Spain in my Eye & on Cloud 9;
Daily Accounts of Randall Holl & Angelina Pinto
Friday, September 01, 2006
Thank You and GoodBye
Thank you to everyone who watched over us on our unpredictable adventure this summer.
This began as a way to let our parents know we were still alive - if there was a new photo, we weren't dead - but it became something greater to me.
Through this I was able to reconnect with family that I had missed for so long and lost contact with over the years.
Through this I was able to meet people I've never known.
Through this I'll be able to remember what happend when this summer is only a spec in a sea of summers.
I hope this journal has given something to those who've read it. I hope it piqued curiosities. I hope it made someone chuckle. I hope it motivated someone to write, to keep a journal, to take more photos, or to tell more stories. I hope it challenged someone to be less comfortable, to travel, and to try new things.
There's at least one memory every day worth keeping.
If you'd like to come with me to New York, I must begin my final year of the Master of Architecture program at Columbia. I will open a new chapter because this is a year that will pass with haste and is nothing like what you call the "Real World". I can't guarantee the same frequency of posts but we'll see where the story goes.
What's that Columbus? That way? A better world awaits?
Columbus, known as Colon by the Spaniards, points to sea gesturing to the new world. The monarchs Isabel and Ferdinand funded is voyage; he received a hero's welcome here in Barcelona. This statue is the highest monument to him in the world and you can take an elevator to top.
But Columbus, why are you pointing East? Whatever.
On to the airport, it's time to bring this journey to a close.
It could be Starship Troopers or Star Wars; on Friday Angelina prepared for take-off to Texas.
Angelina will be stopping in Dallas to see her family before moving to Austin to begin her final semester in the professional Bachelor of Architecture program.
Bedridden in Cordoba, this is all else we got to see: narrow but clean and charming streets. Like a Cadbury Egg, Islamic architecture is typically austere on the outside and rich on the inside. Walking down the streets we looked into beautiful interiors and glowing inner courtyards with water and vegetation.
The sickness began to subside and we started our 12-hour drive north to Barcelona through these narrow streets.
Less than half-way we finished listening to Dan Brown's, Angels & Demons (not nearly as good as The Davinci Code, though similar, and it has a cheesy ending). About the same time the sickness grew impatient and gripped down on me furiously. We hadn't had the chance to teach Angelina to drive a stick; I was stuck. We took drugs and McDonald's and made it to Barcelona late in the night...
For once on our trip the expected obstacle became a blessing. The hostal had abandoned our reservation for some unknown reason; there were no rooms left. The owner of the Hotel Maestre had a good heart and gave us a room in the air-conditioned, well-kept, hotel adjacent to the hostal at the same price.
After nearly 12-hours of feverish sleep and my illness worsening we needed food we could trust - thankfully my favorite rufuge, BurgerKing, set up shop outside the entrance to Cordoba's holy savior, the Mezquita, the Great Mosque of Cordoba.
The mosque was expanded several times over its life as a mosque; it grew to hold 40,000 worshipers. Its striped double-arches on narrow marble columns are what make this building unique and let light deep into the expansive structure.
Before the fall of Granada, the Christians took Cordoba. In the center of this great mosque they erected a fairly typical Christian Cathedral. At least the arrogant act did not destroy a majority of the original building. Rather, now it just looks like a mutant: beautiful here, beautiful there, but together...not so much.
Wimpering from bench to bench, this was all I had energy for in Cordoba; Angelina guided us back to the hotel.
We packed up our things once-again and left the Korean-run Pension VeraCruz. A Pension is something between a 1-star hotel and a hostal (basically anything goes). We didn't think twice about stealing their filthy stained towels, we had to think twice about touching them.
We loaded everything back into our little rent-a-cart and went to the bazaar to haggle prices. This puts Angelina in a fierce mood. The gullible Minnesotan however never knows better and trusts they're surely cutting me a deal. I was told to go wait outside;-)
Angelina emerges successful; arms quivering from all the booty won in the bout. This booty will be making it's way to Minnesota soon.
We ate strange-looking Morroccan food last night...not feeling so well...we'd better just get on the road to Cordoba.
The trip reminded me of the game Oregon Trail. We bartered for goods. The overloaded hatchback had a hard time making it up some hills and we thought we'd have to purge weight. Little Timmy (me) caught yellow fever and had to be buried by the trailside. Or so I hoped. Aches and fever set in as I tried to maneuver the manual transmission through the mountainous 2-lane road.
From this manmade precipice within the Alhambra it doens't appear that it would be too hard to get out of this small city. Unfortunately Spain didn't adapt to the automobile well. Any town you enter you must expect to get lost. There are no street signs. If you do see one, chances are the street has multiple names anyway. There are no straight roads, no grid, no rationality. There are plenty of law-less roundabouts which are like running a gauntlet. Like Homer says, "How do I get off this thing?" I never really figured it out, just closed my eyes and crossed my fingers.
Power in Spain has not only changed hands over the centuries but changed form drastically; the amazing thing about the Alhambra is that it witnessed and preserved profound changes in power.
The Visigoths began with a fortress on this site. In 711AD Muslims invaded the Iberian Peninsula (modern Spain + Portugal) and took control with ease because of conflicting Christian factions.
The last moments of Islamic power on the Iberian Peninsula flickered in 1492 at the Alhambra when Catholic Christian Monarchs Isabel and Ferdinand claimed the Alhambra in the name of Christendom.
Those in power nobly did not destroy what the previous powers had built. In this walled royal city Christian and Islamic architecture connect, yet are very distinct.
This ceiling is characteristic of Islamic architecture where the stalactite-like forms unite with the light from the windows of the 8-pointed star to create rich ornamentation and depth. This room flanks the Court of Lions (pictured previously), which is divided into four by narrow channels of water - this Palace of the Nasrid Dynasty is rich in ornate religious symbology.
Almost sadly, today neither the Cristians nor the Muslims rule the Alhambra. With 7,700 tourists invading the Alhambra each day, it is now under Tourist Rule.
Sunday, August 20th we had planned to see the legendary royal city of the Alhambra, a walled fortress overlooking Granada. When we were told that advanced tickets were sold out for the next few weeks our hearts sank.
With the train dilemma and now this, I felt like Clark Griswold standing at the gates to WallyWorld after his botched family vacation led them to an off-limits theme park.
Thankfully the woman interrupted our jaw-dropping with a hint of hope - 2,000 tickets were sold exclusively onsite each morning beginning at 8am. We were there at seven surprised to find ourselves hundreds of people deep; those more devout tourists had set up camp in the cold dark dawn at the base of the Sierra Nevada mountain range much earlier.
"que tu miras..." the slurred words staggered in the distance as we walked uphill, the Alhambra, shown here, to our right.
"QUE tu miras!..." it repeated louder. Amused that I could understand what the grumbly voice was murmuring I turned to Angelina, "I think he's saying, 'what are you looking at?'"
I turned around to see who was looking at what "QUE TU MIRAS!" shit, I think he's yelling at us!
The filthy stumbling drunk came charging at us up the cobbled road "QUE TU MIRAS!" the slowly-stretched, slurred words dominated the busy street. Hoping there was a chance he wasn't targeting us we turned and started walking quickly uphill.
"QUE TU MIRAS!" He was closing in. We should duck into a shop.
"QUETUMIRAS!" the words shot direcly into my left ear, I had to do something. My blood began to boil; prepared to fight I turned to face him, "WHAT!? WHAT DO YOU WANT?!"
"Que tu miras!" the words spattered their way through his rotting, crooked, yellow teeth. He was wearing a torn, stained green t-shirt. His eyes dark brown like his hair; his scrawny frame couldn't have been older than 30 years.
Adrenaline surged, it's hard to express anger in a foreign language, but I tried, "Vamanos! (Let's go!)" He stared. Tourists stared. "VAMANOS! VAS! VAS! (you go!)" No one came, no one left.
At a standoff the yelling continued, I was mixing in English and hand motions.
Angelina was up ahead and I motioned her on; with my fist clenched and without taking my eyes from him I began walking. He began following. Shit. But soon gave up. Thrusting his hand in my face with his middle-finger raised he spouted some crude curses that I clearly understood after working at a construction site all summer.
Another piece of the City of Arts and Sciences is L'Oceanographic, the largest aquarium in Europe at 45,000 sq.meters.
Angelina is up close getting a photo of the fish, we were to have dinner in an underwater restaurant - I bet that would be like eating a burger in the barn.
We canceled the reservations to see something much more peculiar: synchronized swimming and a dolphin show - two firsts for me! They were great - just what we needed before our midnight departure southbound with our little rented go-cart.
We were still able to salvage half of the day and see what we came to Valencia to see.
This modern development in the Valencia riverbed could not be more different from the medieval quarter we explored yesterday.
This "city" is largely the work of Spanish architect, Santiago Calatrava, author of the bridge we saw in Bilbao. The building on the right is a science museum; a building that caught my eye in my first semester at Columbia where I tried creating a 3D model of it.The building in the center, modeled after a human eye and weilding an operable facade is the Imax and planetarium.In the distance the opera house has yet to reach completion and is a close replica of one Calatrava designed in Tenerife.
No more trains. Every train is booked for at least the next week. We're stranded in Valencia.
Word of advice: book everything in advance.
We had planned an extemely detailed trip with full prints of the timetables of each train we were to take over the next week.
We had reserved all hostals in advance, but assumed there would be room on the trains; the travel attendant's look of pity was translingual.
We had no place to stay this night because the train we were going to take was overnight.
But money can solve a lot of problems (unfortunately) and an extremely small rental car saved our trip. We still had time to explore Valencia before hitting the road tonight.
After climbing 207 stairs of the tower of the Valencia Cathedral we were rewarded with a broad panorama of Valencia City.
Valencia is a 5-hour train ride south of Barcelona.
The legendary Holy Grail is said to be in this cathedral - the actual cup that is - we got a photo of a photo of it because viewing hours were over.
The rest of the night we wandered around the gothic area and the royal gardens. The city was founded on a river that has since been diverted and is now a long 9-km park.
We sampled a local treat called horchata and farton (...) which is milk from tiger nuts and a pastry stick. We just couldn't figure out how they milked all those tigers.
Tomorrow morning we leave Barcelona via southbound train to Valencia to see Calatrava's City of Arts and Sciences.
After that we will head deeper south to see the Alhambra at Granada; and further yet to Coroba.
We arrive back in Barcelona on Wednesday, August 23rd. We'll have a computer with us to give updates when we come across an internet signal; we'll be staying at hostels or sleeping on the train as we go.
Spanish architect, Enric Miralles, died at the age of 45 and is buried in a cemetary he designed for the town of Igualada an hour outside of Barcelona.
Miralles was a brilliant and successful architect and projects are still being completed in his name.
The atmosphere was powerfully eery; nearby lightening and deafening thunder introduced a downpour unprecedented for our visit to Spain.
We took shelter under a cantilevering stack of tombs but the rain intensified in this isolated area outside of the town.
A man came running towards us through the rain; he was shouting but we couldn't hear over the sound of the storm. He was the keeper, he'd come to lock the gates but only by chance noticed a small car far inside the cemetary and came searching for us.
American architect (and Columbia "faculty") is the architect of arguably what saved the city of Bilbao, Spain.
Known as the Bilbao Effect this museum has single-handedly revived this dying post-industrial city through the increased surge in tourism since it's opening in the late 1990's.
One of our favorites, Santiago Calatrava, designed a bridge across the river in Bilbao.
Bilbao is a post-industrial town trying to make a cultural come-back. They've chosen a good team too: Calatrava, Frank Gehry, and Sir Norman Foster have all made significant contributions here lately.
Calatrava won the AIA gold medal last year. He is a great role-model, studying engineering, then architecture.
It's hard to do San Sebastian justice. It's a grandiose town expressing the power and solitude of a city like Washington DC but with an elegance that could be described as a 19th century French flavor.
We happened to arrive at the start of their "Semana Grande" or Big Week.
Their were parades, concerts, and dancing in the streets. People dressed with large head costumes chased people in the street and beat them with an inflatable ham that gave a startleing wallup.
We got separated in the crowd as the fireworks were about to start in the harbor. Angelina went to get ice cream for us; the police came to clear the area, I argued with them, but they didn't care if we found each other or not.
We showered at the beach and explored the beautiful coastal villages of Zarautz, Getaria, and Zumaia on the Punta Isarrais.
These are quaint little towns rich in history. Most, if not all have been wiped out several times. Napolean's troops razed most of them when as the French retreated in the 19th century.
They thrive on fishing in the Bay of Biscay as well as a growing tourist economy.
The clouds were a welcome break from the Costa Brava.
"What happened last night?" I thought when I opened my eyes to a green and blue lush picturesque landscape of rolling hills and soft clouds.
Deep into the night we passed through our destination, the majestic Spanish coastal city of San Sebastian. Barely able to keep our eyes open we found a tributary road and drove away from the highway.
Able to see nothing but our own headlights on the narrow paved road we could only tell that we were ascending.
We locked the doors, reclined the seats of the VW and slept over nine hours uninterrupted.
This is Basque Country. A land of it's own. It's culture is unique; it's language appears more like Russian than Spanish, yet it is a part of Spain.
Basque Country is home to the militant "terrorist" organization known as the ETA. Although still an extrememly active organization, it has declared an indefinite cease-fire. The ETA was first blamed for the 2004 Madrid Subway bombings that killed hundreds of people - which was later linked to Al Qaeda.
That withstanding, the Basque Country is also known for their food - their small bite-sized courses of tapas or pintxos have landed international awards.
This room had a better veiw than any other we could have found. Now if I could only find the bathroom...
After the rain subsided in Bayonne we explored the cobblestone streets with our aptly-sized rental on the left.
This town is near the border of France and Spain - we passed through countries without knowing; borders are a thing of the past in most of the European Union.
Very late on Saturday night we were lured to the medieval quarter of a French town partly by the lights reflecting off the river and partly by exhaustion.
Sometime after midnight a cold, hard rain caught us on the bridge for a quick awakening.
Bayonne, is on the Bay of Biscay in Southern France; about an hour from our destination near San Sebastion, Spain.
Saturday, August 12th, 2006: South France Somewhere
Saturday morning we took the bus to Figueres near the jobsite to rent a car and break free. Everyone gave their two-cents, "take this road, take that road, it will be faster." This is exactly why we didn't listen to them.
The only way to navigate was by town name, road names don't seem to matter. We accidentally got on the autobahn twice but quickly found our way back to the provincial roads that led us through non-descript small villages strung along the base of the French Pyranees.
It took twelve or fifteen hours to reach San Sebastian on the Bay of Biscay at the northwestern coast of Spain after traversing the entire width of southern France. We weren't keeping time; that was the point. For once we didn't have to be anywhere at any time. We couldn't find lodging ahead of time so we didn't have to worry about making it in time to check in, we were riding in our hotel room.
We didn't realize how much Spanish we actually knew until it came time to communicate with the French, it was back to charades.
One of the best parts was realizing that pop-culture had taught me something about France. Disney's Beauty and the Beast could have taken place in any of these villages. More importantly the Nintendo racing game with the "France" track prepared me well to maneuver the manual VW through the tree-lined country side.
Tonight is our final night at VillaNurbs. It doesn't feel right to leave when things are left incomplete.
This is surely only the beginning of our relationship with Cloud9 and Spain; the firm is working on several projects now including a competition for a redesign of Coney Island, New York.
Tomorrow morning we break free by car to explore the rest of Spain for the remainder of August. We're heading first through the French side of the Pyranees to San Sebastian and Bilbao on the northern coast. After returning the car to Barcelona we'll take the train south to Valencia, Granada, and Cordoba.
Whenever we find an internet connection we'll update the blog once for everyday we may have missed.
I'd like to hear what others think should be done with this blog? Should it end upon reaching US soil? Should it continue? Perhaps a linked blog begins like a new chapter in a book?
We're happy to have survived architecture boot camp; we're stronger and smarter than when we entered; we've been torn down, rebuilt and subject to putrid conditions, but all in an attempt to forge a path into unknown territory. We're very thankful to Enric and Cloud9 for all he has taught us and all he has given us. This is an experience that will influence me from now on.
Architecture is an endangered species, now we are traveling to find its roots and hopefully bring it back to life.
Thank you to everyone who watched over us on our unpredictable adventure this summer.
