Tuesday, March 25, 2003
It was so early when I left the hostel that I made it all of the way to the port without being accosted by a single faux guide. I still managed to get stung one last time, however, when a guy inside the port building with an assortment of laminated i.d.'s hanging around his neck managed to convince me that he was an official port employee who would fill out my departure form for me. It was only after he had filled it out that he let me know that he expected a "gift". This is a classic hustle that I had been warned about and I still fell for it. Nonetheless, thanks to his help, I found the ticket window I needed and was taken to the front of the line. That was probably worth the handful of coins I gave him. He tried to tell me that I should give him all of my paper money as well, because I wouldn't be able to convert it back into euros. At least I wasn't dumb enough to fall for that one.
I left Morocco behind, returning to Algeciras. Once there, I was able to move quickly over familiar ground. I walked directly to the bus station and caught a bus to La Linea. From there, I walked across the border to Gibraltar. It felt good to be back on British soil. Any anxiety I had been feeling about being in Morocco during the war melted away. (Of course, I don't know why I would have any anxiety being in Morocco. For the entire time I was in Gibraltar, I never heard a single person make mention of the war.
This time, I saved some steps by letting a city bus take me across the runway and into town. I then followed the same path I had used a week earlier to get to Toc H Hostel. The same woman once again informed me that there were no empty beds. This was an unfortunate turn of finances. It forced me stay at an actual hotel--the type used by people who have jobs. When the manager told me the price for a single, my response was, "Uh . . . " He broke my long pause of indecisiveness by telling me in a less than friendly tone that they also had some budget rooms without baths for a reduced price. I told him I'd take it. I then asked him if he would give me a 10% discount for having a Let's Go guidebook (even though it's a year 2000 edition that I bought used) and he reacted as if I'd just soiled the carpet. There was no discount and my room at the Queen's Hotel would end up being the most expensive accommodation of my trip.
One good thing about the Queen's Hotel is that it is only a block away from the cable car station. Most of the tourist attractions in Gibraltar are on the Upper Rock and the cable car is the most direct way of getting there. At the ticket window, the ticket salesman reacted with disbelief when I asked for a one-way ticket. He told me the walk back down would be grueling two-hour trek, but I insisted that's what I wanted--besides, a one-way ticket was a £ cheaper.
As you might expect, there was an observation deck up top. The view was spectacular. The top of the rock was just above the cloud line and a strong wind was pushing the clouds into the rock side, whereupon they would shoot straight up. I leaned over the edge and had a cloud go up my nose.
Perhaps the best known of Gibraltar's attractions is the rock apes. They are a colony of Barbary Macaques that have free reign of the Upper Rock. They have inhabited the rock since before the Moorish invasion and the British believe they'll control the peninsula only as long as these monkeys survive. They nearly went extinct in the 1940s, but judging by the amount of monkey poop I had to step over, they are now doing quite well.
As I was getting off the cable car, the operator warned me to guard the plastic bag I was carrying because the monkeys would try to grab it. They've probably learned that such bags often contain food. Sure enough, whenever one of those monkeys would hear my sack rustle, he'd glance at it and then quickly look away, feigning disinterest. But as soon as I'd turn my back, the monkey would start creeping towards me and reaching out his hand to snatch my bag. I'd spin around to face him and he'd fold his arms and look up at the sky. Because of these klepto monkeys, I had to remain vigilant, always on high monkey-alert. It didn't help matters when I saw a monkey jump on the shoulders of a British college student and start pulling her hair. I placed myself in great peril when I turned my back on one of them long enough to snap a photo.
Descending the road from the cable car station, I went to St. Michael's Cave. It's a typical tourist cave filled with stalagmites, dripping water, and colored lights.
Next, I went to the Great Siege Tunnels. The Treaty of Utrecht yielded Gibraltar to Great Britain in the early 1700s. Spain then tried to take back the fortress-colony in 1779 by laying siege to it. The siege lasted until 1783. It was during this period that the British colonists hollowed siege tunnels out of the rock. During WWII, an additional 30 miles of tunnels were dug (using the rubble to construct the airport), which just blows my mind. The rock probably occupies less than one square mile of the peninsula, so I don't see how it could be honeycombed with 30 miles of tunnels, but that's what they claim. Tourists are allowed inside only the first half-mile or so, so I'll have to take their word for it.
Continuing my descent, I came to A City Under Siege, which is an outdoor exhibit made up of a clump of crumbling buildings originally built in the early 18th century. There are mannequins dressed in period costumes and plaques describing how the colonists managed to collect drinking water and grow crops on solid rock for years at a time while under siege. On some of the rocks, you can see graffiti carved by British soldiers in the 1700s.
Further down the Upper Rock, I came to the Moorish Castle, last rebuilt in 1333. Going inside the Tower of Homage, which is really all that remains, I found myself back in Morocco. There were several rooms of Moroccan crafts and furniture. It was here that I finally saw a carpet that I would consider paying more than $20 for. It was hanging on the wall and beside it was a plaque describing it as a Berber carpet of exceptionally fine needlework. Supposedly, a Berber woman could produce only three such carpets in her lifetime before going blind. If a carpet came with some sort of certificate of authenticity attesting to the fact that some old Berber woman lost her eyesight making it for me, I might spring for as much as $100 for it. Okay, $100 and a box of cookies.
The Moorish Castle concluded my tour of the Upper Rock. I finished the day with a walk through the botanical gardens; a quick peek inside the casino, which turned out to be nothing but a scattering of sad-looking people sitting in front of slot machines; and a plate of fish and chips at one of the many pubs.
Wednesday, March 26, 2003
I got up early and found that the front door to the Queen's Hotel was still chained shut. I was standing there in a dark lobby wondering what to do, when another guest came down the stairs and, being less meek than I am, started yelling for the desk clerk. He emerged from somewhere in the back and quickly unchained the door. The other guest, in an irate tone, then started complaining to the clerk that the community bathroom was filthy. He said that one of the other guests had given himself a haircut and left hair all over the sink. "It shouldn't be difficult for you to track down who did it, because the hairs are dark black and curly!" He shot a look in the direction of the top of my head and then returned his attention to the clerk. He looked at him expectantly as though he truly thought the clerk would commence rousting the other guests from their beds for a follicle line-up. The clerk muttered that he would take care of the situation and the guest walked away all huffy.
It was still dark outside and the streets were deserted. I made the long walk back to La Linea and caught a bus to Granada, which would be a 4-hour ride. For much of the way, we hugged the coast. We passed through Marbella, which is a favored vacation spot of the rich and famous. I saw a lot of expensive vacation homes there and it looked as though more were being built as fast as possible. The ranks of the rich and famous must be growing.
Somewhere along the way, we stopped at a roadside restaurant for lunch. After everyone had boarded the bus, a man approached the bus driver outside the door and purchased passage to Granada. I was a bit surprised he had the cash, because he looked like a vagrant. His long hair was a mass of greasy tangles; he had a scraggly beard; and he appeared to have an aversion to soap. When he tried to board the bus with his guitar strapped to his back, the bus driver stopped him. He insisted that our smelly troubadour store his instrument in the cargo bin in the belly of the bus. They argued about this--even though they didn't appear to share a common language--and the man gave in and placed his guitar in the storage bin. He then started to crawl inside the bin to ride with his guitar, possibly in a loving embrace, and this caused the bus driver to erupt again. He pulled the man from the cargo bin and yelled at him until he finally got on the bus without his guitar. When I heard him speak, I was greatly disappointed in the realization that he was most likely an American.
After arriving at the main bus station in Granada, I took a city bus to the center of town. I obtained a free city map at the official tourist office and immediately started my sightseeing by looking for the Cathedral. Along the way, I came upon an anti-war march. It appeared to be a planned event, because the police had cordoned off both ends of a major street. The marchers were made up almost entirely of teenagers, who were having a hard time working up the level of moral outrage appropriate for an anti-war march. Sure, they had the banners, buttons, placards, and megaphones, but there were way too many smiles and their "No la guerra!" chant, accompanied by a peppy drum beat, seemed dangerously close to crossing over into dance music. But hey, for many of them, it was probably their first protest, so why shouldn't they enjoy themselves? There'll always be time for anger.
There were probably more spectators watching the march from the sidewalks than there were marchers. I followed the march, making sure I stayed on the sidewalk so as to preserve my spectator status. I snapped a quick photo before moving on.
The Cathedral was closed, so I looked for a hostel. I found one that was all out of singles, so the manager let me have a double for the same price.
I went for a walk that took me to Iglesia de San Nicolas, which is on a high hillside above the city. From its terrace, I had a spectacular view of the Alhambra, with the snow-capped Sierra Nevada in the background.
I returned to the Cathedral and was able to go inside now that it was open. Built from 1523-1704 by Fernando and Isabel upon the foundation of a major Arab mosque, it was the first purely Renaissance cathedral in Spain. (Sitting on the sidewalk outside and strumming his guitar, was the vagrant from the bus.)
Near the Cathedral is Capilla Real (Royal Chapel), built by Fernando and Isabel to serve as their final resting-place. I visited the crypt and saw the lead caskets containing the monarchs. In an adjacent room was the sacristy, containing Isabel's private art collection. I was more interested in her crown and scepter and the king's sword, which were also on display.
I ended the day with a trip to the laundromat (6 euros for one load!) and dinner at a Chinese restaurant.
Thursday, March 27, 2003
This day was to be devoted to the Alhambra. It was the reason I went to Granada and was one of the reasons I went to Spain.
As Christian armies pushed the Moorish conquerors out of Spain in the 13th century, Granada became the last Muslim outpost, surrounded by a unified Christian kingdom. When it was finally captured in 1492 by Isabel and Ferdinand, the mosques were razed and most of the Muslim architecture was destroyed. But because of its beauty, the palace-fortress complex known as the Alhambra was spared.
Today, if you watch a documentary that attempts to cast Islam in a favorable light, they will inevitably flash pictures of the Alhambra on the screen and point to the historical city of Granada as proof of the cultural attainment of the Muslim empire. Even my guidebook contains this line: "Conquered by invading Muslim armies in 711, Granada eventually blossomed into one of Europe's wealthiest, most refined cities." Oftentimes, statements like this will be coupled with the observation that at a time when Granada had irrigation and lighted streets, London was still a primitive village caught in cultural darkness. I've heard this more than once and I detect in it a bit of defensiveness. The implication is that the stark contrast we see today between Western and Arab civilizations is only a pendulum swing in one direction and that by considering the past greatness of Muslim cities such as Granada, we'll come to realize that Islam is compatible with cultural advancement.
The problem I have with this is that it assumes that the wealth and refinement of Granada was the outgrowth of an Islamic ethos, while ignoring the role played by military conquest and plunder that is at the center of the religion. Capital cities of the Islamic Empire "blossomed" not because the Arab invaders brought civilization with them, but because the artisans and the more educated of the native populations tended to concentrate in the capital cities after the rest of the countryside had been sacked and looted.
Much of the intelligentsia in Granada consisted of Spanish Jews. There were generations during which a Jewish presence was tolerated to the point where Jews were allowed to serve as viziers. There were other times, however, when such tolerance evaporated. In 1066, the whole Jewish community, numbering about three thousand, was annihilated.
The concentration of wealth that was reflected by the decorative palaces and mosques was largely the result of pillage. Soon after Spain was conquered, it became a base from which Muslims were able to take jihad to the seas, attacking the coastal cities of Europe. Landing on Crete in 827, Arabs from Spain laid waste to it in the space of twelve days, enslaving the populations of twenty-nine towns. Moving on to the island of Aegina, they destroyed or deported all the inhabitants as slaves. Next, they subjugated the Italian towns of Bari, Messina, and Modica, before laying siege to Rome. During the eighth, ninth, and tenth centuries, looting attacks depopulated Sardinia, Sicily, the coasts of Italy and southern France, and much of the Greek coast.
Perhaps a string of successful military conquests stretching over several centuries is by itself the mark of a superior civilization, but if so, then we must conclude that the Mongol horde that captured the caliphate of Baghdad in 1258 was somehow superior to the Muslims they defeated.
In any event, whether marble fountains and decorative stucco are marks of refinement endemic to Muslim civilization, or merely the gild covering a rapacious impulse, they are certainly pleasant to look at, and the Alhambra is full of them. Also, to be fair, most of the Alhambra was built during a time when Islamic conquest was on the wane and Spanish territory was being retaken by Christian armies.
You should be able to tell from reading all of this that my visit to the Alhambra held more interest for me than the typical tourist stop. That is why I committed to spending two nights in Granada. It is also why I made sure to be at the Alhambra entrance gate prior to opening. My guidebook said that in the summer they limit the number of people allowed inside each day to 8,400 and so I should arrive early to stand in line, but when I got there, there were fewer than ten people standing in line. It had been raining and that might be part of the reason. The rain was a good thing, however, because all of the little drainage channels that seemed to be everywhere were filled with rushing water.
The Alhambra is really a city within a city consisting of a fortress, Moorish palace, governmental council chambers, baths, courtyards, etc. In the middle of it all, is the Palacio de Carlos V, a palace built by Emperor Carlos V in the Renaissance style, which clashes with the surrounding Moorish structures. I saw more at the Alhambra than you want to read about, so I won't go into detail. I'll simply say that I loved it.
When I returned to my room, there was still a couple of hours of prime tourist time remaining, so I went for a long walk to La Cartuja. It is a 16th-century Carthusian monastery and "the pinnacle of Baroque artistry in Granada." Other than a gargantuan marble sacristy, there really wasn't much worth seeing. There were several halls filled with gruesome paintings depicting the martyrdom of various Carthusian monks.
For dinner, I ate at Restaurante Boabdil, located directly across the street from my hostel. I had a plate of paella (it was excellent), pork chops, fries, bread, and a sugared pear with whipped cream--all for less than 7 euros.
Sitting several tables away was a bald man who looked to be about 50. He was American and he was able to guess that I was American as well, so he smiled really big and said hi from across the room. As he was leaving, he stopped by my table to chat. I told him where I was from and he told me he was from Santa Cruz, California. Well, what was left to talk about? The war--of course!
If I had to discuss the war one more time, I thought that I'd at least get to hear a different perspective from what I had heard for the past two weeks, but since he was from Santa Cruz, I should have known better. He told me that the Spanish people felt a lot of anger about the war and that he had seen a lot of people protesting the war during his stay in Spain.
"And they should be! They have every right to be upset. This war is terrible. I hope we lose and I hope we lose big!"
"I was opposed to the war," I told him, "but now that we are in it, I hope we win. I never want to see America lose a war."
"Well, losing is the only way Bush is going to be stopped. If we win, then he's going to move on to Syria and Iran next. Can you imagine what it's going to be like fighting a war with Iran?"
I don't know which one damages America's image more--this guy or the filthy vagrant with the guitar.