Monday, May 15, 2006 1:37 PM
So human nature is indeed a rather fickle thing. After telling people in pain-staking detail about our 'harrowing ordeal' with a train station and sleepless night, we emphasized how much it changes a person. How as shitty as it seemed at the time, it is perhaps something everyone should experience to humble them and remind them where they are in life. But then you're sitting on a sea-front patio gazing out at the engulfing sea and you notice a mark on the table the cleaning lady omitted in her whirl-wind clean of the, and you're tutting in disapproval as you recall your pillows which are a tad hard, perhaps reception will have another. And you're ridiculous mind rambles on selfishly. It seems it's not in our nature to take these experiences and be better people or any of that hog wash, but more that you adapt to the situation you are dealing, one at a time.
Anyway, but we had left Albufeira and as my emails are usually tilted more toward the shallow approach I'd hate to break into in-depth thought now!
We happened upon a quaint little town called Faro and, allow the weather wasn't quite the shoe that should fit a coastal little town, windy and chilly, we were again cornered by a bank holiday and pushed to stay there a long weekend.
I'm sure we dabbled in small town activities but can't say any stood out much - ah but the bone chapel in ominous glory was quite a sight. It was behind a huge monastery that grumpily leaned on its open doors. The details were delicate but much darker than other buildings we'd seen, although my opinion was perhaps swayed by the knowledge I was there to see a chapel made from human bones. So after humouring the large rooms with a point click here, a point click there, we wafted along 'pretty' rooms and 'nice' paintings, waiting in suspenders for a sneaky little chapel of human remains. Tucked in the corner of a lush overgrown garden we espied our grail and made our way toward the entrance. Inside it was quite something to stand in a room about 10meteres long and 3metres high and not an inch of wall or ceiling could be seen - only sculls, femurs and vertebra nestled calmly. 
Were it not for the fact that the décor was of course human remains, it may have been quite tasteful, their arrangement and all. Bit sick really isn't it? Supposed to be a reminder to all God's followers that whoever we are, we all die and it's only really what we do in life that makes a difference. Or something. I don't know, I just saw hundreds of human sculls and took ominous pictures and touched a few femurs. Pretty nifty.
So off to Spain, as we had walked from Spain to Portugal, we wondered how we would make the leap back. After a bus ride to the border town, it was to be by ferry- a five minute meander and we were back on Spanish soil. On this leg of the trip we met another German - Kylie seems good at collecting them, perhaps for their strong command of English, ironing and camping. So again I forget his name so I'll just call him Heinz. Heinz had been staying with a friend in Lisbon and had done the trip from Seville to Portugal - the opposite to the route we were intending so he had good worth, showing us where, from the ferry, the little train station was hiding, a 30minute trudge through town. He, obviously, had a rail pass for Europe so his 2Euro fair sneered at our 20Euro equivalent as we mumbled about Nazis and such.
So the better part of the day used up by traveling, we arrived in Seville. My cousin offered instructions on how to get to her area - we never imagined Seville to be as big at city-like as it in fact was -yet another scandal!
Seville was dauntingly large in comparison to the happy little towns we'd become familiar with, but it still had a hint of that European charm. What added somewhat to the charm was that it was the Abril Ferria - April Festival, where all people, young and old, through caution and plain clothes to the wind as they donned the most colourful flamenco outfits. From 2 to 60 years old, everyone seemingly squashed into their favourite figure-hugging dress and strode proudly about the streets. The centre of the Ferria was further in town and Elisa, my cousin whom we were to be staying with, promised to take us on the weekend.
The second day in Seville we set out with a tattered map to see the famous Sevillian sights. Frequently teetering off course, we wandered about for 8 hours but managed to see the Cathedral in which Christopher Columbus' body rests and the Alcazar - a stunning Arabic palace with gardens you wanted to get lost in. In the evening Elisa took us to a non-Hollywood Flamenco show. The seemingly simple performance fell back on what many others couldn't-talent. Although it wasn't quite thrilling, it was moving, as the rapid stamping enforced the passion with which the lone voice sang.
The next day we were off to Cadiz - a wee town hovering on the South Coast of Spain. Although the repetitiveness was losing effect, again the town boasted little narrow cobble-stoned streets dented with lazy cafes and lazier tourists, normally opening out onto a big square (the uh roads, not the tourists) which often ran up to a church or old ornate building. On one such occasion we heard the square before it appeared and were treated to a Capoeira display - an ancient form of Brazilian non-contact fighting, showing it as an art form. Here the young people to the chant and song and make-shift instruments accompanying them, faced each other one at a time doing fluid movements requiring excellent muscle tone and concentration. The song with a rapid beat was quite catchy, and before you knew it you were clapping and singing along.
We staying in Cadiz three nights and were determined to get ourselves a tan. On the last day we went down to the beach followed, obviously, by a menacing black cloud and in our jeans and costume tops we lay, shivering, but determined. Every now and the sun would wander out behind a cloud, gasp and hide back away. After a couple of hours we decided enough was enough and we wandered back toward our room. Now being a person who likes to do things properly, I didn't just tan; I baked and burnt myself, stupidly, to a crisp. Sigh. A few hours later the top half of my body ached and wafted off waves of heat, as people passing by in the street seemed to huddle next to me with the night-time chill descending. That night someone had sneakily replaced my sheets with sandpaper and with each movement a grumble ensued.
So after Cadiz, a beautiful city with a friendly character, we returned to the hustle and bustle of Seville, with the Ferier still under way. Elisa promised to take us to the Ferrier that night to see what the fuss was all about.
So human nature is indeed a rather fickle thing. After telling people in pain-staking detail about our 'harrowing ordeal' with a train station and sleepless night, we emphasized how much it changes a person. How as shitty as it seemed at the time, it is perhaps something everyone should experience to humble them and remind them where they are in life. But then you're sitting on a sea-front patio gazing out at the engulfing sea and you notice a mark on the table the cleaning lady omitted in her whirl-wind clean of the, and you're tutting in disapproval as you recall your pillows which are a tad hard, perhaps reception will have another. And you're ridiculous mind rambles on selfishly. It seems it's not in our nature to take these experiences and be better people or any of that hog wash, but more that you adapt to the situation you are dealing, one at a time.
Anyway, but we had left Albufeira and as my emails are usually tilted more toward the shallow approach I'd hate to break into in-depth thought now!
We happened upon a quaint little town called Faro and, allow the weather wasn't quite the shoe that should fit a coastal little town, windy and chilly, we were again cornered by a bank holiday and pushed to stay there a long weekend.
I'm sure we dabbled in small town activities but can't say any stood out much - ah but the bone chapel in ominous glory was quite a sight. It was behind a huge monastery that grumpily leaned on its open doors. The details were delicate but much darker than other buildings we'd seen, although my opinion was perhaps swayed by the knowledge I was there to see a chapel made from human bones. So after humouring the large rooms with a point click here, a point click there, we wafted along 'pretty' rooms and 'nice' paintings, waiting in suspenders for a sneaky little chapel of human remains. Tucked in the corner of a lush overgrown garden we espied our grail and made our way toward the entrance. Inside it was quite something to stand in a room about 10meteres long and 3metres high and not an inch of wall or ceiling could be seen - only sculls, femurs and vertebra nestled calmly. 
Were it not for the fact that the décor was of course human remains, it may have been quite tasteful, their arrangement and all. Bit sick really isn't it? Supposed to be a reminder to all God's followers that whoever we are, we all die and it's only really what we do in life that makes a difference. Or something. I don't know, I just saw hundreds of human sculls and took ominous pictures and touched a few femurs. Pretty nifty.So off to Spain, as we had walked from Spain to Portugal, we wondered how we would make the leap back. After a bus ride to the border town, it was to be by ferry- a five minute meander and we were back on Spanish soil. On this leg of the trip we met another German - Kylie seems good at collecting them, perhaps for their strong command of English, ironing and camping. So again I forget his name so I'll just call him Heinz. Heinz had been staying with a friend in Lisbon and had done the trip from Seville to Portugal - the opposite to the route we were intending so he had good worth, showing us where, from the ferry, the little train station was hiding, a 30minute trudge through town. He, obviously, had a rail pass for Europe so his 2Euro fair sneered at our 20Euro equivalent as we mumbled about Nazis and such.
So the better part of the day used up by traveling, we arrived in Seville. My cousin offered instructions on how to get to her area - we never imagined Seville to be as big at city-like as it in fact was -yet another scandal!
Seville was dauntingly large in comparison to the happy little towns we'd become familiar with, but it still had a hint of that European charm. What added somewhat to the charm was that it was the Abril Ferria - April Festival, where all people, young and old, through caution and plain clothes to the wind as they donned the most colourful flamenco outfits. From 2 to 60 years old, everyone seemingly squashed into their favourite figure-hugging dress and strode proudly about the streets. The centre of the Ferria was further in town and Elisa, my cousin whom we were to be staying with, promised to take us on the weekend.
The second day in Seville we set out with a tattered map to see the famous Sevillian sights. Frequently teetering off course, we wandered about for 8 hours but managed to see the Cathedral in which Christopher Columbus' body rests and the Alcazar - a stunning Arabic palace with gardens you wanted to get lost in. In the evening Elisa took us to a non-Hollywood Flamenco show. The seemingly simple performance fell back on what many others couldn't-talent. Although it wasn't quite thrilling, it was moving, as the rapid stamping enforced the passion with which the lone voice sang.
The next day we were off to Cadiz - a wee town hovering on the South Coast of Spain. Although the repetitiveness was losing effect, again the town boasted little narrow cobble-stoned streets dented with lazy cafes and lazier tourists, normally opening out onto a big square (the uh roads, not the tourists) which often ran up to a church or old ornate building. On one such occasion we heard the square before it appeared and were treated to a Capoeira display - an ancient form of Brazilian non-contact fighting, showing it as an art form. Here the young people to the chant and song and make-shift instruments accompanying them, faced each other one at a time doing fluid movements requiring excellent muscle tone and concentration. The song with a rapid beat was quite catchy, and before you knew it you were clapping and singing along.
We staying in Cadiz three nights and were determined to get ourselves a tan. On the last day we went down to the beach followed, obviously, by a menacing black cloud and in our jeans and costume tops we lay, shivering, but determined. Every now and the sun would wander out behind a cloud, gasp and hide back away. After a couple of hours we decided enough was enough and we wandered back toward our room. Now being a person who likes to do things properly, I didn't just tan; I baked and burnt myself, stupidly, to a crisp. Sigh. A few hours later the top half of my body ached and wafted off waves of heat, as people passing by in the street seemed to huddle next to me with the night-time chill descending. That night someone had sneakily replaced my sheets with sandpaper and with each movement a grumble ensued.
So after Cadiz, a beautiful city with a friendly character, we returned to the hustle and bustle of Seville, with the Ferier still under way. Elisa promised to take us to the Ferrier that night to see what the fuss was all about.
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