Nonetheless, we got there mere seconds before her mom exited customs, so it was perfect timing. We piled her luggage into the car and drove to Heidelburg.

Heidelburg is beautiful, even though it was blanketed with thick fog until around lunchtime and never quite warmed up.

We headed straight to Heidelburg castle, and hiked to the top of the hill maybe 20 minutes before the gates were to open at 8 am. We took a few photos and gazed down across the countryscape until we could enter the castle grounds. Once inside, we went to ticketing and purchased the 10:15 walking tour (the first one in English) and went to do all the non-tour-guided free things.

As it turns out, however, nothing is open until 10. Not the apothecary, the cafes, the gift shops… nothing but the ticket booths. How weird is that?

With nothing else to do but wander around, we set to that task immediately and had a great time exploring the exterior castle grounds and gardens. We were also able to enter the winery (there’s always a winery! love it!) and see the massive wine barrel.

By massive, I mean *massive*. (Photo attached.) This wine barrel has held the Guiness World Record for *centuries*, as the largest vat to ever contain wine. There are staircases to get to the top of it, and over the barrel is a wooden dance floor. That’s right, you heard me–a wine barrel big enough to hoist a dance floor. As we later learned on the tour, the king would have the barrel filled with wine–any wine. Red, white, whatever. As long as it was wine, it was good enough to drink.

The tour was fun, although like many tours, seemed to linger in the least interesting rooms and zoom through the most interesting ones. (Either that, or I have truly bizarre taste in history and decorations.) Nobody really knows exactly how old the castle is. All we know for certain is that the first written record of its existence dates back to the year 800. (Not 1800–just 800. Wow!) As with most castles, it has been remodeled and added onto numerous times over the years. It also suffered destruction by fire twice in the same century. Part of the damaged area was reconstructed in the early to mid 1900s, but other parts will probably remain ruins for the foreseeable future. The combination of old and new made an intriguing experience.

After touring the town of Heidelburg, we headed back to Miesenbach to get ready for tonight’s Hispanic Heritage Banquet at the Officers’ Club on the Rammstein Air Base. Food included salad, tortillas with veggies (or meat), beans & rice, and cheesecake. Not sure that cheesecake is particularly Hispanic, but it was darn tasty.

The entertainment included speakers and dancers, the latter of which I absolutely loved. There was music and dancing representative of many of the Spanish-speaking countries, and even a group of African dancers, from which a lot of Carribbean music and dancing is based. I also got to see Brazilian Capoeira for the first time (live, anyway) which was cool. Capoeira is a style of dancing invented by the slaves in an effort to express themselves while in search of freedom. It combines acrobatics with dance and a coordinated sort of kick boxing.

Of course, the big joke is that I flew to Germany from Spain in order to see flamenco!

Have you seen (or participated in) any cultural dance performances? Let me know all about it!

Seven minutes go by as I traverse the winding road, followed by another seven. No lake. The twisting road forks. Twice.

Erin hadn’t mentioned any forking going on, so I randomly pick a path and continue walking. Another seven minutes of no lake tick by, and I begin to suspect that the lake was really a “lake”, a trick designed to be rid of me forever, a la Hansel and Gretel.

Wandering on the edge of a dense cabbage patch, I hear a strange sound, kind of a metallic rattle, and double-check my camera (which hangs around my neck in true tourist fashion.) The camera was off, but I might have left it on, since it turns itself off automatically.

Shrugging, I continue on and in a few more steps… again, the mechanical rattling. I realize the sound is not coming from me or my camera, but from the tall, tangled grass alongside the muddy pathway. Another five or six feet later, the rattle is accompanied by movement within the underbrush.

At this point, I’m convinced that rattle snakes run rampant throughout the path to the “lake”. Robotic ones. Vicious, evil, snakebots.

Then up ahead I see the edges of what could conceivably be called an apple orchard, although there were only a couple rows of sparse trees. Assuming the lake is on the other side and that Erin merely counts to seven in some weird new way, I stride resolutely down the dirt trail, doing my best to ignore the warning rattle of the animatronic snakes hiding in the overgrowth alongside the path.

Seven minutes later, I’m past the apple trees and into the woods. No more mechanical snakes, but still no lake. Curiouser and curiouser.

A watery trail snakes into the woods, and I roll up my pant legs before sloshing down the spongy dirt path. The lake must be on the other side of the woods, I tell myself. I’ll just follow the trail to the lake, and *then* I’ll be seven minutes from Erin’s house. No problem.

Seven minutes later, the trail forks, one path climbing up the hill, the other curving around below. Deciding I’d be better off taking the high road (ach, Loch Lomond) so I’d have more of a bird’s eye view, I tromp gaily along the path until it, well, ends. Not to be deterred, I continue making my way through the trees until I rediscover the path. Or, “a” path, since I cannot be sure whether this continues the trail I’d already been on or was part of a different trajectory altogether.

Another, oh, say, seven minutes go by. No lake (of course) but what I do stumble upon (thank goodness not literally) is a fly-laden pile of animal excrement, so massive that it covers the whole trail and I have to pick my way through the moss and the grass to get around it.

Snakebots are the least of my concern, now that I realize the woods contains elephants, or maybe dinosaurs. Erin totally didn’t mention that the trails led through the original site for Jurassic Park and that I ought to watch my back for the occasional Tyrannosaur.

The next few times the trail twists and forks, I pick a path completely at random because hey–if there are velociraptors gadding about, what does it really matter?

So now I continue along, marching to an internal recitation of Frost (the woods are lovely, dark and deep) and wondering if maybe I should’ve chosen a different path on one of the many forks I’d passed.

But at the foot of a cluster of trees, I come across a giant marker, affixed with a poster of woodland critters and their names. The whole thing was in German (of which I mostly know words like “und”, “grosse/kliene”, and the conjugation of “to be”) but based on the pictures, there are neither robotic snakes nor ankylosaurs.

(Allegedly.)

Luckily, in another seven minutes or so, a break in the trees affords a view of houses and a horse farm, and once the path leads out of the trees I do in fact come across water. Yay!

A bridge bisects the picturesque lake, and various people walk around its circumference, jogging, pushing strollers, walking dogs, smoking cigarettes, etc.

One corner of the lake even has a paved road, which a quick peek determines that it leads to a four-way (paved) intersection. One of those streets must lead back to Erin’s house. But which one?

A quick glance at my watch tells me I have 25 minutes until Erin gets off work and heads home. If the seven minute trail truly exists, that should be plenty of time to return before she has a chance to worry about where I might be. Of course, since I didn’t *arrive* via the correct path, I had absolutely no idea which road I should take. And as I walk around the lake, I realize that almost all of its “corners” lead to roads with further intersections. If I took one, I’d either get back quickly… or get really, really, lost.

So, since I’m of the “always be prepared” mentality when travelling alone, I fish in my backpack for the sticky note on which I’d written the name of her street before leaving the house. All I had to do was ask someone which direction to go, and I’d be home free.

However. (You knew there’d be a however, didn’t you?)

Not only had no one by the lake even heard of Erin’s street, the question I most frequently got in return was, “Well, what town is it in?”

???

“What town?” I manage. “What do you mean, ‘what town’? What town are we in right now?”

Come to find out, we weren’t exactly in a town right now. The lake occurs at the intersection between various towns and is shared by them all. Depending on if I wanted to go to this town or that town, I should head up this hill or down that hill or around that corner or along that field.

Since I, in my infinite wisdom, had utterly failed to write down more than the street name, I had no idea how to get back except… back through Jurassic Park, up the hill, past the cabbage patch and the snakebots, and through the serpentine neighborhood streets to Erin’s house.

According to my watch, I wouldn’t make it in time. As it turned out, my watch was right.

Erin was home and changed by the time I got there. (I, at that time, learned that we were in Miesenbach. Good to know.) She said she was going to give me another 15 minutes before driving around looking for me, which would have done neither of us any good since I was nowhere near any paved streets.

All’s well that ends well, of course, so we piled into the car and headed to Kusel to visit the castle. (The Kusel Castle? I sound like Dr. Seuss.) This castle is cool for several reasons beyond the basic all-castles-are-cool foundation. First, it’s right in the middle of a semi-residential area (unlike, say, Neuschwanstein) so there’s an intriguing vista of old and new mixing together. Secondly, it houses a restaurant in which you can (and we did!) eat dinner.

We had a great time exploring the grounds and climbing up the winding steps to the top of the tallest tower and looking out the windows at the panorama below. Castle towers always have such amazing views. Since I like to read books set in Medieval times (OK, I read novels set in basically any time period) I had fun imagining how it would’ve been like to live there, with the people bustling about and rushes covering the floors and so on. (I’m pretty sure that the view from the top at that time did *not* include a two-lane highway.)

Fun photos attached of our adventures in the Kusel castle (later discovered to be called Lichtenburg castle). Link to more info: http://www.burglichtenberg.de/en/index.htm

The tour began on Ring Straße [Strasse], with the Kartner Ring and the Opera House. Here, this street replaced the city walls. All the palaces along this strip go back to the second half of the 19th century.

Next I saw the Mozart statue, the Museum of Fine Arts and National History, the 200 year old town gate, and the Hofburg (Hapsburg) Imperial Palace. The palace has 18 wings and 40 courtyards. Each subsequent emporer went ahead and added on another wing or entire building. At one time, the Hapsburgs also ruled Belgium and Hungary.

I also saw the Heldenplatz, or Heroes Square. It’s been 60 years since WWII and the people plant potatoes there in remembrance.

Next I went by the theater, followed by the Kafe Landtmann, which is 150 years old and a favorite of Sigmund Freud, who lived nearby. Then I saw the university, which was founded in 1365. Vienna has over 100,000 university students. Then I saw the Vienna woods. How could I miss it? The Vienna woods is a forest three times the size of Vienna, the city. And in case you’re wondering, Vienna is not exactly on the Danube, but the canal does run through the city.

Then I went by Vienna’s oldest church, which is a thousand years old, and the St Stephen’s cathedral, which is 800 years old, the oldest gothic building in Austria, and the center of the city. There are 300-some churches and most are Roman Catholic. Some 85% of the population is Catholic.

Vienna also has an amusement park on an island between the canal and the Danube. Its giant ferris wheel was built in 1900 by the same person who designed the ones in London and Chicago.

Vienna has famous coffee houses and a funny coffee history. At first, it was unclear whether coffee was dangerous, so only men were allowed to drink it. Once they were certain that no ill effects were to come of it, women were granted permission to drink coffee as well.

I saw the houses of many famous composers that were born elsewhere, but lived here, such as Beethoven and Mozart. The Hapsburgs were patrons of music and made Vienna the city of music with their generosity.

Next I saw the St Charles church, which is the biggest baroque church and is 300 years old. Then I saw the art temple, in an art nouveau style with a large gold leaf dome.

Vienna, as I’m sure you know, is 400 square kilometers, or 150 square miles. There are 800 parks and 1.7 million inhapitants. 2000 years ago, it was a Roman settlement, and before this, Celtic. The Celts named the river, and the Romans named the city after the river. Nowadays, the city has 23 districts.

I also visited the Schonbrunn Palace, which means beautiful fountain. It was built 300 years ago, and was the favorite residence of Maria Teresa and also Franz Josef. Maria got the palace as a wedding gift, and lived there with her 16 children. (16 children in 20 years! Wow. I hope to stop at a nice, round 2.) The palace ceilings were decorated with boroque frescoes, done by Gregorio Guglielini in the 15th century. There is a rococo gallery with two 23 carat gold plated chandeliers. There are also two chinese rooms, which were trendy in the time of baroque palaces. During WWII, a bomb fell into the palace but didn’t explode. It destroyed a fresco, obviously, but the palace itself was otherwise fine. The original fresco was created in 1761 and restored in 1947, and it was easy to see the difference. JFK met with Russian representatives in this room as part of the first steps toward ending the cold war.

Another room in the palace is the carousel room. At the time, carousel was not a ride, but rather a game much resembling a congo line, but using horse and carriages. There is a painting in this room of the carousel line, with a ball being tossed around–but the ball is actually the head of a Turkish soldier. (It’s fun for the whole family.)

Interesting fact: Emporers and their successors wore red-heeled shoes. No one else was allowed to do so.

Charles I was the last Austrian emporer from 1916-1918. The monarchy collapsed after the end of WWII. He abdicated the throne but refused to renounce the title, because God himself had made him Emporer. (The people didn’t buy this claptrap, so they sent him into exile.)

Napoleon married into the Hapsburg family and his son, Napoleon II, died in this palace.

Another interesting fact: Everyone wore wigs at this time, even the kids and babies. Besides keeping the lice away, it was also a symbol of nobility.

Each Metro stop is not only clearly marked, but also cleverly themed. The stop for the Louvre actually has art in glass cases in the Metro stop. (That would be stolen or spraypainted in about 5 seconds flat in the U.S.)

So, I get to the train station, wander around a bit, and come across the reservations room, where I go to buy my upcoming tickets. I wait in line for the International counter, and when I get there, what do you know–she doesn’t speak a word of English, so I had to explain everything in my pitiful French. She was very patient with me and everything worked out fine until I mentioned Budapest. “Where’s that?” she asks. “Um, Hungary?” I answer cleverly. (I had no idea how to say Hungary in French.) Nope, never heard of it, she says again, and hunts it up in her book. There it is–Budapest, “Hongrie”. “There it is!” I point, excitedly. She shrugs. “I don’t know where Hongrie is. You’ll have to buy that ticket somewhere else.”

Now. First of all, she’s a freaking travel agent for international sales. Secondly, it’s only two countries away, on the same continent. It’s not like I said Mozambique or anything. And lastly, who cares if you can find the place on the map! If it’s in the book, why can’t I get a freaking ticket?!?!

(Unfortunately, my remedial French prevented me from saying a single word of this snappy diatribe, so I smiled, said thanks anyway, and left.)

I hopped on the Metro for Line Yellow C (alphabet=out of city, remember?) and headed for Versaille. It was pretty easy to get there, but the doors to the train opened way before the train actually stopped. I cowered back in horror as people jumped out the doorway anyway, having to hit the ground in a stumble/run so as not to fall face-first to the ground. I was the last person off the train since I (very uncool-ly) waited for it to stop before disembarking. (Years of themeparking has brainwashed me. I cannot exit until the train has come to a full and complete stop.)

Versaille was beautiful, but very expensive. Each room in the palace cost 8-12 Euros to enter, and although there was a day pass I could have purchased, I didn’t, and contented myself with wandering around the outside. The gardens were pay-to-enter, too, although you can walk along the perimeter without a ticket.

The bathrooms, though, were the last straw because they were *also* pay-per-use!

When I left the palace grounds, McDonald’s was a welcome sight for the first time since outgrowing happy meals. No matter where I am in the world, the golden arches only mean one thing to me–public restrooms.

Also, this was the first time I tried to use my cell phone outside of Spain… And calls didn’t go through. I tried Florida, I tried Brussels… nothing.

At this point, it’s safe to say I was less than pleased. The store swore to me it would work in any European country. And sure, it does… if by “work” you mean that the power button turns the screen on.

To save you the suspense, I was only able to use the phone in one other country–Belgium. And that was only for in-country calls to Brussels from Brussels. No, I don’t get it either.

There is also an even smaller palace, created by Felipe II in the 1500s, which is where the prince has his rooms before he becomes king.

The small, princely palace is two miles away from the main palace, and the entire distance between is covered with gardens. Spain in this area is hot and dry, and the gardens flourish because of the proximity to the river. There’s lots of dams and wells – a whole complicated mechanism keeps the gardens alive.

The cemetary was intriguing because it was crowded with headstones, and had niches for ashes.

All the doors to the Mezquita are open, but out of respect, people enter only through the main door. Inside is beautiful. The Jardin del Espiritu patio is there, too. The important thing in their religion is that beauty should always be on the inside. The outside can be walls.

Naturally, this beautiful mosque was converted into… you guessed it, a Catholic church. But in a way, I’m glad, since otherwise they would have destroyed it, and that would have been a terrible loss. Going into all these amazing places makes me think about all the places the Catholics did destroy – that’s a lot of history and beauty that we no longer have, but at least we still have some places like this where we can visit, learn about the past, and wonder at the beauty.

Next we went to Puerto Lápice, which has lots of Quixote paraphernalia, but no windmills. So we trekked up to the tops of the tallest hills to see the “giants” made immortal in Cervantes’ famous novel.

That night, both excursions made it back to the dorm, and the girls (and Bryan) all congregated in my room so we could exchange Barcelona/Andalucía stories. Oh, and we sampled some Absinthe from Barcelona. Apparently, the word on the street is that Vincent van Gogh, a little whack already and having downed a tad too much absinthe, cut off his ear in a fit of passion and sent it to his cousin to prove how much he loved her. I was of the opinion that this particular move might have been just a bit too much, but one of my classmates said that any man who would go to such lengths for her really deserved her.

Carlos I of Spain (But V of Austria, if you’re keeping track. He’s also son of Felipe and Juana la loca, and grandson of Fernando and Isabel). Anyway, Carlos I began its construction, and Felipe II had a second level put on. No one lives here because to this day, it isn’t “finished”, although plays and concerts are held in its auditorium. It was created in an italian rennaissance style with wide staircases, as opposed to the narrow ones typical of the middle ages.

The Alhambra is more of a city than a palace. It is that huge. The water in the fountains is natural water, flowing from the Sierra Nevada. To have running water (as opposed to having to take a pail and go get some from a river) was a sure sign of richness.

The entranceway has two doors. One from the outside leading to a waiting room, the other from the waiting room to the real inside. Uninvited or unwelcome guests never made it past the waiting room into the palace.

The designwork frequently utilized octagons, symbolizing the seven levels of heaven (with the eighth side being god himself). The hand sign Americans use to say OK is the same sign they used to symbolize Allah. Incidentally, I also learned that it’s very American to say “oh”. The Spanish say “ah”. I wonder how many other signs we throw off that we’re not even aware of!

Next I got to visit the beautiful Generalife gardens (Not “General Life” – say it like a Spaniard: hen er ah LEE fay). These are right next to the Alhambra and absolutely gorgeous.

The first room I saw was the Salon de Alabarderos, who formed the royal guard. The fresco on the ceiling was done by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo.

The second room was the Salon de Columnas, or hall of columns. This was done in a rococo style and was used for royal ceremonies and banquets until 1899. The fresco was done by Corrado Giaquinto. Interesting fact: On October 30,1991, this room was the site of the Middle East Peace Conference.

The third room I visited was the throne room. The thornes in this room are symbolic – the king and queen don’t really use them. The fresco was done by Giovanni Battista Natale (OK I’ll stop telling you – can you tell I’m in love with frescos? Don’t be surprised if the next time you come over, I’ve painted my ceilings). The chandeliers in this room were made in Italy, with silver and rock crystal. The canopy is gold on velvet. (Why oh why did we do away with frescoes and gold on velvet and decide that paisley and splatter paint were better choices?)

One of the rooms I visited was the Porcelain Room. In the 18th century, Spanish porcelain was considered the best in the world, and was known as “white gold”. Another room boasts the only Stradivarious Quartet – still played twice a year at private concerts! That’s right, not one, not two, not even three – *four* stradivarious originals.

For those with a morbid bent, you may be interested to know that in the royal chapel, there’s a glass case with the mummy of Saint Felix. I learned on this trip that it is very Catholic to keep bodies – or parts of bodies – of saints. These are typically housed in glass cases for viewing and called relics.

After the Royal Palace, I bopped next door the the Catedral de la Almudena, which had a free art exhibition themed around the immaculate conception.

Today I also went to El Corte Ingles to pick up some toothpaste and I ran into a cousin of somone you P&Gers might be familiar with… Don Limpio! =)

Toledo is an ochre-golden color because of the mudéjar Arab construction using stone and brick. The San Serando castle was built by the Christians when Toledo was reconquered.

The capital of Spain used to be Toledo, not Madrid. It was changed during the reign of Felipe II because Madrid is closer to El Escorial than Toledo. Toledo is still the religious capital of the kingdom. Most monasteries and convents are located here, as is a massive seminary.

The Alcazara bridge goes over the Tajo (TAH ho) river. The Tajo river is the longest river in Spain. The bridge of San Martin was built in the 14th century. As you might imagine, there is a legend concerning this bridge…

Once upon a time, a man was given a grand commission – to build a bridge to cross the mighty river. He drew up his plans and set up temporary wooden supports before carefully placing stone after stone of the bridge. Just before the bridge was to launch, he happened to double-check his figures and realized that due to a mathematical error, the second the temporary supports were removed, the bridge would collapse – and he would be ruined. He shuttered himself inside his house in a panic. His wife, however, took matters into her own hands. That dark and stormy night, she slipped out of the house and set fire to the bridge itself as if it were struck by lightning. In this way, her “poor” husband would “have” to rebuild, poor thing – and therefore be able to save face.

The Alcaza was destroyed in the civil war. Because it was being used as Franco’s military academy, it was bombed twice. It was reconstructed in the 60s by (guess who) Franco, but this time as an homage to those who were lost in the civil war. It is now a military museum.

Toledo is labyrinthine, like an old Medina. It is a maze of high, narrow streets. This is to prevent the sun from shining in houses and making them overheat. All the houses have an open inner courtyard, and the living room is the patio itself. The labyrinth setup is also by design. This is so you, a native, can escape your pursuers, who will quickly become lost in the maze. (As a matter of fact, we had to stay very close to the guide, because every couple feet was a corner, and each corner was an intersection of 3-6 skinny alleys, and without a guide – we’d have been lost in the first 5 minutes.) The streets intersect like spider webs, with no right angles and lots of interconnecting passageways.

El Greco lived in Toledo for 45 years. His son built the gothic tower here. The cathedral was built in the time of Fernando III. The church where El Greco’s famous painting is displayed is the Iglesia de Santa Tomé (toe MAY). The Burial of Count Orgaz depicts a scene that allegedly took place here in the St Thomas church in the 14th century. Legend has it that the day Count Orgaz was to be buried, two (dead) saints – St Augstin and St Stefan – came to bury him, and two angels also came down from heaven to witness the event. 200 years later, El Greco is commissioned to paint the scene. The painting itself is about 5 meters high. There are no women portrayed in the painting because at the time, women didn’t attend burials. They stayed home to comfort the widow and daughters. The faces of the spectators in the painting were of people contemporaneous to El Greco, and individually commissioned. He wrote their names on the reverse of their heads, so we actually know who’s who. He also painted himself in the painting – he is the one behind the upraised hand, and is the only person looking directly at us. The boy in the foreground is El Greco’s son, and his finger is pointing at the signature line.

This painting was created here in this church, but in a different room. As a matter of fact, they weren’t really sure which tomb in the church was actually the count’s. Don Gonzalo Ruiz was count Orgaz at the time, and two years ago Spain conducted DNA testing on the remains of bodies in the church to discover which was his, so as to place the right bones in front of the right painting.

The synagogue “El Transito” was made by the Arabs for the Jews, in mudéjar style. The king don Pedro authorized the construction. At the time, the three main religions (catholic, Jewish, Muslim) were very close because they were the only monotheistic religions. The ceiling of the synagogue is made of wood with inlaid ivory. In the Jewish religion, no people or animals should be represented in artwork. When the Jews were later expelled from Spain, all their synagogues were destroyed except those that were turned into Catholic churches. In the 1400s, the Catholics renamed the synagogue to El Transito, meaning the transfer between life and heaven. This is because of the belief that Mary didn’t die, but fell asleep and was taken to heaven while she slept.

In Spain, most of the professionals – such as bankers – were Jewish. In order to make a living from this sort of trade, they took 10% and invented the concept of commission.

The synagogue “La Blanca” is the oldest in Spain. This is from the 12th century and is in Mudejar style. It retains its original ceiling, made of cedar root because the smell repels insects. After the synagogue was catholicked, it was rededicated to The White Virgin. The windows are even made of thinly sliced alabaster (which is actually a stone.)

The monastery of Franciscans in Toledo is still in use today (though no one is buried there). It was built in a late gothic style known as “gótico isabelino” after Queen Isabella, who decreed that Spain would not follow any other country’s architectural style any longer, but instead would invent their own.

Toledo is also famous for its metal work, especially the intricate designs of inlaid gold. The jewelry was beautiful, and we got to see a master craftsman working with a long strand of pure gold thread. Metal is more than jewelry – it is also knives, for example. One boy on our bus bought three swords and a dagger. (Good luck slipping those through customs and airport security.)

Here is also where I stopped for lunch and my lasagna came with fries. What is with all the fries???

After I returned from Toledo, I went to Las Ventas – the Plaza de Toros in Madrid – for a bullfight. I wasn’t going to go, but I spoke to my dad, who talked me into it. His argument was something along the lines of, “You’re in Spain and it’s a huge part of Spanish culture. How will you know anything about it if you don’t go?” which, of course, is true. I am glad I went, although I did not personally enjoy the fight. Maybe it’s the animal-rights activist within me or maybe it’s because I’m vegetarian, but I found the whole thing to be unfair, sadistic, and grisly.

Because the bulls are killed after the fights, each bull is necessarily in his first fight. So they come out of the gate looking reasonably complacent, completely unaware of what is in store. Then, they get long spikes thrown in their backs. Rather than getting immediately ticked off – as you might imagine from TV shows – in general, the bulls just looked confused. I think that’s what got me the most – how the majority of the bulls had a “what the hell?!” or “why me??” sort of expression, and wandered around as if trying to sort out what in the world was going on.

If this doesn’t sound like much of a fight so far, you’re right. So that’s when the picador comes rushing out, brandishing a huge spear, which he immediately pokes into the bull until he draws blood and – finally – riles him up. The picador’s horse is heavily padded and *blindfolded*, both of which are a good thing, since typically this tries the last bit of the bull’s patience and he generally tries to ram the picador at this point. (The picador just runs off stage.)

This is when the torero comes out, in an elaborate costume and brandishing the famous cape (which has a sword tucked inside.) He does a few tricks – like getting the bull to charge the cape in a circle, or sidestepping the charge – then gets down to business.

In a perfect world, the torero is supposed to strike the bull through the heart, causing an instant (and relatively humane) death.

In reality, this is not what goes down. (So I’m doubly thankful I didn’t see the amateur bullfights if these are the professionals!)

First of all, half the time the first sword thrown is an air ball – or at best, a glancing blow – so the torero has to fetch his sword and try again. (At this point, the bull is now as wary as he is angry.) Out of the six bulls (one fight right after the other), I think probably 4 ended up getting stabbed in the lungs, not the heart, which is not only incredibly painful, but also causes the lungs to fill with blood. The bull staggers, slowly suffocating, gagging and drowning in his own blood – which is now flowing from his open mouth – before collapsing to the ground.

No, it’s not over. Now is when a small man with a hand held dagger runs on field, thrusts the dagger into the bull’s skull through his forehead, and twists it around in his brain until the bull is definitely dead. Then, several more men appear and attach the bull to a team of horses, who drag his corpse around the stadium before taking it out back – to the slaughterhouse.

Six times I sat through this.

Me, I’ll probably never go to another bullfight in my life. But now I know. There were those at the school who found it exciting, those who found it entertaining, and those (like me) who found it saddening and repulsive. It *is* a huge part of Spanish culture, and now I really understand how intense the divide must be between the 50% who hate it and think it should be abolished, and the other 50% who think that tradition and culture should be kept and respected.

The first record of the castle is from the 12th century, when it was used by the Castillian royalty. It was abandoned from the 14th-18th century and most of what you see now is reconstruction due to the damage.

Segovia has a large Roman aqueduct. The legend behind it goes like this. Once there was a maid who every day had to trudge to and from the water, staggering under load after load of heavy pails. One day, she was so tired and frustrated that she cried out, “I’d sell my soul to the devil if he could build a water system by tomorrow!”

Naturally, the devil’s ears perked right up and he immediately set to work. The maid realized belatedly that she had just doomed herself to hell for eternity (although she was getting a killer aqueduct out of the deal) so she fell to her knees and began to pray for forgiveness. Lucky for her, God was feeling benevolent, and good-naturedly brought the first rays of sunrise over the horizon several minutes early, just before the devil set the last brick in place.

The cathedral of Segovia is the last gothic cathedral in Spain. “Graviado” is an intricate style of decoration from the Arabs, who according to their religion cannot recreate human figures. San Frutos is the patron saint of Segovia. Legend has it that once a year, the statue of San Frutos in front of the cathedral turns one page of the book in his hands, symbolizing his belief in the importance of education.

If you look along the horizon, you can make out a face in the landscape. This is The Lady of The Mountain, who also has a legend. Once, there were two warring families from either side of the mountain. The youngest child of one was a boy, the other a girl. One day, they chanced to meet and fell madly in love. All they wanted was to live together in peace. However, their families soon discovered their secret romance and a fierce battle ensued. During the battle, the girl tried to escape to her beloved. When the dust settled, the boy found the girl lying dead in the crossfire. Grief stricken, he carried her body high up the mountain and her sad face lingers there forevermore.

The St. Martin’s church has three kinds of construction: stone, brick, and rubble wall. The library next door used to be the jail.

The famous dessert of Segovia is torta ponche. It is a pastry filled with cream and cinnamon and drizzled with egg yolk. (It sounded good until I got to the last bit, didn’t it. I tried it and it was OK, but I couldn’t get past the whole egg-yolk-instead-of-icing idea.)

After we got back from Segovia, we showed and changed, and 5 of us headed out to see the Enrique & Estrella Morente flamenco show we’d bought tickets for. Adam and Shannon came along to see if they could score tickets at the gate. Only four people are allowed in a taxi, so the first four went ahead and I waiting with Adam and Shannon to flag the next taxi. The first two didn’t take us because they didn’t know how to get to the auditorium, but the third taxi said no problem, he knew exactly how to get there. He lied. 14E and an hour later, we finally roll up 15 minutes after show time. The show is sold out, so Adam and Shannon walk off in search of adventure elsewhere. I get stopped at the gate – I can’t go in because I have a camera. Maybe I can check it at the will call. So I go to the desk – no luck. The show is sold out and all the seats are full, so she’s locking up and going home. Frustrated, I finally end up selling my ticket for face value (although there was a swarm of people wanting in, so I probably could’ve named my price) and I headed back to the curb to flag a return taxi. About this time, Adam and Shannon show back up. What they had thought was a bar down the street was actually a private house party with loud music, so they had nothing going on. I tell them my sob story, and they offer to take my camera back to the dorm for me. Figures. I told them thanks but I already sold the ticket since I thought they’d split. It was all very Gift of the Magi. We catch a cab back (who did know how to get to the school, so we returned in minutes – all dressed up and nowhere to go.)