Vers-Pont-du-Gard, France43.947565999999988 4.534959999999955518.757924499999987 -36.773634000000044 69.137207499999988 45.843553999999955tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-69393056241866143932017-12-23T16:19:00.001-05:002017-12-25T01:16:46.896-05:00France's Rome - Nîmes, France<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih95YgnVSCuQtkFqbLLuvR1nWwfJlJbE5DStjMUCt8EyJqAuwFJf7ZGHiSkNtajMRgsGySXoeReUAdmp58EJCHyGCOwz-ueyEfYb9G48bgmT0a6Yyw_E29OidnBlzd9cfiteG3QUiIjJ-Y/s1600/IMG_6520+pse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih95YgnVSCuQtkFqbLLuvR1nWwfJlJbE5DStjMUCt8EyJqAuwFJf7ZGHiSkNtajMRgsGySXoeReUAdmp58EJCHyGCOwz-ueyEfYb9G48bgmT0a6Yyw_E29OidnBlzd9cfiteG3QUiIjJ-Y/s320/IMG_6520+pse.jpg" width="213" /></a>When I penciled in my route for my World Tour 2015, how could I not include the ancient city of Nîmes and the wonders that the city holds! The city cradles three examples of Roman structures that numerous 'top ten' lists have proclaimed to be the best preserved and 'must see' places. Once I arrived to the city that dates back to the Bronze Age to witness the pristine Maison Carrée and the colossal arena with my own eyes, set off onto my other mission! My told my hostess Sophie that I would make a homemade American meal for the night so I needed to stop by a market. There was my problem. I arrived in the later half of a Sunday and all the markets that I could find were closed for the day. As the sun was fading from the sky, I made my way to Sophie's house to meet her and break the bad news about dinner. After navigating my way there along Quai de la Fontaine to Sophie's, I meet another traveler that was also staying with our host for the night. As we waited for Sophie to arrive I learned she was living in Germany as an au pair and exploring Europe before returning home. During our conversation, Sophie pulled up and brightly welcomed the both of us and brought us to her incredible apartment. Located on one of the low hills overlooking the center of the city, the view from her patio was breath-taking! Once I broke the unfortunate news to my host and fellow traveler about dinner, Sophie suggested we have an American-style dinner with a Nimois flavor - pizza! Once we returned with our pizza pies, we sat outside sharing stories and experiences with each other as we feasted on delicious slices of pizza while the apple pie for dessert was baking in the oven! </div>
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t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com0Nimes, France43.836699 4.36005399999999143.653428000000005 4.0373304999999906 44.01997 4.6827774999999914tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-1454414071341588132017-12-22T19:18:00.000-05:002018-01-21T21:26:04.040-05:00Pride of Pyrénées-Orientales - Perpignan, France<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZd9b2xEUhqSagxkIn7mJBiPfb6QJERyKBN7Q4b870NOD4t5gA231V2gAl7sOUPdPpiF_d-ucCqhQGv_ypMzXQGaLY4zrhEGuMDDcfqpTT1e-_egYmxubvwHbZDES5t2rDEA1qPCSVWbBy/s1600/IMG_6309+pse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZd9b2xEUhqSagxkIn7mJBiPfb6QJERyKBN7Q4b870NOD4t5gA231V2gAl7sOUPdPpiF_d-ucCqhQGv_ypMzXQGaLY4zrhEGuMDDcfqpTT1e-_egYmxubvwHbZDES5t2rDEA1qPCSVWbBy/s320/IMG_6309+pse.jpg" width="320" /></a>Making my descent from the Pyrenees mountains on D117 back toward the Mediterranean Coast, I knew I was riding through warmer regions as I passed trellis after trellis of grape vines ready for harvest to make the world renowned <i>vin français. </i>I was not the only slow moving traffic along this route on that clear September morning. Tractors pulling wagons laden with freshly collected clusters of grapes bound for <i>coopérative les vignerones </i>to begin the transformation from berry to bottled nectar. On my 60 kilometer ride that day, I appreciated the beautifully manicured vineyards but nothing could surpass the heavenly aroma that pours out from the cooperatives as the grapes are pressed to begin the wine-making process. The sweet smell faded as I left the peacefulness of provincial life in change for the urban bustle of sunny Perpignan. Not only did the unique history of this city draw me into the once capital of the Kingdom of Majorca but also the <i>Visa por l'image. </i>Every year, the city showcases international exhibitions of photojournalism from the most impacting stories from around the world of that year. I was excited to be a part of this celebration of photography but unaware of the changes that this would have on me. Years leading up to this point, I had appreciation for photography and passion for producing images to remember moments in my life. During my visit, that passion I had carried grew beyond the hobby that photography for my own pleasure into something more. The shift inside of me moved from a hobby to a duty. I had been told I had a talent with photography from family and friends but saw no calling to pursue photography. Seeing these images from war-torn Syria, the devastation of the earthquakes throughout Nepal, the lives of struggling teenage mothers, and a long list of others worthy of recognition all made that change. From them, I discovered a purpose within photography as these images not only captured a moment, but wielded a story that cast emotion, strife, and substance from paper to the heart of the viewer. If you wish to see works from that moved me that day, visit <a href="http://www.visapourlimage.com/en/archives/editions/edition-2015" target="_blank">Visa 2015</a> to see these power images that have guided me on this path to become a photographer that hopes to one day impact the world as these great photographers moved me.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLFGA3U8iDfQURvNYJ_b64gXFQIsKW1KEAbuHWaUNyUkIFzhdpafA_SnlLFz1zRmIkPFXnSBYHhSbn9yO8U5b-VYaPZusPZewZ7CaYEsDGHOelmXzcmK58aN1i5a19YV5alE2YXL_reeZ/s1600/IMG_6393+pse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLFGA3U8iDfQURvNYJ_b64gXFQIsKW1KEAbuHWaUNyUkIFzhdpafA_SnlLFz1zRmIkPFXnSBYHhSbn9yO8U5b-VYaPZusPZewZ7CaYEsDGHOelmXzcmK58aN1i5a19YV5alE2YXL_reeZ/s320/IMG_6393+pse.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Tj_GlaTxiJWHSxoBPGrbrptMBHrKRkPrKvMV9FG1_Ko4VVFRJZGwYj7RxjA4kkCcBaZ-4MldVIC7gQ4unR88zNF-3ylXmV1_aDvG20nC4KG-45erKqT7M_tpMvnac7YSf2WtMeyG5eF1/s1600/IMG_6346+pse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Tj_GlaTxiJWHSxoBPGrbrptMBHrKRkPrKvMV9FG1_Ko4VVFRJZGwYj7RxjA4kkCcBaZ-4MldVIC7gQ4unR88zNF-3ylXmV1_aDvG20nC4KG-45erKqT7M_tpMvnac7YSf2WtMeyG5eF1/s320/IMG_6346+pse.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIXzZH3adojHK2QOiRhuW8K6PQBzLOklXestGk3BMLmY8E-ee4Y1RorAnArCt2jmVaiMxuGuBX7qWTsZrJH81e01ouXBccTbG0ZMm65FCw5F2uBR2MxN9M8rvyW4QmsL0jd6fyaBfJ0e5z/s1600/IMG_6356+pse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIXzZH3adojHK2QOiRhuW8K6PQBzLOklXestGk3BMLmY8E-ee4Y1RorAnArCt2jmVaiMxuGuBX7qWTsZrJH81e01ouXBccTbG0ZMm65FCw5F2uBR2MxN9M8rvyW4QmsL0jd6fyaBfJ0e5z/s320/IMG_6356+pse.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOJ1ZFOQVICWfH-HG5BX9VCny5ZZFBIzYxNcthBEfb02N9ceTdxSh7XL6vfXhnFyiyQE2pJDyTpeOABHnqwUnv207TbL8fILWbq0jQny1Ny0l5pGnbHP59DNpD496rXi2ZlSuMdpch5ptV/s1600/IMG_6353+pse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOJ1ZFOQVICWfH-HG5BX9VCny5ZZFBIzYxNcthBEfb02N9ceTdxSh7XL6vfXhnFyiyQE2pJDyTpeOABHnqwUnv207TbL8fILWbq0jQny1Ny0l5pGnbHP59DNpD496rXi2ZlSuMdpch5ptV/s320/IMG_6353+pse.jpg" width="213" /></a>Taxed from the turmoil of the world through the photographs of <i>Visa</i>, I sought out the second destination while in the city and the one that holds much of the city's heritage of art and culture under it's Gothic vaults for tranquility. I found that in <i>Catedral de Sant Joan Baptista de Perpinyà</i> as the locals know this 700 year old Catalan Gothic basilica which was begun under the reign of Sancho the Pacific. His short reign of thirteen years were remarked with peace and prosperity of the kingdom and her neighbors unlike those he followed and those the crown passed after his unfortunate death from an asthma attack. Since his death, the body of Sancho has laid to rest under the nave of the cathedral he founded in the heart of his kingdom's continental capital. </div>
t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com0Perpignan, France42.6886591 2.894833199999993742.595302100000005 2.7334716999999937 42.7820161 3.0561946999999936tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-42353601502597217332017-12-20T16:26:00.000-05:002017-12-20T16:26:04.615-05:00Château de Puilaurens - Lapradelle-Puilaurens, Aude, France<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQwqvN1M-0FsGZDgFNaFNfxaA4FGLBnnKCaqXP6c5wFK7wpIljvdI6FnvIIh1rnAX_LlXrhncR9Gj0N8jx8EW6wR8msVBFc0PWHx0DyqL-s0NkidMNsqxuq_5PifFkXUsZ9aZ0D4zbleN/s1600/IMG_6272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQwqvN1M-0FsGZDgFNaFNfxaA4FGLBnnKCaqXP6c5wFK7wpIljvdI6FnvIIh1rnAX_LlXrhncR9Gj0N8jx8EW6wR8msVBFc0PWHx0DyqL-s0NkidMNsqxuq_5PifFkXUsZ9aZ0D4zbleN/s320/IMG_6272.JPG" width="320" /></a> While I was planning my route to both make bicycling tolerable but to also see as much of the world as I possibly could. In doing so, I spent hours pouring over books and surfing through webpages of places, cultures, and histories of the potential pauses during my pedaling adventure. One evening as I was skimming through one of many "things to see in Southern France" pages, I stumbled upon the Cathar castles. Piquing my interest, I opened a few additional tabs to learn more and within a few minutes I knew I would be adding one of the historic fortresses to my list! But which one was the question I had to answer. Looking through the lineup of châteaux, I was most intrigued by Château de Puilaurens and it's significance in history dating back to the times of the Roman expansion westward. As the legions marched westward along the coast through <i>Gaul, </i>modern day France,<i> </i>to pave the way of the first Roman road to <i>Hispania </i>or Spain as it is known today. The spur of stone that the chateau sits upon today served as a <i>castrum </i>to the first Romans to arrive in the area. Here, the challenges of passing over the Pyrenees pushed them to settle the area before pushing onward to the southern territories. After the fall of the Roman Empire, this fortification has played strategic roles in the rise of both the Kingdoms of Spain and France for nearly a thousand years.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBkFP3ROyiEV_7dospD2mh8cd7JSg-qY_pdsQ1SrBIynxFnilDYy8Im9yZZc49cDjfT3Dgk0sJNkqFZssD0CFq77N7q-u0nct4ESVnJG83sINCkX2LGlZm9Jo78zDIyGYiD5z9HPZfbwPi/s1600/IMG_6274.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBkFP3ROyiEV_7dospD2mh8cd7JSg-qY_pdsQ1SrBIynxFnilDYy8Im9yZZc49cDjfT3Dgk0sJNkqFZssD0CFq77N7q-u0nct4ESVnJG83sINCkX2LGlZm9Jo78zDIyGYiD5z9HPZfbwPi/s320/IMG_6274.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6r5kxwDk7kWGBwfTPzSPeGNtagIrqNjI3dA4pQwunyNP6bewAQfbi0bnIqUzPCUEjkga7G8rdSKB-eKs4NXkPT1sMj7pOz9GwlgnzQmJWFUIKKb-642PpXAhC-5yV4pr-jwemTqrxs2Dq/s1600/IMG_6243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6r5kxwDk7kWGBwfTPzSPeGNtagIrqNjI3dA4pQwunyNP6bewAQfbi0bnIqUzPCUEjkga7G8rdSKB-eKs4NXkPT1sMj7pOz9GwlgnzQmJWFUIKKb-642PpXAhC-5yV4pr-jwemTqrxs2Dq/s320/IMG_6243.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIkDXHHi0VcqniFVtOpcPvCsi6q9IRNa-wGYfXeF53zcy5rthOu6hGL1uwZBuP5O1DMdJgEr6Oj_5LSMiDozNtjTwm1czsbZb2UzRMyCbV8yKD8-hQvsR2ailN_dypgwgwuYlq2-tzMt3P/s1600/IMG_6172.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIkDXHHi0VcqniFVtOpcPvCsi6q9IRNa-wGYfXeF53zcy5rthOu6hGL1uwZBuP5O1DMdJgEr6Oj_5LSMiDozNtjTwm1czsbZb2UzRMyCbV8yKD8-hQvsR2ailN_dypgwgwuYlq2-tzMt3P/s320/IMG_6172.JPG" width="213" /></a>By the time I arrived to the valleys that this ancient citadel looks over, the gloom that I had been enduring for the first three days in France finally started to lift. Arriving to the petite village of Lavagnac cold and dripping wet, all I wanted was something warm to drink in hopes of bringing life back into my frigid body. Fascinated by the beautiful stone train trestle that weaves through the provincial homes, I followed the main road into the heart of the community and lucked out with discovering a charming teahouse. Entering through the door I was questioning if I truly wanted to spend the night in my tent with the weather as it was but the smell of tea leaf and herbs took away my worries temporarily. Once I got my frosty fingers on a warm cup filled with tea, the lady of the house asked me what brought me to the area in heavily accented English. Smiling and in my best attempt in French, I responded "to see the chateau nearby". I followed up with questions such as how far away it was from the teahouse. She looked at her watch at her wrist and then bobbed her head to look through the front windows, smiled and then told me to enjoy that cup of tea first and then she would show me. Once I finished the last drop, she took me out and with a few steps over to the bridge, she pointed upward and said, "There. There is Château de Puilaurens!" The view I was taking in is the same as the image below and boy, was my heart happy that the fortress was not too far away and that the weather was improving beyond the dismal deluge I had been enduring! She led me back to the shop while pointing out a few of the other features of the area and poured me another cup of tea upon our return. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBCRwlOgfikgQf8jhgw2wK4cd4Yze9FxDl6aeXKdArn1pEnIm7Z8kQ4oEZf_8ZiXEL7Rn9ams4w_fTmI1nrLdloCukCa2TH8TMTv5qMJKG6vsFS1CC8w1_iEWp2SprhEisXuXsdAQQjfbO/s1600/IMG_6078+pse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBCRwlOgfikgQf8jhgw2wK4cd4Yze9FxDl6aeXKdArn1pEnIm7Z8kQ4oEZf_8ZiXEL7Rn9ams4w_fTmI1nrLdloCukCa2TH8TMTv5qMJKG6vsFS1CC8w1_iEWp2SprhEisXuXsdAQQjfbO/s320/IMG_6078+pse.jpg" width="213" /></a>My inner adventurer had been recharged and was ready to go experience this unique piece of culture, history, and architecture. I made a quick change into a dry set of biking gear before setting off southward to find my site to set up my tent for the night and to hopefully get a closer look at the bygone keep. My road bent with the curves of the tumbling river nearby as I inched closer and my heart began to race with wonder! Soon, as I found the roadside signaling the way up to the castle, my legs were starting to feel the climb! Just as the burn was starting to heat up in my calves, I came upon the perfect spot to call home for the night. There was an opening in the trees that looked up to the fortress with the most ideal ground to pitch a tent. After setting up, I decided there would be enough light to venture upward to see how close I could get to the chateau. To my surprise, you can walk in to the ruins! Checking out the old walls and towers, I sat at the edge admiring the villages below as the sun went down behind the cloud-covered horizon. When suddenly, I heard a popping noise below me. Curious as ever, I looked over the edge of the precipice I was sitting on to see that there was a floodlight and the water drops were "boiling" off the glass! Excited to know that the castle would be lit at night, I began my descent to find the perfect spot to capture the Château de Puilaurens in the dark of night. While I made the final adjustments to my camera to snap the night shot, I looked up to the blue and golden hues cast onto the walls and smiled. What a great way to end a day that had begun with dreary weather and doubt in this endeavor I was putting myself through.</div>
<br />t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com111140 Lapradelle-Puilaurens, France42.8038321 2.299597100000028142.7106266 2.1382356000000282 42.897037600000004 2.4609586000000281tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-24073706188467890522017-12-19T12:58:00.001-05:002017-12-19T13:08:40.315-05:00Come rain or come shine - Pyrénées-Orientales, France<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgemhGmdY6uMUZz_9lfL8BQLi3SKy08exkiN2iJzW2HWrqSmJdmIK2vFIXlAoaBPd3Yy8zKA3MZEHh1Q8Wf6nFOPaxm6gK2W1udUkuEbkePhNDiFm5QlClCsOvrIXfayh-jwXd3mWSedC7p/s1600/IMG_5990.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgemhGmdY6uMUZz_9lfL8BQLi3SKy08exkiN2iJzW2HWrqSmJdmIK2vFIXlAoaBPd3Yy8zKA3MZEHh1Q8Wf6nFOPaxm6gK2W1udUkuEbkePhNDiFm5QlClCsOvrIXfayh-jwXd3mWSedC7p/s320/IMG_5990.JPG" width="213" /></a>When I began my bicycling in southern Spain, I knew I would face challenges along the way. From flat tires in the middle of nowhere to being lost in metropolitan cities, I thought I had seen it all by the time I crossed into la République française. I was wrong. All those hardships and struggles were puny compared to my 'Tour de France'. When I started out on my ride that day from my hostel in Tarter, Andorra, the sun was playing hide-and-seek behind clouds. As I neared the French border, a fog loomed over the series of switch backs I had to climb. Nearing the crest of the pass, that fog was more of a freezing mist of tiny spears. But, France was in sight - figuratively! I knew it was there - a sign told me so! There was one last Andorran village before passing the border into France and there I found a cafe to hopefully get my frozen hands on a cup of creamy hot chocolate. After warming my body and spirit, the time had come to officially cross into France. Now, rewind a few days to when I rode the bus into Andorra la Vella from Spain and my conversation with the lovely lady in the tourism office. I had asked her if she could or knew someone that could stamp my passport with an Andorran stamp. She was unable to do so but inquired about my route and when I said I was going into France by El Pas de la Casa. She grabbed my arm and happily told me that I would be able to get both the Andorran and French stamps at the customs when I passed through on my way. My spirits lifted by a few large cups of hot chocolate and a warm meal, I was ready to get those stamps and explore France! As I wheeled up to the French customs station, which was in place mostly to control the traffic of non-taxed cigarettes and alcohol at discount prices in Andorra into France, I kindly asked the group of custom agents where I could get stamps for my passport. One agent stepped toward me and told me that they cannot stamp passports being that day was a Tuesday. I thought to myself on how ludicrous this was but it only got better! The agent then snobbishly asked me where I was going so I returned an answer in sarcasm to match his, "France." He retorted with a question "anywhere after that?" which I responded with Switzerland and Germany. He proceeded to inform me that I would be able to get an Andorran stamp when I get to Germany. Frustrated, I forced a smile and said my thanks to the group and continued on. The ride was downhill from there. By that, I mean in a literal sense as well as the experience of my first taste of France. </div>
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After I left the customs station, the mist had upgraded to a full rain. The shoulders that Spain and Andorra had allotted bicyclists such as myself to safely ride on had vanished. As I hugged the edge of the narrow roadway, I was scared off resulting in my cart tipping and spilling my stores of apples and snacks when a passing Frenchman blared his car horn at me as he sped downward. This was just the first ten minutes of my journey. From my planning months in advance, I found a quaint camping area outside of the village of Ax-les-Thermes. I had the directions handy in case I needed some guidance along the way. Soaking wet, cold to the bone, I had arrived to Ax-les-Thermes and found the most confusing convergence of bending streets at two traffic circles with a sign that labeled destinations but gave no indication which way they were. Being the signage was of no use to me I thought I would get some local assistance. In reference to the Wizard of Oz after about my fourth attempt to get help here, I mumbled to myself "Trevor, we're not in Spain anymore!" A little bit on the frustrated side, in the most polite voice I could muster, I asked an elderly lady which way was to Goulours in my basic skills from my French Handbook. I was ignored. I quickly thought to myself that Spain is right over there so give Spanish a try! Still nothing. Finally, at my wit's end, I gave my humble request in German. That caught her attention and then asked for my question again in French. Once I got out my inquiry again, she lifted up her hand and gave it a loose wave in the easterly direction and then continued on her way. Taking the most dramatic deep breath, I pedaled onward in that general direction in hopes of finding my destination. Subtly cursing to myself as I made each switchback uphill, I encountered an older man on a jog in the rain. He was smiling at me as we approached each other and I initially thought "how strange.... happiness." He eagerly greeted me which was a small ray of sunshine on this gloomy day. After the greetings I asked him if I was on the right way to Goulours in Spanish which he brimmed in more happiness, confirming I was on the right path and that I had great Spanish (for an American). He told me that he was from northwestern Spain and asked about my journey thus far. After a few minutes of conversation we parted ways but before we did, he told me that I would come a place where the road would split around a house (pictured at the top) and that I would stay on the downhill side and my ride would be beautiful from there on! Little did he know, he was the factor that made all that misery that I had experienced fade away despite that I was drenched, hungry, and ready to quit. </div>
t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com011140 Lapradelle-Puilaurens, France42.8038321 2.299597100000028141.3191526 -0.28218989999997168 44.2885116 4.8813841000000284tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-13501839642486599402017-12-18T15:14:00.000-05:002017-12-18T15:29:28.700-05:00La Vuelta - Canillo, Andorra<br />
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Upon my arrival to Andorra, I was unaware of this incredible 21-day Spanish race but I was quickly informed by one of the first locals I encountered! She told me that I must stay to witness this whirlwind competition in the mountains of Andorra and was kind enough to make a few phone calls to find out which spots would be the best to view the riders. On the day of the race, I staked out my spot in the mountain village of Canillo along with hundreds of other spectators from around the world. </div>
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t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com0AD100 Canillo, Andorra42.5666535 1.599458099999992642.560806 1.5893730999999927 42.572501 1.6095430999999925tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-84425129658176727642017-12-18T14:55:00.002-05:002017-12-18T20:12:39.340-05:00Island in the Sky - Andorra la Vella, Andorra<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiifvPdffAgk_8OiPyYDuNhGQC4jpqe6eg-DeQlOF0LjUjHcACA3IZzB1IO8WpcgeOls2EKSXgYK2fAhsnDTbrw-dza81hB7m-4ChwwqHtpwhITJTSxdKCTZMZO6ArmsJDpahpt8DKXEHNS/s1600/IMG_5475+%25282%2529ed.tif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1066" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiifvPdffAgk_8OiPyYDuNhGQC4jpqe6eg-DeQlOF0LjUjHcACA3IZzB1IO8WpcgeOls2EKSXgYK2fAhsnDTbrw-dza81hB7m-4ChwwqHtpwhITJTSxdKCTZMZO6ArmsJDpahpt8DKXEHNS/s320/IMG_5475+%25282%2529ed.tif" width="320" /></a>When people ask me which country I have been to is my favorite, I find the question hard to answer with just one. However, Andorra always will find itself in the top five. After spending nearly one month in Spain, I imagined Andorra to be similar to her neighbor to the south. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that this place is like no other! From the towering walls that form the boundaries of this ancient principality to extraordinary streets with works of art, Andorra stole my heart. </div>
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In my planning of World Tour 2015, I thought two nights in world's 16th smallest country would be enough to check the 700 year old principality off my list. I quickly realized that would not be enough time so I decided to double my stay within the first few hours of exploring this fascinating place tucked away in the Pyrenees Mountains . Once the bus pulled into the station, I retrieved my bicycle and cart out from the compartments below and set off to see the highest capital city of Europe - Andorra la Vella. As I spun around the cobblestone streets, I saw the beacon to travelers worldwide - the "<i>i</i>" for information and some local insight! After parking my bike out front, I stepped into the information center to grab the ever-so handy maps, guides, and of course local wisdom! I gave my morning greetings in Spanish to the lovely lady behind the information desk followed and she responded happily in Catalan. I shyly smiled and then asked in English what information she could send me with for my stay in her country.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgL7DIBqvWd7rGc_-lt9PrgSQKaySwAHNnxWGAKm7nAm0LCjoaVZPP9rmskJcyF2ETVpnticx_0t5FoV_UXWnkjU3LiMdjLB6g-Z_bv3HtTlb69RTD5DEYJNeT9QDftwDvPMCLklAyBkHV/s1600/IMG_5569ed.tif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="978" data-original-width="1276" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgL7DIBqvWd7rGc_-lt9PrgSQKaySwAHNnxWGAKm7nAm0LCjoaVZPP9rmskJcyF2ETVpnticx_0t5FoV_UXWnkjU3LiMdjLB6g-Z_bv3HtTlb69RTD5DEYJNeT9QDftwDvPMCLklAyBkHV/s320/IMG_5569ed.tif" width="320" /></a>She started to fill my hands with anything and everything that she could and then asked me if I was excited about the race. With my eyebrow raised and an apparent look of confusion, she exclaimed "La Vuelta! You must see La Vuelta!" She then excitedly burst from her desk over to the little information area dedicated to the race while telling me all about this incredible race. She then asked where I was staying and then asked for me to wait a few minutes while she made a few phone calls. She came back and unfolded one of my maps and marked out two spots that her friends and family suggested to be great spots to watch the racers make their way about the winding roads of Andorra. After all this, she sent me off to explore the streets of the capitol with the must-sees with a true Catalan farewell of a hearty hug, a brimming smile, and a lasting impression. Ready to explore, I took to the narrow streets of the old city with my route roughly chartered to get my first taste of this magical place. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhATuCUEN45ypl_ecw43ce3lPNb92P4YwrQI-syZE9WUs4gPztlh7Ll4pLnADRz8XZtym9y0rxx8AxKy8MPBbU7arT3E74P9NPuVjWp-wx6UjeT5yM6MAbJQdGDJ4mVzB9bgpEitPvv_tpQ/s1600/IMG_5576.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhATuCUEN45ypl_ecw43ce3lPNb92P4YwrQI-syZE9WUs4gPztlh7Ll4pLnADRz8XZtym9y0rxx8AxKy8MPBbU7arT3E74P9NPuVjWp-wx6UjeT5yM6MAbJQdGDJ4mVzB9bgpEitPvv_tpQ/s320/IMG_5576.JPG" width="320" /></a>Now, after bicycling for more than a month everyday, I thought I would not feel the effects of a little tour around a little city with a 'little' grade to it's streets... I was in for a hard lesson to be learned! One of the first points my local from the tourism office recommend was the Church of Sant Esteve (pictured above). She said the views are incredible, the history is intriguing, and once there, everything else will be downhill! Quite right, but the ride up there was most definitely a workout! The streets leading up to this viewpoint curved up narrowly between beautiful homes and municipal buildings were not only for wheeled traffic, but also foot traffic. Different from all other places I have been, these 'sidewalks' were stairs. Hopefully that gives insight of how steep these streets truly are! Once I came down from the historic heights of the old city, I followed the gentle pathways along the river La Valira lined with modern structures and art. The there were two pieces that captured my attention were La Noblesse du Temps by the famous Salvador Dalí (left) and the architectural icon of Andorra today, the Caldea (right). </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjilP5H85gyDhyphenhyphenawlnria1R6ZwD6H6dFL6KiC2YQzu5BPBX0RhU-p4PAa0RFrSBcCTfVIHKaxUK2H3BMaCpzl93GWAvfcz2jVaiAE7ZbzLdmbVIaZnamy1bi-999zRhHDgWrvxNCFcDJP3K/s1600/IMG_5598.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjilP5H85gyDhyphenhyphenawlnria1R6ZwD6H6dFL6KiC2YQzu5BPBX0RhU-p4PAa0RFrSBcCTfVIHKaxUK2H3BMaCpzl93GWAvfcz2jVaiAE7ZbzLdmbVIaZnamy1bi-999zRhHDgWrvxNCFcDJP3K/s320/IMG_5598.JPG" width="213" /></a>By the time I reached the Caldea, my stomach was telling me that lunch was in order. Heeding that call, I found a small cafe with a table situated to take in the views around me but most importantly the crystal wonder that glimmered under the beautiful day that I had been blessed with upon my arrival to Andorra. As I sat down at my small table with a savory cup of coffee and the soothing sound the river tumbling by, I thought to myself that Andorra is a place for everyone. The roots of this country trace back before Christ, feeding the call to history buffs. Upon those timeworn cobblestone streets are contemporary works of art to captivate the art enthusiasts from around the globe. The natural wonders invite adventure seekers from the streets of city life into the beauty of the mountain peaks and valleys. Last but not least, the best of European culinary arts! Needless to say, the phrase "great things come in small packages" is a perfect way to describe Andorra and all that this unique country has to offer her visitors from near and far at any time of the year!</div>
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<br />t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com0AD500 Andorra la Vella, Andorra42.506317400000007 1.521835499999951942.482905400000007 1.4814949999999518 42.529729400000008 1.562175999999952tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-22889626843002375822017-07-01T02:17:00.001-04:002017-12-18T15:26:54.138-05:00Discover Wyoming<div style="text-align: center;">
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Growing up as a Montanan, the extent of the Cowboy State that I ventured about was typically within the bounds of Yellowstone National Park. After about two decades of those confines, I broke out of those bounds and into the rest of the state when one of my long-time friends from the Navy was visiting her family. Not only was spending time with her spectacular and memorable, but also the adventures we went on were of the same caliber! This is one of my first videos that I have compiled since I have had my new toy more commonly known as a drone. During our road-side stops along our three days of cruising the countryside of northeast Wyoming, her dad curiously inquired about the in's and out's of my Phantom drone which only encouraged me to fly to capture awe-inspiring views and push the limits of "how close can I really get" which equated to humbly showing off. </div>
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All of that paid off with the video that led me to not only discover the State of Wyoming, but more about myself and what I want out of life. Enjoy!</div>
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t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-53372518467305432192017-05-05T03:07:00.000-04:002017-05-05T03:22:12.320-04:00Saved the Best for Last - Manresa, Catalonia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
My curiosity in Manresa began long before I started planning out my big world tour which landed me in the heart of Catalonia. More than ten years prior to me setting foot on the Iberian Peninsula, I crossed the threshold of a mission church back in my home-state of Montana. The teenage me was struck with awe of what beauty this structure gave the world. Not only is the mission set in what I believe to be one of the most beautiful mountain ranges of the state, but the grace and artistry within this late 19th century brick church. For me, most of the elegance came in the form of the 58 hand-painted murals that adorned the walls and vaulted ceiling of the Saint Ignatius Mission Church. More impressively, those paintings were done all by one man and not just any man but the mission's cook at the time in the late 1890s! That led me to learn more about the mission and it's history once I got home. At the time, we were using dial-up internet which is a lesson in patience in itself. Opening up the search with the mission church, I followed the path back to the man that is the namesake of a small church on the other side of the world from his native Spain. The founder of the Jesuit Order, tolerant theologian and spiritual leader during the Spanish Inquisition, and true to the definition of being a saint all came from a young Basque soldier by the name of Íñigo López de Loyola. After tracing all the history over a few days of research and waiting for images to load painfully slow on our household computer, I was fascinated by the ideals of the Jesuits and also their craftsmanship in their structures across the world. From that point on, I have made pilgrimages to the works of the Jesuits across the world from <a href="http://www.wherestrevor.com/2013/05/saint-josephs-towers-macon-georgia.html">Saint Joseph's</a> in the heart of Georgia to magnificent Church of Sant'Ignacio just down the street from the Pantheon in Rome. But where does Manresa play into my journey across the world and Saint Ignatius?</div>
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Reflecting back on all of those internet searches I had made as a teenager in our basement rather than doing my chores gave me more than enough reasons to want to see Manresa with my own eyes. Not only is this city surrounded by the incredible Montserrat massif and rich with culture, this is where young Íñigo transformed himself from a soldier recovering from the wounds of war to an internationally known spiritual leader and philanthropist. As he healed from his wounds and the primitive medical operations that followed, Íñigo made a lengthy journey for a man that would bear a limp from severely broken legs to the mountainside monastery of Santa Maria of Montserrat from the shores of the Basque region. After experiences within the monastery, the soldier found his calling in the life of different service. Descending from the mountain, Íñigo took service for a local hospital in Manresa in trade for food and lodging. When not tending to the ill, Íñigo would meditate in a small cave at the between the hilltop town and the river. There, these meditations would deliver Ignatius to write the founding documents of the Jesuit Order - the Spiritual Exercises. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMOs8wAWznloxQxABfbwZRiHDZj8bnqcsjFFilE_ghDXTiBcFoMHuDEjCOJfyN5LaVbdQZKv2slSy84sX04_tE-N9EXmx4-72WGRbsyq0oMADrdrhKWIh5wXEVeHfr11MjXdu3p9t0MctT/s1600/IMG_5132.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMOs8wAWznloxQxABfbwZRiHDZj8bnqcsjFFilE_ghDXTiBcFoMHuDEjCOJfyN5LaVbdQZKv2slSy84sX04_tE-N9EXmx4-72WGRbsyq0oMADrdrhKWIh5wXEVeHfr11MjXdu3p9t0MctT/s320/IMG_5132.JPG" width="320" /></a>All of this history is what drew me to want to visit Manresa for three days. I had it penciled out where I would arrive in the city in the afternoon of one day. The following to visit the Montserrat monastery, and the third to check out the cave and then continue on my way to Andorra. I ended up staying in Manresa for five wonderful and life-changing days. I will never be able to thank my host Geraldine for all that she did for me. I have always been an advocate for travel for everyone to discover what is beyond the horizon. Although, here in this picturesque city of Catalunya, my take on travel has forever changed. Travel is more than seeing wonders of nature, beautiful buildings created by the works of mankind, or getting an adrenaline rush from adventure. Travel is about people and the experience of meeting a new culture, a new family, and a new idea of yourself. The memories that this curly-haired, beautiful soul gave me will be timeless treasures and some of the happiest moments in life as I have discovered more about the simple truths of a happy life. When I arrived, her bright smile and warm spirit gave me a regal welcome to a place I have been waiting to explore for years. Even though I was anxious to get out and explore, I was more than happy to sit at her table and share stories over the quiche we had made together that afternoon. Then, as if we had been life-long friends, ventured out to go watch the opening ceremony to the multiple day of festivities celebrating Catalonia. </div>
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In all of my travels, I have stayed with many great people from Virginia to Malaysia through CouchSurfing, but of all of them, my stay with Geraldine was the most impacting on me. I felt as if I became a brother and an uncle in her family. During my five days in Manresa, I never felt like I was a tourist being I was taking part in adventures that were spontaneous as if I lived there. I find it hard to rate, but one of the best evenings we had was the afternoon we went to rock climb. While Geraldine and her brother were setting the lines, Ethan and I attempted to play soccer while the pup herded the ball around the field from us. After we all made our scramble up to the top of the wall, we set out to watch the firework show after the sun had set on the cool grass of one of the city's parks. After they had shared their passion of climbing with me, I as able to share one of mine with them and that was photography. Ethan watched with excitement in his eyes for when the LCD screen on my camera would show the image of the firework that had just burst in the air with a longer exposure. In these moments, I saw the same curiosity in his face about photography as I did years before when I stepped under the vaulted ceiling of a mission church on the other side of the world from that park under the starry sky in northern Spain. That, I feel is the power and the beauty of travel and hope all get to understand the feeling in their lifetime.</div>
t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com1Manresa, Barcelona, Spain41.7292826 1.822515399999929341.6818811 1.7418343999999293 41.7766841 1.9031963999999293tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-23716553890098956822017-03-26T01:38:00.000-04:002017-03-26T01:38:16.054-04:00MSU Fly Over - Bozeman, Montana, USA<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JzktSgZXlPc">> Montana State from Above! <</a></span></div>
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For the past academic year, I have met countless courageous souls taking on the challenge of bettering themselves, their minds, and their world. All that is being accomplished in the heart of the Gallatin Valley in beautiful Bozeman, Montana. As a double major student of Industrial Engineering and Photography, I stay quite book-busy but on a beautiful day such as today, I find a little fresh air goes a long way. As the sun set in the west over the Tobacco Root Mountains, I sent my Phantom up in the air to show you my campus. As a new flyer of my drone and a youthful photography student, I have leaps and bounds to go still but I hope you enjoy my video (link above) and my home of under the Big Sky Country!</div>
t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com0Bozeman, MT, USA45.6769979 -111.0429338999999845.588245900000004 -111.20429539999998 45.7657499 -110.88157239999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-8236281033766312032017-03-19T11:18:00.003-04:002017-03-19T11:18:32.396-04:00Saint Patrick's on the Richest Hill on Earth - Butte, Montana, USA<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com0Butte, MT, USA46.0038232 -112.5347775999999845.2966787 -113.82567109999998 46.7109677 -111.24388409999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-41185229573124911722017-03-13T04:13:00.000-04:002017-03-13T12:13:40.928-04:00L'ascensió al cor de Catalunya - Cap de Bou, Catalonia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My AWOL with the Santa Maria de <br />
Montserrat Monastery tucked high on<br />
the mountainside</td></tr>
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The last leg of my bicycling adventure in Spain was filled to the brim with excitement, frustration, and as I look back at that day, gratification. To make time, I cheated by taking the bus from Madrid to Barcelona being I had a timetable to follow and Oktoberfest was coming faster than I had expected. Going back to Barcelona, I arrived in the heat of rush hour on a Friday. To add to that, I had not done my usual planning ahead and decided to run the risk of finding a hostel off-hand and going from there. Once the bus pulled into the Barcelona-Sants station, I nervously found a coffee shop with wi-fi to see what was nearby for a hostel for the night. A little to the west of the bus station was a deal at the Yellow Nest that I could not pass up. After a breathe of relief that I knew I would have a roof over my head amid what seemed to be a city of chaos was much welcomed as was the cup of coffee! Setting out to find this hostel was another ordeal. While making the initial booking, I thought to myself "Ah, it's quite close! Shouldn't be a problem." Two words: Murphy's Law. The simple left-right-left guide that I made myself over this two click bike ride was significantly more complicated than it should have been. However, there was a success after I realized I passed by the Passatge Regent Mendieta was the "street" that I was looking for and was nothing more than a breezeway. The hostel was unmistakable with the bright yellow paint that signaled travelers to their temporary home. I think it was the fact that Barcelona was so busy was one reason why I felt nervous but also that I was now accustomed to staying in people's homes that I had a sense of foreignness when staying at a hostel again. That all washed away with the softness of an English accent. When I passed through the doorway into a land of more yellow, a warm welcome of a girl about my age gave me comfort. After getting all checked in, she told me I picked a good night to stay as they were hosting a seafood feast up on the rooftop that evening for a price that I could not pass up! Once I settled in and washed off the day's stress by a long shower, I headed up to the rooftop to find a spot at the community table. Here is where I learned why Barcelona was in a state of chaos. Soccer. That weekend was the match between one of Barcelona's longest standing rivals - Seville. Not only that, Camp Nou, the home stadium to FC Barcelona, was literally 350 meters away. Most of the table talk was naturally about soccer and the predominant accents this matter was conducted in were English, Scottish, and the handful of Aussies. Equally quiet in the soccer conversation was a Canadian brother and sister travelling duo. I first inquired about their travels which started in Iceland then skipped over to Amsterdam with Barcelona being the last stop of their quick adventure. Then came the question to me about my travels. Somehow, I became the center of attention at the table of about 20 people. I told a few of my tales of struggle as I biked across Andalusia and of my anticipation for my trek to Everest and my upcoming adventures across the world.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgka9kJ8o_ovrrhT3b8sOehQ6nfG6QwC1IoP8UWMSqtArd-MeAxjPonXsUuFW86B-xvMpsKZXvJHgfoL6Cj_vIw5EcMITtEfgYV-fCQUZdxu4YLu8oyDpkunBXc1IrWSJ1ceLshBkb2JnzB/s1600/IMG_4629.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgka9kJ8o_ovrrhT3b8sOehQ6nfG6QwC1IoP8UWMSqtArd-MeAxjPonXsUuFW86B-xvMpsKZXvJHgfoL6Cj_vIw5EcMITtEfgYV-fCQUZdxu4YLu8oyDpkunBXc1IrWSJ1ceLshBkb2JnzB/s320/IMG_4629.JPG" width="320" /></a>I woke up the next day recharged and ready to hit the road! I had my breakfast with a few of the travelers I had dinner with the night before and they gave me a hearty farewell as I wheeled my bike through the hostel with my cart in tow. Stepping out into the cool morning, this day felt great to the point where nothing could go wrong! Once again, Murphy's Law. Weaving my way out of the Mediterranean metropolis, I acquired a flat tire just as I was getting this ride started. On the very outskirts of the city in Molins de Rei, a sharp pop came from beneath me. Following a heavy sigh, I unhitched my cart and dug out my repair kit. Quietly cursing my predicament, I flipped my bike to start removing my back wheel to make the necessary fixes. Luckily, I had the morning shade and a closed shop door to work on my AWOL as a few passing citizens curiously looked onto my doings. Once the puncture had been sealed, I began the dozens of muscle straining hand pumps to get air back into my tire. To this down was an up just down the road. Cautiously crossing over the Llobregat river with my fresh fix from Molins de Rei on the crowding N-340, I safely made the exit onto the quieter N-II. Still nervous about my fix, I began my uphill ride for a few clicks and to my left as I was passing through the next town of Pallejà was a quaint bicycle shop Bici Cross Shop. I knew I did not put enough air in my tire and I also felt that there was no such thing as too many patches, so I hoped and prayed that the shop was open and sure enough it was! I wish I could remember his name (or find the business card I grabbed), but nonetheless I would like to honor this man! As a speaker of limited Spanish and him being a proud Catalan speaker, we fumbled a bit until one of his good friends stopped by the shop and helped us understand one another. The shop owner did more than help me out. He inspired me and has fueled my love for bicycling even more with the pictures of him and his adventures on two wheels. More so, was the inspiration that I gained when he very proudly showed my the pictures of his brother racing in the some of the world's greatest bike races and to my greatest surprise the Tour de France! When the stories came to an end and the time came for me to pay my bill, I do not know if it was due to me being American and stopping in HIS SHOP or if it was the fact that I was so happy and enthralled to listen to his stories that he tried sending me out the door free of charge. I refused to not pay so he threw in a few bonus items and a big hug with a smile from ear to ear. I was officially ready to take on my last leg of my bicycling tour in Spain! As I pushed northward, the modernness of Barcelona was rapidly transforming into a romantic rural simplicity that I found to be remarkably captivating. Looking at the map, I can not quite recall where I was exactly, but I stopped alongside the road to simply appreciate what was before me. Surprisingly, I did not take pictures of that moment but the view is forever etched into my memory of the green trees among the dry hills with humble farmhouses dotting the landscape. Continuing on my way, those hills began to grow taller and taller. With anticipation building and my heart racing not only from the uphill struggle, but the first glimpses of the monastery of Montserrat finally coming into my sight, one of my biggest Spanish dreams was becoming a reality with each revolution of my pedals!</div>
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t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com0Cap de Bou, 17820, Girona, Spain42.1276603 2.755748499999981516.605625800000002 -38.552845500000018 67.6496948 44.064342499999981tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-45107432365926297362017-03-12T13:39:00.001-04:002017-03-12T13:39:15.359-04:00City of Victory - Segovia, Spain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT_B6y3IiRGztaa1aNkQfnEwITiyOPtVTZxWfwQCVG7M8D8L341lX225O-DjFg_9SzzYZhzCO1j3QhF_43ksTorkmxEi0VrEOCF1lRI3hW5ezUbhQvIgAT3h-Ps-UENHEXQrw_mtV-b9PY/s1600/IMG_4491.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT_B6y3IiRGztaa1aNkQfnEwITiyOPtVTZxWfwQCVG7M8D8L341lX225O-DjFg_9SzzYZhzCO1j3QhF_43ksTorkmxEi0VrEOCF1lRI3hW5ezUbhQvIgAT3h-Ps-UENHEXQrw_mtV-b9PY/s320/IMG_4491.jpg" width="320" /></a>Segovia. One city that I had dreamed of getting lost within but did not have penciled into my travel plans for #WorldTour2015. But, at the recommendation of my Madrid host, Pierre, I took one day from exploring the capital city and hopped on a bus for a two hour ride to one of the most fascinating cities I have ever explored. Stepping off the bus into the hot, dry inland air under the bright Spanish sun and beginning my trek with no certain destination in mind I set out with my camera ready to go. Willingly being lost, the thought crossed my mind of who else found this place. Even before coming to the city, I was well aware of the impact Rome left within the city. My friendly reminder of their contributions was the massive aqueduct stretching across the city but also the avenue that I took to begin my adventure - <i>Avenida Acueducto. </i></div>
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Once I overcame the awe factor of the aqueduct, I noticed the tourism office in the shadows of the high arches and decided getting a map might be a wise decision. Enjoying the air conditioning, I began to read the informative posters and history of Segovia. Here is where I learned where the seed that laid root in this valley came from and I was more than surprised! Seeing the term <i>celtíberos </i>peaked my interest all the while changing my understanding of her history. These streets are the same paths that people from what is today Austria settled thousands of years earlier, paved by the Romans, expanded by Moors from Africa, and now visitors from every corner of the world to include a small-town boy from Montana. The origins of the name of Segovia are Celtic which at first seems out of place for central Spain. The reasoning behind why the <i>celtíberos </i>gave their home this name has many tales but the name has undergone transformation after transformation as new victor's flags have flown over the rolling hills that make the city. The first given by the Celts comes from <i>segobriga </i>directly translating as the 'city of victory'. Today, <i>sego </i>can easily be seen with the German word for victory - Sieg (pronounced ZEEG) and <i>briga </i>is a bit more of a stretch with the modern 'burg', but use a dash of imagination or just a few thousand years of "changing hands" of control of this magnificent city. From <i>Segobriga </i>to today's Segovia can be described by the phrase "the more things change the more they stay the same."</div>
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Now, that whole thought did not just happen in the tourism office. That idea was on simmer on the back burner in my mind as I wound up the bell tower of the crowning cathedral of the city or the grand halls of the magnificent fortress commonly known as Alcázar (for more about the influence of Arabic in Spain, check out my posts from <a href="http://www.wherestrevor.com/2017/01/nasrid-masterpiece-granada-spain.html">Granada</a>) The thoughts raced through my head. Knowing how large our world is, I felt the smooth stones that rose above making the arches the Romans constructed to build an aqueduct system that went unmatched for centuries to follow. As I strolled through the gardens of the Alcazar with olives planted by Muslim hands in a predominately Catholic Christian country today. Taking in the peaks of the Guadarrama (from the Arabic wadi ar-rama meaning 'valley of sand') and thinking how different these mountains are from the Alps that the Celts left behind. Yet, all of that culture has merged in this one spot and grown into a mystical but magical place on Earth. With out a single doubt, as I look back on the day spent in Segovia I smile with nostalgia despite how hot and sweaty I got by the end of the rushed day of exploring. </div>
t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com0Segovia, Spain40.9429032 -4.108806899999990540.8949252 -4.1894878999999907 40.990881200000004 -4.02812589999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-48521287170405555512017-02-05T02:24:00.000-05:002017-02-05T02:24:14.873-05:00Midnight in Madrid - Madrid, Spain<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDQt0JlG3XspKPyY2bt4s-qhw6rf5t5sFftAGhqFEn3U2ESgFiYB5bkQldE-y2xW5DRALnGkvr7XNSr7KsXP_c0y_64Oe1XxMMoS1S6tKUkxjyyJvrMT9TYW5UmW1daonW6M4-f-ws_-oi/s1600/IMG_3964.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDQt0JlG3XspKPyY2bt4s-qhw6rf5t5sFftAGhqFEn3U2ESgFiYB5bkQldE-y2xW5DRALnGkvr7XNSr7KsXP_c0y_64Oe1XxMMoS1S6tKUkxjyyJvrMT9TYW5UmW1daonW6M4-f-ws_-oi/s320/IMG_3964.JPG" width="213" /></a>In my planning of #WorldTour2015, I had penciled out that I would hop on a train in Granada and comfortably cross inland Iberia bypassing the scorching summer sun. Looking back on that last sentence, the keyword is penciled. When I looked at train tickets months prior to arriving in Spain, the trains were active and running without an issue. However, a few weeks before my arrival in Granada, Renfe embarked on replacing most of the rails surrounding Granada. A memo that I missed largely. So, as I casually left my temporary but lofty perch in the Albaicin for the main station at the bottom of the "hill", I was in for a surprise. I started to gain suspicion as the entry to the station was quite vacant and the heavy presence of construction cones. Cautiously, I entered the station being I had already purchased my train tickets in advance to the service counter to find out what my travel fate. After bantering back and forth in between Spanish and English about getting my refund and then what to do being the train was not in operation. His blunt response was to take the bus and then leave his booth. Feeling a bit on the helpless side and rapidly showing the distress on my face, the older gentleman in the office at one of the back desks shuffled over to where I was standing with my bag at my side. He softly asked if I was in need of help to which I gratefully responded to with a yes. He pulled out a half sheet of paper and began to draw a quick map for me to get to the bus terminal. Graciously taking his advice, I grabbed my belongings and threw them on my bike trailer and began pedaling as if to qualify for the Tour de France toward the terminal. Arriving with ease due to my hand-drawn map, I fought the queue with a few minutes to spare! So I thought. Once I made it down to the bus stall to go to Jaén, the driver informed me I needed to get a ticket for my bicycle too! So, I ran through the station to the ticket counter to get a €4 ticket for my AWOL to go along with me. Luckily, that driver held the departure by two minutes which I felt terrible about! Then the bus was set for Jaén where I could catch a train to the capital city. In all of this time, I did not have wifi to tell my host, Pierre, that I was going to be a few hours later than I had anticipated. Luckily, he was very understanding of my predicament! <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdjN5N4-aECwGRgmwoA4dFScXxX-kXnvCjZgT1OqNqHZ_U26P5TVoVdrmC0afvCchbQyP1syQRMJU4cJzqkxV5TjDHjQXvhnGA6tJaQrpqlloarWcZKTGTeQpr00v8Sa5HT8ZCFLAY2zgC/s1600/IMG_4540.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdjN5N4-aECwGRgmwoA4dFScXxX-kXnvCjZgT1OqNqHZ_U26P5TVoVdrmC0afvCchbQyP1syQRMJU4cJzqkxV5TjDHjQXvhnGA6tJaQrpqlloarWcZKTGTeQpr00v8Sa5HT8ZCFLAY2zgC/s320/IMG_4540.JPG" width="320" /></a>After a few hours of traversing the northern reaches of Andalusia, I began the northward journey to the heart of Spain. Once I landed myself in the massive train station of Atocha, I hurriedly set off to Pierre's place. What the map showed me was a simple "go down this street, make a left here, go until this plaza and down this street". First off, the "go down this street" was actually uphill and during horrible traffic. "This plaza" was more like three plazas somewhat interconnected but I finally found the narrow passage that would lead me to the right door! After all of that, a shower was much welcomed! Following some rest, the adventure continued as Pierre and I took a super-tourist tour around the central part of the city, learning "facts" that him and I equally questioned as the group meandered throughout the majestic metropolis. After having the best steak during my Spanish stay, we set off for a night on the town! For Madrid being the third largest city within Europe, we vitrually walked through the entire city - well, the central and main part. Furthermore, we avoided doing too many illegal things surprisingly. There was a moment where we almost hopped over the fence to explore Parque de El Retiro and we sort of crossed traffic where we should not have to get a better shot of the Fuente de Cibeles fountain. Needless to say, Pierre made my Madrid experience an unforgettable one and I look forward to my return trip to check off the remainder of must-see's!</div>
t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com0Madrid, Spain40.4167754 -3.703790199999957640.0300434 -4.3492371999999575 40.8035074 -3.0583431999999577tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-87351332151229270732017-01-28T15:21:00.000-05:002017-01-28T15:21:39.330-05:00Nasrid Masterpiece - Granada, Spain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6t4hvZTU68iPRm4Whu7yYAOSgn7W_uT4HuK3xfRcdSMP8HbbTdtcikFdw8Y9sNS1i-hrTaCXRalf01ojOymuNyVvk8vw30o0z9fptYqAzDS9UbLXijaG76k8xUsMbHuiUhCNFgRK0G5N_/s1600/IMG_3810.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6t4hvZTU68iPRm4Whu7yYAOSgn7W_uT4HuK3xfRcdSMP8HbbTdtcikFdw8Y9sNS1i-hrTaCXRalf01ojOymuNyVvk8vw30o0z9fptYqAzDS9UbLXijaG76k8xUsMbHuiUhCNFgRK0G5N_/s320/IMG_3810.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a>Earlier in my years of studying the Spanish language, I encountered the name "Alhambra". After learning the fundamentals such as <i>hola </i>and <i>huevos </i>(because huevos rancheros are a wonderful blessing to any breakfast table) I omitted the 'h' from the word. My teacher, Señora Porter, stopped me and subtly tipped her head side to side and told me that I needed to say the 'h' in this one. I am curious by nature, but tell me something is different and that curiosity spikes to a whole new level. I feel old saying this, but the internet was still a fairly new thing, therefore I cracked open a few books to learn more about this anomaly of that day's lesson. One of the first pictures I saw inspired me to take the image to the right and also started a whole new question for me. Why is there Arabic written on the walls of a building in Spain? That explanation is a five pound book in itself but I will give you short and sweet of the history and how this palace helped my love for architecture, linguistics, and of course, travel. </div>
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Today, Alhambra stands upon a lofty hill in Granada which is a major city in Andalusia. Now, let us take those three words of Alhambra, Granada, Andalusia. In our world now, they are familiar within the Spanish language. They, however have been tossed around, bruised and beaten by the linguistic blender. "Alhambra" is derived from the Arabic الحمراء and transliterates to al-Hamra' (I put the capital 'h' there being it is what students of Arabic would call the big h with a good push of air in the intonation). That name comes from "حمر" and those three characters combined have a long list of translations into English but we are going to focus on the contextually correct one for this palace which is <i>red</i>. Although, you may ask why is there a 'b' in Alhambra. Remember that blender I mentioned? As the Arabic language traveled across northern Africa with Islam, the language was adopted but with a handful of eccentricities of the native Berber, Coptic, Egyptian, and other groups of northern Africa up to the Strait of Gibraltar (also a derivation of Arabic!) That 'b' is just something we have to exception as "linguistic bastardization". Moving onto Granada. A prime example of eternal etymological disagreement. The Romans of Iberia cultivated pomegranates in the area and one could say that Granada grew out from the Latin <i>granatum</i>, the word pomegranate. Turning to the other side of the argument is from the Moorish standpoint. Granada in Arabic is written as غرناطة. One issue with dialects of Arabic is how each views the alphabet. The letters of غ and ق are seemingly used interchangeably within the African takes on Arabic. Taking that into consideration with borrowing of a Berber word, we can form قرناطة. Throw that in front of a Moroccan today and they will say it as "Granata". </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2tLQSzFShvYIHAmK3-RN6Cczoc1OqDfIy0S5Ke3D87zR3uOfDJbRBXPbrIMWwC5i04ethyphenhyphen-2X1FLX5s75Jp58kOQTxCo24UZIJaPU69Iwm4JeNipqfbuKqWv3GqGV3fjBFKVf9c9djWjJ/s1600/IMG_3579.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2tLQSzFShvYIHAmK3-RN6Cczoc1OqDfIy0S5Ke3D87zR3uOfDJbRBXPbrIMWwC5i04ethyphenhyphen-2X1FLX5s75Jp58kOQTxCo24UZIJaPU69Iwm4JeNipqfbuKqWv3GqGV3fjBFKVf9c9djWjJ/s320/IMG_3579.JPG" width="320" /></a>Moving this along, that roughly translates to 'hill of strangers' in Moorish Arabic which is understandable being the population of the area at the time of the Moors' arrival would have been strange indeed. Last but not least is Andalusia. Keeping this explanation as short as I can, when the Moors arrived to Iberia the remnants of the Gothic peoples from <i>Germania </i>were lingering in what is Spain today. Those people were of the Vandal tribe. This is where this gets fun linguistically! Vandal is believed to come from <i>wandeln </i>(w's sound like v's in German) which is an archaic way of saying 'wanderers'. Bring that over to the Latin world, we got Vandal. Now, there are two sounds that Arabic speakers have a hard time grasping are the letters 'p' and 'v'. Instead of struggling with that, the incoming Moors just threw away the 'v' and tacked on their definite article "ال" meaning "the" and gave us الاندلس or al-Andalus. All that said, the history of Alhambra has been clearly marked by cross-cultures being fused together in one of the world's most beautiful pieces of human creation. </div>
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Now, that we all know a brief history behind how Alhambra came to be, I would like to share my excitement from my visit to this incredible monument of art, culture, and architecture. I began my biking adventure on the western side of Andalusia I pedaled with anticipation for twenty days of this visit. What kind of anticipation? Let us just say I had a picture of this very palace in my childhood bedroom for years alongside Neuschwanstein and the Acropolis of Athens. When I had my tangible tickets in my hand early in the morning, the wait until my 1330 time slot for my entry into the palaces had my nerves on end. Side note, if you are planning a visit here, buy your tickets in advance! I ordered my tickets a few days in advance and even then the availability was slim! Although, for me the afternoon was perfect for photography and lunch - because food is <i>muy importante.</i> </div>
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These rooms and gardens of the <i>Nasir </i>sons were crafted over more than two centuries. They have survived wars ranging from the Reconquista of Isabel in 1492 to the last civil war of Spain in the 20th century. That in mind, the beauty of the plaster craftsmanship is all the more impressive! As I stood under one of the vaulted ceilings looking up into the geometric maze of shapes and textures the thought of the artisans did all of this work by hand and without computer based design! </div>
t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com0Alhambra, Calle Real de la Alhambra, s/n, 18009 Granada, Spain37.1760783 -3.588141299999961111.6540438 -44.89673529999996 62.698112800000004 37.720452700000038tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-92035283895775696512017-01-05T15:17:00.000-05:002017-01-05T15:23:54.221-05:00Alhambra Ardor - Granada, Spain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As I was hashing out the route for my 2015 World Tour, I tried to steer away from the traditional tourist attractions in my travels. But how could I leave off Alhambra the list?! As a lover of history, architecture, art, and I will even include the Arabic language to the list although to say 'love' in the same sentence as it makes me cringe slightly. I am glad I made that sacrifice!<br />
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I knew I was going to dedicate a few days to the city so I made my accommodation plans more in advance than usual. I scouted out the options on AirBNB and CouchSurfing for a place close to it all and friendly to the budget. My golden ticket stay was with Alessandro in his awesome apartment in the Albaicín area which was founded more than 1,000 years ago. But with all those awesome features there has to be balance somewhere, right? As I was chatting before my arrival with Alessandro I mentioned that I was travelling by bicycle and had a small cart in tow. That is where he warned me. The Albaicín is an wonderful place... unless you have a bicycle. He sent me a message of the "easiest" route to make to his apartment and that route had a measly 72 steps where steps were warranted and precipitous 'streets' up to the quiet <i>placeta </i>on top a knoll in this historic quarter. Sadly, I did not get to meet Alessandro in person being he was called out of the city for work, but Diego, one of his best friends was around to let me in and then gave me a world class tour of the neighborhood! After I got settled in and showered after the bike ride from Loja, I got the tour of the apartment from the main floor to the top where I had the most spectacular view of Granada! The image above testifies to that! Which also makes for a great way to enjoy a bottle of <i>vino garandino </i>as the sun sets. I ought to know being that is how I ended each of my days during my three day stay! Day Two I had set aside strictly for touring the Alhambra and her grounds, which I highly recommend spending the entire day being there is almost too much to take in at once! (Plus, get tickets in advance and for the morning time if at all possible!)<br />
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Throughout my day of explorations, I was in awe of the span of architectural styles that are present atop the Sabika Hill ranging from early Peninsular Islamic to Classical Roman with touches of Castilian Baroque and Isabelline Gothic. Filling the voids between each of these elements are gardens of plants from the reaches of Iberia, Africa, and the Orient all surrounded by fountains of spring fresh water. Looking back at that day, I am able to say I saw so much of the world all in one place with centuries of history quite literally written on the walls of this magnificent complex of stucco and the red clay that gives Alhambra her name. </div>
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<br />t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com0Alhambra, Calle Real de la Alhambra, s/n, 18009 Granada, Spain37.1760783 -3.588141299999961111.6540438 -44.89673529999996 62.698112800000004 37.720452700000038tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-22966443121997332232017-01-02T02:40:00.000-05:002017-01-02T02:40:30.606-05:00El Órgano Granadino - Granada, Spain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga8avTWeNltMnZAycbbfwwPyrwr9XX51oZWyXTqPw9cP1RPxvLERvGxDA0VDXJXzkr-NqqruPa0W5K-M5Z1X-NiAncM9HGA4nskPbEPDAsanGsitl4Pv81PVsxMCf4fwT7ZOXiKqikfhxN/s1600/IMG_3080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga8avTWeNltMnZAycbbfwwPyrwr9XX51oZWyXTqPw9cP1RPxvLERvGxDA0VDXJXzkr-NqqruPa0W5K-M5Z1X-NiAncM9HGA4nskPbEPDAsanGsitl4Pv81PVsxMCf4fwT7ZOXiKqikfhxN/s320/IMG_3080.JPG" width="320" /></a><i>Santa Iglesia Catedral Metropolitana de la Encarnación de Granada </i>is not like any of the other Spanish cathedrals and not just because of its long name either! The beginnings of this cathedral rose up out of the fall of the Nasrid Dynasty, the last of the Moorish rulers in Spain, and from a mosque that once stood in the cathedral's place. The dozens of trumpets of the two organ bodies still herald the victory of the <i>reconquista </i>resulting in a reunification of the Spanish kingdoms under Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand. Not only is the cathedral a dedication to this victory, but the Royal Chapel, one of the first and defining pieces of Isabelline Gothic architecture, is the final resting place for the royal monarchs. After passing through the three high arches dominating the plaza before the cathedral, all are welcomed by the 181 years of architectural fashions spanning from Castilian Gothic to Spanish Renaissance with Baroque influences. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG78Lf689XHHlpDed81bKxo8tNQZTJGENn6hP2Y9jvg7chzrKTZdhvyyKZWy7H2KPyatRnlfNj3b_8RBZvbaKAtH76I1wjlZ5eNzcHRCpUs54RrlWMyEKeNLCd4ulfa9YPgMs1kGw991hc/s1600/IMG_3008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG78Lf689XHHlpDed81bKxo8tNQZTJGENn6hP2Y9jvg7chzrKTZdhvyyKZWy7H2KPyatRnlfNj3b_8RBZvbaKAtH76I1wjlZ5eNzcHRCpUs54RrlWMyEKeNLCd4ulfa9YPgMs1kGw991hc/s320/IMG_3008.JPG" width="320" /></a>Resting high up in the lofty, argent naves are two Iberian twins. Commanding from the heights of the central nave are two "fraternal twins" have been given the names by the naves in which the sing into. The first of these to be finished was the romantic style <i>evangelio </i>or Gospel bears more romantic features in comparison to the <i>epístola </i>or Epistle of baroque character. The Gospel was built over a twenty year period until the pipes finally sang in 1764. While the Gospel took two decades until completion, the Epistle was built and installed in three years starting in 1764 and giving definition to dozens of Spanish organs from Almeria to Sevilla for the years to come. The organs are the masterwork of Leonardo Avila who is one of Spain's most highly regarded organ builders and the creator of the instruments that have come to define the following centuries' pipe organs across the Iberian peninsula. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVD9obbH39cNXbXZybS56HXpSXLObOCrhyphenhyphenjYGrRFqo2apyeTdGd-0CiKpqfxNOLBUCAHT3aQmlmj0f344-Vmu-XXvlOKU98CslZDdWwGS__1xc8iumt1G0s_XDYtHF7oclcuY_LwKkCvuv/s1600/IMG_3069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVD9obbH39cNXbXZybS56HXpSXLObOCrhyphenhyphenjYGrRFqo2apyeTdGd-0CiKpqfxNOLBUCAHT3aQmlmj0f344-Vmu-XXvlOKU98CslZDdWwGS__1xc8iumt1G0s_XDYtHF7oclcuY_LwKkCvuv/s320/IMG_3069.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmzjUKwQmNWXSXTOdS3kPyiFzjR-nzNNzJOcwXr5NHpYBu5UxAcxuJTmrNmoyC_SjkgSvoZUmmyzx4naeHrJJh-3pMRr26P2VIPceXHZ3EABkjs4mp6Z_ZuDNJU6Szun-adyYLXYyfIcd/s1600/IMG_3075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmzjUKwQmNWXSXTOdS3kPyiFzjR-nzNNzJOcwXr5NHpYBu5UxAcxuJTmrNmoyC_SjkgSvoZUmmyzx4naeHrJJh-3pMRr26P2VIPceXHZ3EABkjs4mp6Z_ZuDNJU6Szun-adyYLXYyfIcd/s320/IMG_3075.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUKYYfS3o6FfTorBvnb2GNeWCOB3cWBuCkVlt5RKSgvz0B16prpDKCjUtIK9dpuJSXvmoWpjTm_gW3vrjQ8xHN9pnuYzoZ8llsa_djZ89D_z3-MELHXVls8p1vB_Fy694q-8oEH79Qj6uk/s1600/IMG_3085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUKYYfS3o6FfTorBvnb2GNeWCOB3cWBuCkVlt5RKSgvz0B16prpDKCjUtIK9dpuJSXvmoWpjTm_gW3vrjQ8xHN9pnuYzoZ8llsa_djZ89D_z3-MELHXVls8p1vB_Fy694q-8oEH79Qj6uk/s320/IMG_3085.JPG" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhzyfKMWQbHiKgORWDNNpF_pEgcekxak4r-OJ9o-UqlwsOulhvdSDr17J9IHSSrzBS9vY6AtCWa6i3smj4Z7Lnr_2hNbW8Vjh-VfNfYU8U5PONfm4MFwEwUmEjxwkmtZglZS94oBGYZy6j/s1600/IMG_2978.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhzyfKMWQbHiKgORWDNNpF_pEgcekxak4r-OJ9o-UqlwsOulhvdSDr17J9IHSSrzBS9vY6AtCWa6i3smj4Z7Lnr_2hNbW8Vjh-VfNfYU8U5PONfm4MFwEwUmEjxwkmtZglZS94oBGYZy6j/s320/IMG_2978.JPG" width="213" /></a>As I spent the afternoon walking from one chapel to the next, I always found myself being pulled back into sight of these kingly instruments! The craftsmanship in the casework rivaled the paintings adorning the side chapels. The pipes were like any other that I had ever witnessed. There were numerous times that I hoped to find a little sign saying "Want to play them? Ask!" but I had no such luck! The shear beauty of these two had me captivated. I do not think I could have brought myself to leave Granada if I were afforded the opportunity to sit at the manuals and have the pipes sing in the immense halls. But there may come a day when the dream of playing on Europe's great organs may come true! Until then, I have appreciated this monumental piece of art, engineering, and cultural from below in one of Spain's grandest cathedrals and look forward to my return one day again.</div>
t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com0Catedral de Granada, 18001 Granada, Spain37.1761737 -3.599305299999969137.1698477 -3.6093902999999692 37.1824997 -3.5892202999999689tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-63076402110277964862016-12-22T10:37:00.000-05:002016-12-22T10:37:16.655-05:00Into the Heart of Andalusia - Antequera, Spain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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After returning to the city of Malaga from my quick train trip over to the beautiful city of Ronda, I was back at my adventures by bicycle! But with a few surprises upon my return naturally. I had left my bicycle in the care of my incredible host family while I was away for a few days and little did I know that there was a tiny pin-hole leak in one of the tires for my bike cart. Following that quick fix, I set out to explore the last few spots in the city I wanted to check off before leaving. That night, I camped out on the beach because I knew this would be the last time for awhile for some coastal exposure! Waking up with the cool air of the sea breeze, I was charged to take on the road to Antequera... or so I thought. I had chosen the route along A-7075 for I was hoping to spend a few hours in the mysterious El Torcal de Antequera which is a fascinating sight to behold even from the road! El Torcal is a natural landform made up of crazy rock formations with an equally unique set of fauna living in the area. Knowing that the natural reserve was located at the divide of the Sierra del Torcal mountain range, I knew there was going to be an uphill factor. Come to find out, there was quite a bit of uphill factor along with not a cloud in the sky making for a toasty ride. Slowly and steadily, I crossed an incredible landscape of fanciful imagination. As midday passed by me, I decided to take a break in the lovely little village of Villanueva de la Concepción. I am quite positive that they are not frequented by travelers, especially American ones, as I was watched with admiration and curiosity as I ventured about the cobbled streets looking for a market. Once I found a small <i>vendería, </i>I bought a few fruits and makings for a Spanish styled sandwich that the owner gladly helped me with as I believe he felt greatly honored to have me step into his little store. I let him pick out the apples and oranges for me. Needless to say, I went back and stocked up because they were delicious! </div>
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After refueling my body, I set back onto the climb to the ridge which seemed to grow significantly taller while I was taking my break. Winding my way up the serpentine road, I had to pause my progress a few times while local farmers were moving their herds of sheep across the road. A few gave me a quick wave of their hand gesturing I could go through the flock, but I didn't want to pass up the photo opportunities! After what felt like the 700th switchback, the road finally leveled out for there was the rock wall that is El Torcal. The shade from the Spanish sun was much welcomed and the view over the golden hills of grain below made the struggle worth the ride! Even more welcomed was rounding a wide corner to see the sun reaching into the west over the valley of Antequera. But, the best part of that was everything was downhill! Making a mad dash to the bottom with extreme ease, I was in awe of the city. Truly a well kept secret from outsiders, this city is overflowing with beauty, history, wonderful people and my favorite - great food! Set between other major cities of Andalusia, Antequera is truly the heart of life in southern Spain and has been since Roman times due to the areas production of olive oil. Despite only having about one day to spend in the city, it will forever be in my heart as one of my most memorable stops in all of Andalusia and warrants a return trip - sooner the better!</div>
t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com129200 Antequera, Málaga, Spain37.020001 -4.559367599999973236.9692925 -4.6400485999999734 37.0707095 -4.478686599999973tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-38128271946117564322016-02-08T03:33:00.000-05:002016-02-08T03:33:08.058-05:00Riding the Rail - Ronda, Spain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9o1vtfPDzLC1JxKyn9h8HfF4fb_43RCnTDBgTwES6nzc0oPZwZKlMUil3XhXIUX1u4wH7r8ysTFhxLTF87Yc7D1EgjNeBD_tu_EyaFrE95EkypBDvfJN2uaBXDyg4ImZbos6ebnYS-mjV/s1600/Screenshot+2016-02-06+15.44.10.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9o1vtfPDzLC1JxKyn9h8HfF4fb_43RCnTDBgTwES6nzc0oPZwZKlMUil3XhXIUX1u4wH7r8ysTFhxLTF87Yc7D1EgjNeBD_tu_EyaFrE95EkypBDvfJN2uaBXDyg4ImZbos6ebnYS-mjV/s320/Screenshot+2016-02-06+15.44.10.png" width="320" /></a>Before beginning my #WorldTour2015 trip, I had been training on my bicycle to prepare for cycling across Europe with the assistance of the rail system on occasion. Following nine days committed to pedaling my way across the Province of Cadiz and along the Costa del Sol, I thought a train ride was well-deserved break. Leaving behind my AWOL and bicycle gear I had my pack with some essentials for the next four days of adventures. Starting my day with a high-paced walk to Maria Zambrano Station to catch the early morning train into the heart of the Province of Malaga, I was more than excited to be on my way to Ronda. Navigating my way through the station being guided by the <i>billetes </i>signs, I passed through the glass doors to purchase my ticket. I had exaggerated the wait expectation for the queue at the booking office - significantly. I had imagined I would have to be waiting in a long line and be cutting it close to catch my desired train. I entered into a nearly vacant room with numerous clerks eyeing me to see which one of them I would choose to assist me with my boarding pass. Going with the most direct option from the door, I approached the middle-aged brunette lady with a cheerful smile about her face. After saying a shaky <i>buenas dias </i>and my request to take the next train bound for Ronda, I was less than a minute away from waiting for 40 minutes for departure. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3e-bLBmyDEf7YDTp3ynTRtrDrJ0aPCDEbfe8BhGh2z9Cv0FD8ELUY8rLX40FWp217r4LkLKk0OClHFszbu2vgRDzDNrUU8-ibZc5K4kVQ-8CTonHpkLmDMtDtKGq9NpwOadfnbfdrQ_p_/s1600/IMG_2157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3e-bLBmyDEf7YDTp3ynTRtrDrJ0aPCDEbfe8BhGh2z9Cv0FD8ELUY8rLX40FWp217r4LkLKk0OClHFszbu2vgRDzDNrUU8-ibZc5K4kVQ-8CTonHpkLmDMtDtKGq9NpwOadfnbfdrQ_p_/s320/IMG_2157.JPG" width="320" /></a>With time to spare, why not catch a cup of coffee and some fresh mango?! Satisfying my stomach, I headed back to the platform to see if I could claim my seat just yet, however boarding was not going to start for a few minutes. In the mean time, a few of the youngsters kept me entertained as they chased each other about the station and having the occasional parent try to run them down. As the children started to tire themselves out, one of the attendants came out of the train and called for boarding to begin. I am not to sure why I was nervous being I had traveled by trains in Europe before but nonetheless my brain over-thought the situation and got my heart rate spiked. Soon enough those nerves were calmed by the passing Andalucian countryside. My view darkened without a warning as the rolling hills were shadowed by the Gorge of the Gaitanes closed in around the rails. Those shadows soon became pitch black tunnels passing under the mountains and whenever we broke out into daylight, I could set my eyes on the <i>Caminto del Rey. </i>Once considered the most dangerous trail in the world until recent renovations, that is set at the top of my return trip to Spain! Then again, the train was passing through rolling golden hills with perfect ranks of olive trees scattered across the them unlike the white clouds crossing the sky in their chaotic order above, but all taking my breath away.</div>
<br />t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com029400 Ronda, Málaga, Spain36.746209 -5.161225100000024236.6953115 -5.2419061000000244 36.7971065 -5.080544100000024tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-31645065920295207072016-02-02T23:54:00.000-05:002016-02-03T00:01:18.604-05:00Feria de Agosto - Málaga, Spain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMbDeyXbMKFQTxBeEl-NQsR5Zp42sz7PMmKjyxvh4B6cPsIp5rVnDu7EnpasJ8wA8dE5VA8XICfOy3E3ac7U2xeKmm4JIu1UMK83FgMyqUovGiTjrJWRq26ZWt4weRBjSMEjYss6jglkgL/s1600/IMG_2680.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMbDeyXbMKFQTxBeEl-NQsR5Zp42sz7PMmKjyxvh4B6cPsIp5rVnDu7EnpasJ8wA8dE5VA8XICfOy3E3ac7U2xeKmm4JIu1UMK83FgMyqUovGiTjrJWRq26ZWt4weRBjSMEjYss6jglkgL/s320/IMG_2680.JPG" width="320" /></a>There were three occasions during the 145 days of #WorldTour2015 where I had to be somewhere at a certain time. I made sure I was well rested in Munich a day before so I could see the opening ceremonies of Oktoberfest as well as being in Kathmandu, Nepal, before the second day of November to kick of my Himalaya trek! The first date though was the 14th day of August and the destination was Málaga! The reason behind my dream of visiting Malaga began many years before in my adolescent years of learning the Spanish language. Going back to the eighth year of my schooling en la clase de Señora Porter, I presented my report about my city of choice: Málaga! At that point and time, I think I chose that city due to the shear fact of saying the city name over and over again during my presentation and making the stressed <i>á </i>stronger each time. Through my research years ago, I said to myself, "Someday you will see that yourself". Aging that dream for more than a decade I found myself among thousands of brightly dressed patrons, guitar strings singing in a rapid unison, and the snapping, tapping, and clapping of spinning verdiales dancers of all ages!</div>
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Packing up my tent and gear in the cool morning air in Calahonda, I was eager to get on the road to Malaga! The ride along the Costa del Sol that day took me aside centuries old Moorish castles, stately mosques and even a Buddhist stupa! Distractions and all, I made some of the most impressive cycling time to my home away from home for a few days in a flat with a real bed and less than a three minutes' walk to the beach also known as incentive! As I settled into my flat and made a quick trip to the neighborhood <i>supermercado </i>for groceries for the next four days, I took some rest on the beach during the cooler part of the day. During the long three minute trek to the beach, I passed by a pharmacy sign that flashed 33° at me! For my readers that are accustomed to the Celsius scale understand that is a wonderful temperature for going to the beach and playing in the water! For my American patrons, that is right around 90 degrees Fahrenheit and add a cloud free sky to the mix makes for a great time to head to the beaches of the Mediterranean! As the sun began to set over the mountains behind me, I stood up and brushed the sand off my then bronzed skin, I made my epic voyage back to the flat for a shower and get ready to partake in the first night of 524th celebration of Feria de Málaga. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiQzqbfmEugf36FBOrFZJK3cKCPKYJGefHKpGaNhyphenhyphenMfqtv5PGTZRgriUMtAW83rFKyspNR_yvELzSu0Py6ET3qbFOtaT_5LjlJ982X_G99Hj1Ebp6T-0jom4kp8E9HAVIL0SH6VY90QhcM/s1600/IMG_2659.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiQzqbfmEugf36FBOrFZJK3cKCPKYJGefHKpGaNhyphenhyphenMfqtv5PGTZRgriUMtAW83rFKyspNR_yvELzSu0Py6ET3qbFOtaT_5LjlJ982X_G99Hj1Ebp6T-0jom4kp8E9HAVIL0SH6VY90QhcM/s320/IMG_2659.JPG" width="320" /></a>Wandering my way along the seaside walkway, I came to a quick realization that Malaga's cuisine reputation was not exaggerated. Dozens of seaside "kitchens" made choosing a challenge between one from another, so I tried a few! One common characteristic among these eateries was the large open wood-fire grills but each varied in their grilled specialty. My first stop was to this one grill that served up a mean filet of fish that I presumably believe arrived to the port on one of the fishing boats I gazed at from the beach a few hours earlier. Nonetheless, the perfected balance of spices and wood smoke made for a tasty first course! My next stop a few meters down was a larger establishment with a larger selection of meats which is good and bad all at the same time. Looking about this endless grill with most likely a lost, indecisive look on my face, one of the grill masters offered his assistance. In the best attempt of Spanish, I told him I had just arrived to Malaga that day and would like to try a local favorite. Despite dining on fish not 15 minutes earlier, he insisted I try a spit of sardines. When the sardines are roasted, the WHOLE sardine is roasted! Not being the biggest fan of having dinner look back at me, I gave them a try and let us just say these were consumed for the next four days. This grill sprinkled a precise amount of spices, some onion, and a magical marinade over the as the wood embers worked their magic and with a glass (or two) of Cruzcampo beer - delightfully delicious! That whole <i>chiringuito </i>experience was wonderful, but the platter of tapas that I had at a street cafe near the Plaza de la Merced. I will spare you the nitty gritty details of the tapas selection being my mouth is salivating uncontrollably just thinking about them as tell this travel tale! <i> </i></div>
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The heart of Málaga is filled with colorful paper lanterns strung over the cobbled streets lined with booths offering trinkets, tricks or treats for fair patrons of any age. Bigger than the fireworks bursting in the night sky over the harbor or the festive decorations adorning balconies of homes and windows of the shops was the spirit of the people. Every direction I looked there were young girls wearing stunning flamenco style dresses of all colors with brilliant flowers set in their hair. Watching virtuoso of the guitars and fiddles compete with friendly smiles and lively hands making music that filled the streets and encouraged dozens of dancers. But it was not only those celebrating the traditional aspects of the fair that welcomed me into this city's culture and rich history. One of the happiest moments I was able to capture on a sunny afternoon was that of an attendant of his small booth with small toys for children to celebrate in style. As I walked near, I noticed he had a handheld bubble machine fully loaded and shooting a stream of bubbles outward and upward into the crowded street. As he caught me in the act of snapping a shot, I got the most genuine smile in return followed by a few chuckles of laughter and that truly made my day! Over the days that I explored Málaga, the fulfillment of 'living Feria' surpassed any expectation I ever could have set for the city. Reflecting back on my stay I see that I left with the happiest of memories and I would say that is an excellent way to end a 'dream come true'.</div>
t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com0Málaga, Málaga, Spain36.721261 -4.421265500000004136.5176115 -4.7439890000000045 36.924910499999996 -4.0985420000000037tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2441218393584606612.post-4223173636408859902016-02-02T17:53:00.001-05:002016-02-02T17:53:32.631-05:00Parroquia de San Juan Bautista - Málaga, Spain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgChqvNKUuvrzkaMHLPo83L1X58X9Ekhz3-8Hn5x4hY-bdGSrwx4IXuJWIw6MPF7CdVCnsNLappEFW7SebJ2InSg1TY8W6kVKHW58WiI5SPV81BAh-j6mL201frcByzz_XfMb2sKH9MTu1g/s1600/IMG_1953.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgChqvNKUuvrzkaMHLPo83L1X58X9Ekhz3-8Hn5x4hY-bdGSrwx4IXuJWIw6MPF7CdVCnsNLappEFW7SebJ2InSg1TY8W6kVKHW58WiI5SPV81BAh-j6mL201frcByzz_XfMb2sKH9MTu1g/s320/IMG_1953.JPG" width="213" /></a>Taking on my first day of Feria de Agosto after arriving to Malaga, I strolled my way along the wide streets of the southern district of Carretera de Cadíz to the heart of the city. Heading north, I encountered the wide and shallow river Guadalmedina. The name was given to the river by the Moors as they settled on the Iberian Peninsula during the Middle Ages and the name derives from <i>wadi al-medina (</i>وادي المدينة) meaning 'valley of the city'. As an Arabic speaker, there were numerous "Huh. That's interesting!" moments as I ventured through Andalusia, which itself is etymologically Arabic as well, but Málaga was filled with them! Crossing the river meant the wide and unbending streets of Carretera de Cadíz rapidly changed to narrow, winding lanes of the Centro District. I was not in any rush to get to the festivities just yet so I ran the risk of "getting lost" on a few of the side streets. Those "streets" began to twist and turn every few meters and in parts I could casually stretch out my arms and run my hands along the sides of a few of them! I soon discovered this beautifully cobbled lane lined with small shops and brightly colored buildings that led me to one of my favorite discoveries during my near-week stay - la Parroquia de San Juan Bautista. The Parish of Saint John dates back to the Catholic Conquest of Malaga in 1487 as one of four parishes that quartered the city. What I saw as the bell tower came into full view was a vibrant mixture of Spanish Colonial and Mudéjar architecture standing before me. Following heavy damage from an earthquake 335 years ago, the parish was rebuilt largely with Moorish influence during the height of the Spanish Empire giving what remains today a tasteful blend of the two styles - on the exterior! Passing through the northern portal's large and heavy wooden door, I quickly became overwhelmed by beauty. I arrived just in time to hear the angelic voices of a choir made up of young school children as I sat in one of the back pews admiring the mesmerizing details of the nave. The complex pattern of golds, greys, and blacks captivated my attention against the pure white vaults of what I had expected to be a simple and austere parish as I approached the door.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSYyPSYCuloxayzGAFoIeK9kDrQE79HTK4Eb7354G55KgVoXiEcNcJEDUHKLKgnjirNyTlhF96uwpVDweoQFztf9I74CX5dFS6ApWu3TCW8nmuevOag3TD0gCIvhpN4RhmT1qGc3oup-el/s1600/IMG_1948.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSYyPSYCuloxayzGAFoIeK9kDrQE79HTK4Eb7354G55KgVoXiEcNcJEDUHKLKgnjirNyTlhF96uwpVDweoQFztf9I74CX5dFS6ApWu3TCW8nmuevOag3TD0gCIvhpN4RhmT1qGc3oup-el/s200/IMG_1948.JPG" width="137" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPgVFw37zbngAdwOeWi8TOd1MpvbY-IW8Tmlgj_OUVEONsC3SU9Gjp90XGZCTfuyYzT1hpj8-i7uSn_npUnqNGBequeYRhU6bIqGjZa-l4aJXvDpfXhbVeBLg1Cyc5kl0StcxPSOSr8VgI/s1600/IMG_1956.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPgVFw37zbngAdwOeWi8TOd1MpvbY-IW8Tmlgj_OUVEONsC3SU9Gjp90XGZCTfuyYzT1hpj8-i7uSn_npUnqNGBequeYRhU6bIqGjZa-l4aJXvDpfXhbVeBLg1Cyc5kl0StcxPSOSr8VgI/s200/IMG_1956.JPG" width="133" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTYHZfRgl7qT4aku2PK8OZwMwTel9s1ppomHkgrjq4-LwO7MpJUT2WW5qodZK5wqId8f8J7Qti34CnCrN0aKzAf5DFXV5W0WS4pj_o7618VBqwEYpi-3Iq1s9CCAFCCjoxiY4Xafw6a-8v/s1600/IMG_1947.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTYHZfRgl7qT4aku2PK8OZwMwTel9s1ppomHkgrjq4-LwO7MpJUT2WW5qodZK5wqId8f8J7Qti34CnCrN0aKzAf5DFXV5W0WS4pj_o7618VBqwEYpi-3Iq1s9CCAFCCjoxiY4Xafw6a-8v/s200/IMG_1947.JPG" width="133" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghg20_FgjZeTgtpnDYmP0UCW21FE5_spBkW3K8tfr9iajDllTyiEhk6fZkvKqFaDrm6pprbZhoSOm9Sw2sipJi0ZlSFnkU8EaxbRrYD2mE3hFlhgE1-RfnZjJEutCwans8366pG9cBTGwy/s1600/IMG_1964.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghg20_FgjZeTgtpnDYmP0UCW21FE5_spBkW3K8tfr9iajDllTyiEhk6fZkvKqFaDrm6pprbZhoSOm9Sw2sipJi0ZlSFnkU8EaxbRrYD2mE3hFlhgE1-RfnZjJEutCwans8366pG9cBTGwy/s320/IMG_1964.JPG" width="213" /></a>As the children of the choir finished and were presumably released from all academic restraints for the day judging by the quick change from their everyday clothes into their festival attire and the elderly ladies ended their midday prayers, I soon had the parish nearly to myself. Still in awe of this historical cornerstone to Catholic Malaga, I only fell deeper into the beauty as each step was taken to the altar. In comparison to the famed cathedral of the city for its size and grandeur, I feel that this parish is a more spellbinding experience. Firstly, half the adventure is getting there! Following the white marble trellis pattern pathways leading up to the parish and the small plaza flanking to the southeast is soothing for the traveler's soul just as much as the elegant interior of the parish is to admire. Even if seeing religious sites is not a common activity during your travels, I would recommend making this small side trek if you ever find yourself in Malaga. One, the parish is a must-see and secondly, there is an incredible cafe tucked away in the petite plaza that goes above and beyond when it comes to making a savory <i>café cortado</i>. Although, I tried to ask what the secret behind their mystical powers in making this perfected blend between espresso and "milk", all I would get was a full smile from the olive-skinned barista. My best guess was that milk was one shade away from being butter being it was so creamy and delicious because if there was one thing I saw while living in the American South was that butter makes everything better! </div>
t_morkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744303667116622361noreply@blogger.com0Calle San Juan, 3, 29005 Málaga, Málaga, Spain36.7206275 -4.423637099999950822.8579875 -25.07793409999995 50.5832675 16.230659900000049