We did the lightning tour of Seville, in and out in one day. After finding our way across town from the regional bus station we arrived at to our exit bus station (while avoiding the other two regional bus stations we had no interest in) we wandered towards the mammoth Seville Cathedral. Apparently the third or forth biggest church in the world, it also claims the title of most expensive church we've ever visited clocking in at a big 8 euros each (thats 20NZD for those of you playing at home). But then it was mighty grand, contained the tomb of Christopher Colombus, two rooms just labelled treasures, and we got to climb the bell tower (built on top of the original minaret) for a great view of the city and of the flying buttresses and all the other awesome gothic fluffery on the outside of the cathedral. And then without missing a beat it was on to Granada.
Granada's big international draw card is the Al Hambra, an incredible moorish Castle/Palace complex spread over a bean shaped hill overlooking Granada. It has fantastic classical square gardens with carefully trimmed hedges, and small patches of flowers. While the buildings are either intricately carved or ornately tiled, and most of the courtyards feature enormous still pools. Entry is run on quotas so our early morning climb of the hill ended up with tickets for that afternoon, but for once the whole operation was very well run and well worth the time.
Morocco called and we headed down the coast to the port of Algeciras. The less said about Algeciras the better really, it exists only to get passengers on and off the many ferries to Morocco and the Spanish overseas territories. We had chosen one of the many highly dubious hotels between the port and the bus station and had hauled our luggage upstairs when the proprietress appeared asking for the our passports (standard so far). So Jacquie grabs her money belt and attempts to follow the 'lady' downstairs. But she turns and in Spanish pronounces "No, Nombre" (which means name). After trying to tell her our names and still just getting the "Nombre, Nombre" treatment she finally manages to peel off her bizzarre accent, points at me, and slowly says "Hombre" (i.e. man). Apparently in that exact hotel men only are allowed to provide their details for check-in.
Before working our way through the disastorously run compost of ferry companies, ticket resellers, late ferries, and random rude old men we decided to take the bus round the corner to Gibraltar. It was only a local bus trip and Gibraltar offered a certain english speaking charm. Unfortunately for us the day we chose to visit was a Sunday (who knew), and the Gibraltans still hold to some kind of antiquated belief system that includes not working all the time. So after strolling through border control and walking across the runway of Gibraltars International Airport (pausing to take photos of course), we discovered the various forts and things scattered along the rock were al closed up, but undeterred we walked the length of Gibraltar, poking our way through the quaint english shopping district, getting lost in the maze of dead-end residential streets and stopping to soak our aching our feet at a real live British beach, you know the kind with rocks and concrete.
We really had no idea where we were by now, and the road we were following disappeared directly into a cliff, apparently at right angles to the road above the cliff, but we trudged on and fairly miraculously found ourselves at Europa Point where we could see both Spain and Africa looming large across the water. We succumbed to taking the bus back to the border but I was disappointed that it wasn't the authentic double decker I'd seen plying the roads earlier. Then it was back to Algeciras.
The ferry was big and fast, and largely populated by people who had shelled out 240 something euros to take their cars with them to Tangiers, but it set off late thanks to the glacial customs control, and did rock reasonably alarmingly at times. But we once again added an immigration first by completing formalities with the requisite bored looking customs officer while still on the ferry.
Which catches us up to the out of order post I wrote about Morocco a while ago. I am currently at the beach in Dahab, Egypt so will be working on catching up over te next few lazy days.
Morocco called and we headed down the coast to the port of Algeciras. The less said about Algeciras the better really, it exists only to get passengers on and off the many ferries to Morocco and the Spanish overseas territories. We had chosen one of the many highly dubious hotels between the port and the bus station and had hauled our luggage upstairs when the proprietress appeared asking for the our passports (standard so far). So Jacquie grabs her money belt and attempts to follow the 'lady' downstairs. But she turns and in Spanish pronounces "No, Nombre" (which means name). After trying to tell her our names and still just getting the "Nombre, Nombre" treatment she finally manages to peel off her bizzarre accent, points at me, and slowly says "Hombre" (i.e. man). Apparently in that exact hotel men only are allowed to provide their details for check-in.
Before working our way through the disastorously run compost of ferry companies, ticket resellers, late ferries, and random rude old men we decided to take the bus round the corner to Gibraltar. It was only a local bus trip and Gibraltar offered a certain english speaking charm. Unfortunately for us the day we chose to visit was a Sunday (who knew), and the Gibraltans still hold to some kind of antiquated belief system that includes not working all the time. So after strolling through border control and walking across the runway of Gibraltars International Airport (pausing to take photos of course), we discovered the various forts and things scattered along the rock were al closed up, but undeterred we walked the length of Gibraltar, poking our way through the quaint english shopping district, getting lost in the maze of dead-end residential streets and stopping to soak our aching our feet at a real live British beach, you know the kind with rocks and concrete.
We really had no idea where we were by now, and the road we were following disappeared directly into a cliff, apparently at right angles to the road above the cliff, but we trudged on and fairly miraculously found ourselves at Europa Point where we could see both Spain and Africa looming large across the water. We succumbed to taking the bus back to the border but I was disappointed that it wasn't the authentic double decker I'd seen plying the roads earlier. Then it was back to Algeciras.
The ferry was big and fast, and largely populated by people who had shelled out 240 something euros to take their cars with them to Tangiers, but it set off late thanks to the glacial customs control, and did rock reasonably alarmingly at times. But we once again added an immigration first by completing formalities with the requisite bored looking customs officer while still on the ferry.
Which catches us up to the out of order post I wrote about Morocco a while ago. I am currently at the beach in Dahab, Egypt so will be working on catching up over te next few lazy days.
No comments:
Post a Comment