Cordoba's mosque catredal

Cordoba!  I thought I'd seen beautiful orange gardens in Estepona yesterday, but until I arrived at the Mosque-Cathedral of Cordoba this morning, I realized I'd barely touched on the beauty of Spain.  Where to begin?  Breathing the air of this impressive array of columns, arches and domes and feeling its spiritual splendor is etched in my heart.  

Its Islamic architecture has Hellenistic, Roman and Byzantine touches to come together with Christian architecture over a period of several centuries to create one of the most beautiful places in a city long known for its incredible history.  

Since it was built by several generations of religions and then after the Moors were pushed out of Spain, a Catholic cathedral was built in the middle of the original Moorish mosque, it was saved from demolition when the other (nearly 300) mosques were torn down.  Since it was no longer considered a mosque, but a Christian church consecrated in 1146 and again in 1236, it is a sacred place open to the world.  Since then (without missing a single day) Holy Mass has been held.

I will return on my own at the end of the month to feel part of the gardens and enter the mosque once again.  Once was not enough.
My computer is acting up, so this is it for tonight...

Estepona, orange blossoms and Puella Gaditana

After enjoying the breakfast delights of Tortilla Española and drinking creamy coffee, it was time for my first Road's Scholar lecture...about the history of España.  I was enthralled with Emmanuel's lecture of Spain's history in a very large nutshell.  He started with the Phoenicians and ended with current times... Romans, Goths, Arabs and Iberians.

I learned that the word for beer (cervesa) came from the Celts and the Phoenicians gave us the alphabet.  History and archaeology took us to Burgos, Spain where 3/4 of the fossil artifacts in the world reveal that this is probably where humanity began over 700,000 years ago.  El Greco, the Spanish painter that portrays personages with real life, often used mentally ill subjects to show "real" people to show the innocent wonder on their faces.  When Emmanuel spoke of "arenas" he said to look closely at the similarities between the Roman coliseums and the Spanish bullrings...CLOSE!  And the word, arenas, means "sand" - both venues used sand to sop up the blood spilled when Christians were killed and then the bulls... Enlightened tolerance allowed three religions to work together and were accepted: Muslims, Christians and Jews.

And the possible beginning of the flamenco dance?  Oh, my!  Puella Gaditana came from the Romans.  Could this have been the beginning of flamenco dance?  Since music and dancing are woven through my soul, this resonated with me.  If you want to look at this further, please go to https://misteriosdecadiz.jimdo.com video.

AND THEN WE EXPLORED OLD ESTEPONA.  We (30 of us) each carry a radio emitter with an earpiece so we hear the tour guide as if we were listening to iTunes on our phone.  Cobblestone streets led us into the ancient town where streets ran into one another like woven strands of string.
Our first introduction to the ancient area was an evocative statue of a woman...why was she crying?  I have absolutely no idea but she sure made me wish I knew the answer.

Our guide told us that added to street signs, colored pots led the way.  What?  Each street had colored pots hanging on the walls depicting the specific street so if a drunk couldn't fine his/her way home or a visitor wanted to find your home, they looked for the color of the pots instead of trying to read the street signs.  They were red, blue, green, yellow, purple and polka dots.  Each street's wall was covered in the pots all the same color; bright colored flowers drooped out of them, inviting you in.

Crossing over the cobble stone streets, the guide led us toward a church, but on the way we rounded a corner and found ourselves in a plaza filled with trees and covered with intricately laid out stones from the Arabic era.  The heavy scent of orange blossoms permeated the entire area from orange trees.  Their white fragrant flowers were perfectly formed and their perfume invited us to sit, mediate and inhale, leaving us breathless with delight.

AND THEN (y entonces) I SAW THE BOOK TREE!  Everyone stared and gathered below the tree to focus on what they were seeing.  (smile)  It was a book store's idea of frivolity and I loved it,

so ridiculously out of place.  Maybe when I get home I will plant one of my own?  

There is still the old wall reaching toward the sky of Castillo de San Luis just three blocks from Avenue España just south of Plaza de las Flores.  Orange blossoms cover the old stone wall and the scent reaches out and embraces you when you get close.  

The city's ayuntamento with the flags of Andalucia, Spain and Estepona flew breathlessly above the doors, with plaques proudly bearing the words Andalusia poor si para España y la humanidad. (Andalusia by itself for Spain and humanity.)

As I write this, I am sitting in the lower lobby of the Estepona Palace Hotel amid bright yellow couches and artwork.  It is peaceful and the chatter is low, as if everyone knows I am reliving this wonderful day and they don't want to take a footstep inside my head.  And then I took a long nap to continue my fight against jet lag... later enjoyed with a glass of Tempranillo wine (only $3.90) with a new friend, a lovely dinner and the musical entertainment of a saxophone concert in the lounge.

Tomorrow -- Cordoba and the mosque, called La Mesquite-Catedral

He Llegado - I have arrived

Bliss.  When I placed my foot off the plane in Madrid and onto Spanish Soil this early morning (Sunday), I felt its magic.  Wispy clouds hung in a bright-blue sky and then the reality of the Madrid Airport pushed my mind into overdrive.  My España Aventura (Spanish adventure) had begun. 

The moment I walked up the ramp, I was handed an orange-colored voucher with my name on it along with an urgent suggestion to "hurry to gate H24 for my connection to Malaga."  Looking around me, I saw groups of people rushing forward to one of the six gates and I followed like a gaggle of geese chased me.  Once the security people stamped Madrid on my passport, I was off and running again.  The gates were clearly marked toward the gate's letters and I kept "H" in my sights as I rounded corners on the long concourses, sped up four escalators, jumped on two trains, fast-walked across two moving walkways and then caught the shuttle bus across the tarmac to the waiting Iberia Express airplane.  The crowds filling the escalators, bus, trains and concourse looked like a slow-moving expressway of ants.  And I'm sure I walked ten miles.

Once on the plane, I sighed with relief and noticed the airline attendants wore dresses the color of the Spanish flag.  Excellent.  It made me smile and then one hour later up, across and down again, I landed in Malaga.

I knew Miguel Alba Trujillo was meeting me with a sign "Hawaii" on it depicting my descendant status for Spanish ancestors who had immigrated from Spain to Hawaii, I arrived at the baggage gate expecting to be on pause position going through Customs.  But, no!  The Customs had already gone through my bag (not sure how they got them closed since I'd stacked them tight) and I was soon off and running again to find Miguel.

We recognized each other immediately.  I didn't even see the sign.

He'd told me he was bringing a director of documentaries to chat with me also, but the day changed from regular bliss to an adventure out of a movie.  Literally.  Besides the director, there were also two young men - four men in all.  One was the camera man and the other was the audio man.  I was being filmed arriving, walking, talking and the documentary began.  What fun.  I wore a microphone just like uptown.  And then we five squeezed into a car and Miguel drove me to my hotel in Estepona with conversations being recorded (my Spanish wasn't as bad as I thought before I left home) for the beginning of my Road's Scholar Tour at the Estepona Palace Hotel.

I was delighted to learn they want to film me for the documentary in several other towns during my 3-month stay in Spain.  Miguel has offered to take me to the towns where my Ruiz family are from over the next weeks.

He has written a book titled SS Heliopolis, about the first emigration from Andalusia to Hawaii and the sugar cane fields.  He gifted me a personalized copy of his book (in Spanish of course) and he hopes to one day have it translated into English, so many of the Americans and English descendants can read the story he researched four years before publishing.
Since my book, (The Girl Immigrant) Historia de tuna niña emigrante is similar, we have a lot in common as our quest for filling the blanks of family trees expands.

MY HOTEL IS BREATHTAKING.  White stucco against the blue sky and palm trees framing the back courtyard with the ocean as its natural curtain beyond...pulls me toward it like a bee to honey.
My room has a balcony with a view of the ocean and more palms, but the back patio (I use the term loosely as it is massive) is where I sit now to type this narrative.  This photo was taken from my balcony.

The hotel's back patio is encircled with a serpentine wall holding up tiny purple flowers sprinkled at the perimeter.  There is a slight, balmy breeze ruffling my hair, birdsong is all around me and the sounds of the ocean breaking over the sand are lulling me after my very long plane ride.  I see the turquoise waters blissfully moving by with gentle white caps and fluttering palms sway in tandem with the birds' friendly songs.

Peace.  Gentle and kind.  It surrounds me.  I feel Spain's embrace in every direction.  I see white-washed tiers of hotel rooms amid more flowers, terra-cotta floor tiles and wicker chairs (my favorite.)
My first day.  Amazing.  I've now been awake (mostly) for 24 hours and I'm waiting for jet lag to sing its siren song.  For now, I'll just sit back and listen to all the sounds and prepare for my 6 o'clock tour orientation in the marble and palm-filled lobby where I will meet my fellow Road Scholar posse and Emmanuel, our tour director.  Life is very simpatico for me today.

Spain is calling and the plane is waiting

By the time you read this, I will be on an Iberia Airlines plane pointed toward Spain.  My plane will stop in Chicago and Madrid before landing in Malaga the day after I leave Phoenix due to the eight hour difference.

Thank you for coming along with me on this travel adventure as I prepare to research facts for my next two books, (Ruiz Legacies and Flamenco Strings: Uncorked).  I look forward to meeting expats I've met through the We Love Memoirs Facebook site, visit cousins and meet new friends.  I hope to feel Spanish life on that side of the world and bring some of it home with me three months later.

I will arrive the morning of March 12 and an internet friend will be waiting to meet with me before my Road Scholar Tour begins in Estepona.  Miguel Alba Trujillo has written books about the immigrant ship (Heliopolis), Spain and the mass Spanish immigration that I am so enamored with.  He assures me that I will have no problem conversing with his meager English and my oh-so-meager Spanish.  Espero que esté correcto.  I hope he is correct.

I had high hopes that I would also have in my hand...the Spanish translation paperback copy of The Girl Immigrant, titled Historia de una niña emigrante.  But, it was not to be --- The publishers at Babelcube, the translation company, are still editing the book to give their approval before publication.  My Spanish translator, Consuelo Mellado, lives in Madrid and I'm sure she is as anxious for final publication as I am.

My next post:  He  llegado.  I have arrived. 

Packing for Spain should be a Calming Experience

6 days...

We all know that it is difficult to push ten pounds into a five pound bag...so my plan is to nutter my stuff down to five pounds.  I do NOT need to break the zipper on a bag I've promised myself is the only piece of luggage I will take with me to Spain.
My house is rented.
My airline ticket is confirmed.
Hotel reservations (2) are confirmed.
My ticket for the mosque in Córdoba is printed.
My to-go list is finished.
My backpack is half full.
My "Karen McCann" travel vest pockets are filling up.
And the clock is ticking toward March 11, 2017.

Contacts have been made and plans are organized.  Friends and family are waiting, although my Spanish is still in flux.  BUT, hand motions, facial expressions and basic words will get me through.  I feel positive and I am ready...thanks to my wonderful tutor, Janet.

I will post only once more before my plane flies me across the ocean.  Until then, I need to see how many clothes I have to pull back out of that piece of luggage, aka una maleta.

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO LEAVE COMMENTS.  I LOVE SMILING.

Taking Flamenco Dance Lessons in Spain

8 days...

Flamenco.

Although many of the details of the development of flamenco are lost in history, it is certain that it originated in Andalusia and that from the VIII to the XV centuries, when Spain was under Arab domination, their music and musical instruments were modified and adapted by Christians and Jews, and later by gypsies ... It is a genuine Southern Spanish art. It exists in three forms: el cante, the song, el baile, the dance, and la guitarra, the guitar playing. (Wiki)

AND, I have always felt like a gypsy.  The sound of flamenco music touches my soul like no other music does (except Elvis, of course). When I was in Spain the fall of 2012, I was enchanted with a young cousin named Laura Ruiz.  She was thirteen and her beautiful sister (Elisa) was sixteen.  Laura did not speak English, but she wanted to show me how to dance the Rumba.  Her parents own a restaurant in Fresneda, a small district near Malaga, and the large back room was empty.  A perfect dance venue. Laura turned on the Rumba music and started to sway.  Her arms lifted above her head and her hands flitted like a ballerina's. I was mesmerized.  There is nothing quite like seeing Spain through the eyes and music of locals, especially from a child so willing to please her American cousins. 

Did I learn the Rumba?  No.  But this time...I won't be shy.  Elisa tells me that Laura now dances flamenco.   The music and the sway of the body against the sounds of clapping and castanets will lure me into imagining myself in old Spain.  Adding this to my Spanish-To-Do list makes me smile and I hope Laura, who is now eighteen, will be gentle with me...especially since her sister has offered me her teaching services...  

In 2012, Elisa spoke English, but Laura did not.  Maybe my rudimentary Spanish skills will see me through if she doesn't speak English yet... However, we all know that music needs no words and neither does dancing.  I have a skirt for flamenco and I'm ready to roll.  

How to "FOLLOW" On Spanish Soil Blog

Here's a gentle tutorial for you to FOLLOW my Blog:

Since I have received several exasperated notes from my friends telling me they can't figure out how to "follow" On Spanish Soil, I wanted to explain why... If you are reading my blog on a cell phone or iPad, the monitor is so small, it doesn't show the entire page.  I believe some people have figured out how to "see" the slot to type in their email from a device, but I haven't...

1. Please type in www.onspanishsoil.blogspot.com on a laptop computer or a PC desktop computer.

2. When you do that, you will see the area to the right:  Follow by Email.  Please type in your email address in the box and then click "submit."
3.  You should receive an email from On Spanish Soil asking you to confirm your email to make sure you are a real person and not a robot.
4.  Once you confirm your email on that first email, you will receive an email every time I add a new post.

Note:  I have found that if you click on the blue underlined title inside the email text, it is easier to read rather than trying to read the post on the email itself.