Sometimes it does pay to have friends, and my friendship with an American paid off when his host family invited the two of us on a trip into the countryside of Andalusia. This is great luck; most Americans sit back in Seville these days, waiting for the first program-sponsored trips to begin. Granada and Córdoba and Cádiz will happen for all of us, but those will surely feel more like a tour and less like an adventure. In this sense, out in the middle of nowhere, I was exposed to something more authentically Spain, where the stereotypical children kick soccer balls around in the tiny streets and the toros graze off in the hills. I caravanned with three Spanish friends, their two wives, a seven year old daughter, and a grandmother. They told us stories -- slowly and simply so we could understand -- and we talked about history and they asked us questions about our own country. All that just does not happen every day.
The town of Aracena sits just below a few big bluffs. The Sierra de Aracenas stretch as far as the eye can see. It reminds me of that Thanksgiving in the woods out in the boonies of Tennessee. There are old Roman ruins from before Muslim conquest at the top, along with a traveling biker gang.
We sat in the small town of Fuenteheridos for tapas, beer, and conversation, watching people live very simple lives; Some sold necklaces and others roasted nuts in the streets. My American friend and I were surely the only native English speakers for miles.
We were told Almonaster la Real has one of the most beautiful views in Spain. It is a very small town in the provence of Huelva, which reminds me that small is one of those relative words. Less than 2,000 people live there. After following narrow roads up a few steep inclines, we ended at the top.
Up on the hill watching over the city sits the Mezquita de Almonaster la Real. This mosque was built in the 9th century and renovated by Christians in the 16th. Inside you see the striking crossover of religions, present everywhere in the south. Remnants of Arabic writing and Muslim architecture are everywhere.
As night fell, we were wonderfully exhausted and cramped in the car driving home. I surprised myself by how well I spoke Spanish, but it still such a difficult thing to do. People who began the day as strangers ended the day as friends, and language had nothing to do with any of it. If I had been dumped out of that car on to the side of the road, I would have no idea how to get home, and there is a great power and feeling of freedom when you do small trips like that. Signs like this, ones that point every direction, are a reminder that Seville and a lot of things are far far away.
The town of Aracena sits just below a few big bluffs. The Sierra de Aracenas stretch as far as the eye can see. It reminds me of that Thanksgiving in the woods out in the boonies of Tennessee. There are old Roman ruins from before Muslim conquest at the top, along with a traveling biker gang.
We sat in the small town of Fuenteheridos for tapas, beer, and conversation, watching people live very simple lives; Some sold necklaces and others roasted nuts in the streets. My American friend and I were surely the only native English speakers for miles.
We were told Almonaster la Real has one of the most beautiful views in Spain. It is a very small town in the provence of Huelva, which reminds me that small is one of those relative words. Less than 2,000 people live there. After following narrow roads up a few steep inclines, we ended at the top.
Up on the hill watching over the city sits the Mezquita de Almonaster la Real. This mosque was built in the 9th century and renovated by Christians in the 16th. Inside you see the striking crossover of religions, present everywhere in the south. Remnants of Arabic writing and Muslim architecture are everywhere.
As night fell, we were wonderfully exhausted and cramped in the car driving home. I surprised myself by how well I spoke Spanish, but it still such a difficult thing to do. People who began the day as strangers ended the day as friends, and language had nothing to do with any of it. If I had been dumped out of that car on to the side of the road, I would have no idea how to get home, and there is a great power and feeling of freedom when you do small trips like that. Signs like this, ones that point every direction, are a reminder that Seville and a lot of things are far far away.
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