All Aboard-oba for Córdoba

I will readily admit that the title of this blog post is the worst pun I have ever created. But don't lie, you chuckled.

So, on weekends, CC-CS (our program provider) often plans "Optional Leisure Activities", which should be more accurately named "Trips to Awesome Places for Americans". Plus, then they could be called TAPAs for short, and that would just be funny. But I digress. On this particular weekend (the weekend of the 11th... sorry, I've always had difficulty with chronological order), we went to Córdoba, which, like most Spanish cities, has more history than it knows what to do with. For instance:

"Hmm... how will I get into the city? I know! I'll use that bridge the Romans built."

Some of the highlights of the trip were the royal gardens:

Have you ever seen natural colors so bright that they were painful to look at? Now you have.

one of only 2 pre-Inquisition synagogues that still exist in Spain:

Note the cross: It only survived because they converted it into a church.

And, of course, the Mezquita of Córdoba, with its tell-tale red and white arches:

The geometry used to make this building makes me so happy.

But the coolest part of the day was had outside of the Mezquita, in the Patio de los Naranjos, where a traditional wedding celebration was taking place. I blew my "I'm a Spaniard too" cover and ran to the front like a super-tourist, just to get this video for all of you back home:

A Foray into Portugal

Well, my time in Sevilla is coming to a close pretty soon now, so I suppose I should update this a little more regularly. You know, considering I was supposed to be writing this to keep all of you informed about my visit here. *forehead slap*

That's okay, though, because since I've started this blog, I've decided that it's better to live first and write about it later. A.k.a, procrastinate. And so, I am writing on Corpus Christi (my first real holiday here), which will later also merit a post of its own. To make up for my procrastination, though, this post will be super-long and include twice the pictures! Woo! Here goes.


So, this past Friday morning, we all piled into an autobus to drive to Portugal—which strangely no longer requires passport inspection... even if you're carrying a busload of Americans. To make the 4 hour trip to Lagos more enjoyable for everyone (especially those whose bladders are the size of cacahuetes), we stopped halfway through at the Isle of Tavira, a small island beach that I could easily swim to from the mainland, perhaps even walk. With my arm and legs tied together. Seriously, I felt like if I had fallen off the ferry pier, I would have already been halfway there. Anyway, cue beach pic!

In my mind, this was more artistic than it turned out to be. Don't worry, the rest are better.

Now well on our way to inevitable sunburns, we got back on the bus and made it to Lagos in time for dinner. I got Chicken Piri-Piri, a Portuguese specialty (Frango Piri-Piri in Portuguese. Now I know what you're thinking... "But Trey, that word has no relation to pullus, the Latin root word for chicken!" You are right—I am still investigating this matter.), which was unexpectedly spicy for a dish advertised with a picture of a pineapple. The next notable point came at about 3 in the morning, when I decided that I had to go explore the cliffs and grottoes right away, by myself, in the dark. Note: This idea turned out to be so much better than it sounds, especially because the tide was low. It's not easy taking a good picture in those conditions, and most of them turned out looking more like paintings, but I did my best for you guys. Case in point:

I'm not going to lie, there was some cliff-climbing involved.

Around breakfast time, roughly 6 hours after this picture was taken, there was excited whispering of a grotto kayaking trip that would leave that afternoon. I overheard this rumor while munching on fresh bread stuffed with chorizo (Om nom nom) and muenster cheese (I later discovered that a ton of Germans vacation in Portugal. The cheese should have been a clue.), and was instantly intrigued... as was just about everyone in our group. With the exception of a handful of Netherlanders (I may have just invented that term), we single-handedly booked that kayak company's whole day. And with good reason... here's just one of the 90 pictures I took of the amazing scenery:

Lesson learned here: Looking over the edge of a kayak will make it tilt frighteningly.

That evening's bus ride was to Cabo de São Vicente, literally the tip of mainland Europe—its South-westernmost point. Fun fact: before the discovery of America, it was considered the end of the world. Here's a shot of the sunset we got to see there, and then I'll let you guys go for now:

Told you they got better. @=^p

Undercover Protestant

Over the past week and a half, I have confirmed my initial suspicions about my new turf: If Spain has a Bible Belt, Sevilla is the buckle. Walk around the streets of Sevilla, and chances are, you'll see more of these than street signs:

That is sadly not an exaggeration. Except for Los Remedios,
where all the streets are named "Virgen de la ___" anyway.

Now, being that this is Spain, the churches interspersed between the images of Mary are mariana: Mary-revering Catholic, all of them. But, of course, we still have to go to church somehow...

And so, Operation Undercover Protestant was set in motion.
 Mission? Infiltrate "La Catedral de Sevilla", the biggest Gothic Cathedral in the world. Bam.

Did I mention this place is huge? This is one nave of five.

Needless to say, our host mom, María Jesús (Quick digression—How much more Catholic than that name can you get?), knowing our theological leanings, was a bit puzzled by our choice of worship location. To which my roommate Felippe bluntly replied (in Spanish, no less), "Well, there's only one Jesus."

Well played, Felippe.

And off we went, to an interactive, heavily liturgical service in a language neither of us speak quite perfectly. Now don't misunderstand, the Mass went well, the people were nice, and it was spiritually refreshing (and just plain cool) to hear the Word of God in Spanish. But my imagination—and what dangerously limited knowledge I have of the Spanish Inquisition—kept me tense through the entire oficio. On my way in, I kept drilling myself on all the things not to do, from the practical (Don't make the sign of the cross the wrong way) to the improbable (Don't forget to kneel) to the fairly ridiculous (Don't start humming "A Mighty Fortress is Our God" under your breath). Despite my thorough mental preparations, there was a certain small and irrational part of me convinced that halfway through my bumbling rendition of what must have been the Director's Cut/Extended Edition of the Apostles' Creed, priest ninjas were going to drop from the miraculously high vaulted ceiling and drag me away to the infant baptism and confirmation classes I missed as a child.

I can't process the amount of gold in this shot.

On a side note, I suspect that Overactive Imagination Syndrome is a real thing, and I may be suffering from it. That, or mild hallucinations have set in from this oppressive heat. It's a steady 98ºF here each day, and we're set to get to 101º by next week. o_O

The cool angel façade on the right is actually
one-fourth of the immense set of pipes in the Cathedral's organ

The Hills are Alive with the Sound of (Gospel) Music

Okay, so technically the Sound of Music takes place in Austria, but a) they speak German too, and b) that song was playing in my head all while hiking the Bastei. So the title is justified, albeit tenuously.

Anyway, they say that the future is always uncertain... but gospel music? Surely it seems that one should be able to predict when and where they will hear gospel music. However, this is evidently not so. Check out the video:

Yes, I saw a youth gospel choir in Germany last week. A really good one. o_O

A Walk around Sevilla

Hello from Sevilla, everyone! I've been here a couple of days now, and this place is beautiful. Incredibly hot, though. Picture Africa—savannahs... swaths of desert... camels. Now look how far Sevilla is from Africa on a map. Oh wait, I've done it for you:

3 hours and 5 minutes away driving, including 35 km ferry ride.

The place is toasty. Especially when you walk everywhere. Which is all the time, because this is Spain, and though cars and buses have been invented, they generally don't do too well in cities that were planned for only foot traffic and the occasional donkey during Roman times. Moving on.

Speaking of walking, I went on an awesome walking tour my first day here. My guide was Daniele, a friendly Italian who showed all of the classic signs of being Italian:

Note the hands in this picture

And in this one

And in this one

Fun times. Here's a link to some information about the person he was talking about in these pictures: John Fulton. Pretty cool guy, eh?

Anyway, I'm off to bed. Here's one last pic to sum things up here:

For scale, that weather vane is 23 feet tall. 

This building is over 800 years old.

Welcome to Sevilla.