Back into Spain ... first stop, Salamanca. The city itself was great: a nice cosy, friendly atmosphere and cheap, which for Spain means verging on the truly ridiculous. One of the many benefits of being a student town I guess. The University Quarter itself was pretty amazing: loads of old sandstone buildings with the names of the faculties painted onto the walls in elaborate script (scantioned graffiti almost) and of course, the famous little carved frog - well hidden in the main entrance's elaborately detailed façade. The seminary and main cathedral were also impressive - ongoing church burnout prevented me from going in, but there were enough spires, domes and flying buttresses to keep this architectural fan a happy chap indeed.
‹ 22.6.02 / 0 comment(s) ›
Lisbon
After reluctantly leaving the beach, we wended our way north, over the Golden Gate Bridge replica and into Lisbon. It was back to the campground regimen (almost forgotten since Italy) but, joy of joys, these were fit for a queen! Cable TV plus our own bathroom in the cabin. Hark at us and our luxurious ways! (the us being myself and three girls - the usual Three's Company/Charlie's Angels riffs were well and truly exhausted by the end of our stay). The first day, I spend mooching about (still in lazy beach mode) but the second saw us venture into Lisbon proper. My what friendly drug-dealers they have! Very polite and they do take no for an answer. Ahem. The city itself seems to be entirely decked out in various shades of reds and yellows - quite pretty it was. After the obligatory square-walking and church-entering, we took a cable car up the hill to the old castle ... wonderful views across the city and the river. And to top the evening off, the odd glass of beer while watching Mrs Queen smile politely as her house went up in sparks. Hip-hip ... replacement!
‹ 6.6.02
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Lagos
After a tantalising glimpse of the beach in Torreguardiaro, I had a hankering for some quality beach time and Lagos (on the south coast of Portugal) was the next stop on the route - a whitewashed Algarve fishing village and tourist town, smack dab in the middle of some of the finest coastline I've ever seen. White sand and the deep blue of the Atlantic Ocean ... what more could a boy ask for? Well, the water was a tad freezing and the wind a bit blowy but that's by-the-by: a few of us took refuge in our own little cove of the Praia de Pinhão and spent most days there, UV-ing ourselves to make friends and loved-ones sufficiently jealous on our respective returns. The nights were a lot of fun as well - cheap food and a hell of a lot of cheap alcohol made for some interesting outings (tacky nightclubs and daggy dancing optional). One small note to travellers: do not order a "large" Long Island Iced Tea in Lagos' Red Eye Bar ... you will get a pint's worth of cocktail, the majority of which is straight hooch. Brain death may ensue.
‹ 6.6.02
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Seville
And so, to Seville ... via a dodgy night's drinking on the Costa del Sol (if I ever see an electronic dartboard again, it'll be too soon). The city itself is a fantastic place: beautiful architecture, gorgeous ceramic work over everything, and loads of shade and green spaces (necessary when the mercury soars into the thirties - and this was just May for crying out loud!). Three things really stood out, building-wise: the Cathedral (absolutely monstrous - world's fourth largest), the Alcazar (not as grand as Granada's, but still very impressive) and the Plaza d'España (amazing tile work representing every imaginable region of Spain). The nights were a lot of fun too: after finally catching the tail-end of the Eurovision Song Contest (cheesy!), Corry (one of our intrepid guides - think a Latino, goateed version of Jon Favreau) took us over the River Quadalquivir to catch some flamenco action. This was the real deal too - none of your tourist queso malarkey, just a bunch of locals sitting around, strumming and drumming and clapping and singing. Wonderful. Plus the obligatory mums and dads popping up to strut their stuff, the hollering duets and castanet solos, the crazy old polka-dotted grandmother for comedic relief, and the final lights-dimmed songs to Mother Mary. Just another ba(l/r)my night in Andalucia ...
‹ 6.6.02
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