Bike Tour: Days 21 and 22: Tarifa to Tetouan, Morocco

Day 20: Rest Day at Tarifa

Due to it being rainy, and also me having a desire to get caught up on writing and photo organization, and also gather my wits a bit before launching into the craziness that will likely be Morocco, I took the day off.  Not a ton to report: I just wrote most of the morning and attached photos, etc.  in the afternoon, I strolled around and took in the sights Tarifa has to offer, such as standing on the very furthest southern bit of the continent, strolling the streets of the historic part of town, looking at the castle, and walking down the long beach to where the kiteboarders were doing their thing.  That looks like a lot of fun, and if there is anything I need, it's a gear-intensive new hobby!

Day 21: Tarifa to Tetuoan, Morocco
Weather: cloudy turning to sprinkles, turning to full-on rain.
Roads- moderate to heavy traffic, shoulder usually adequate, but really unpleasant riding in combination with the rain
Bike: fussy today: got a flat, shifting and brakes both unhappy with the wet and all the road grit.  Need to give it attention.

The day started out promising enough and happily ended well, but I have to say the middle was a definite low point of the trip.  The ferry out of Tarifa is straightforward enough, and I took the early one just to maximize the day.  Pretty much all of my word of mouth knowledge of Tangeir was negative- but my Rough Guide seemed to think it had a few things worth seeing, so I tentatively had planned to sightsee during the day and then take off for Tetuoan the next day. 

But unfortunately the rumors of the scam artists being thick on the ground in Tangier was true, as I found out before I even got out of the ferry terminal- this one being hard to escape : as one ferry employee said I had to do something special with my passport, while another pretended to smooth the way for me,  then of course leaning on me for a tip to clear up the hassle he and his confederate had caused in the first place.  I was rescued by a government guy who swooped in as I started making a fuss-apparently they are trying to eliminate this sort of thing-  bit I had a bad taste in my mouth that seeing grungy Tangier did not alleviate.  Plus, having sort of itchy feet from sitting around a lot yesterday, I decided just to skip Tangier altogether and do the 65 km to Tetouan today.

All well and good, until the gray skies began to sprinkle, then rain outright, while the bike decided to be difficult as well, flatting out and getting cranky with the shifting.  The rain reduced the brakes' effectiveness, as well, which was a bummer after climbing a big pass in the rain and having to descend the other side of it.  The road, being a fairly major one, but the only route to Tetuoan that was at all direct, was full of giant trucks, and not to flavor the point, but it was hands down the worst day off riding so far. 

I just my head down, though, and got to Tetuoan wetter than a drowned rat cold and miserable.  I staggered into a cafe to get my bearings, and things immediately started to improve with my first pot of sweet mint tea, apparently a staple here.  I went to a cheap boarding house style hotel called a pension, and got a nice room for cheap.  Though the shower is down the hall, all I cared was that it existed, and after that I return back to ranks of the living.

From my whole 10 hours of experience, Morocco strikes me as on be of those countries like Peru or China that sits somewhere between the "developed" and "developing" world.  It is certainly a step down in convenience from Europe, but it's also no India or Cambodia.  The roads are reasonable shape;  people drive fast, but not insanely (and are relatively light on the horn, thank God); and walking the streets is perfectly pleasant (meaning I am not being swarmed by hucksters and cheats); and violent crime is really rare. 

That being said, this a FOREIGN country.  Aside from language and some relatively minor social differences (siesta, food, etc), Spain and Portugal kinda operate within similar parameters as home.  Morocco is an Islamic country, and an ancient one, and there is a lot going on here that hasn't changed a whole lot in many centuries. Calls to prayer echo from minarets everywhere, women are often veiled, and most of the men stroll about in Dr. Suess-looking snug body ponchos. 

I strolled around a bit after recovering from my wretched day of soggy riding, and the nearby souk (outdoor market) was really hopping. I had mentioned the medieval street layout of Lisbon and Seville, well, this is just plain medieval.  Same tiny alleyways, etc., except instead of being filled with classy wine bars, they contain butchered goats, live chickens, grilled kebob stands, delicious pastries, vast trays of olives and exotic fruits, and hidden entrances to mosques. Though a hell of a lot less classy, it's also a lot more interesting, and you can easily graze till you are full at various weird food carts and stalls (escargot?  Lentil soup?  Delicious panani sorta things but with cabbage, cumin, and meat?). for a couple bucks.  Try doing that in Europe.

Also kinda digging being well off the backpacker path.  Though this entails the rebirth of Big White Clown (see my China blog) and I once again draw stares and smirks wherever I go, it also involves staying at more interesting places than hostels- such as this pension I currently am writing you from.  French colonial architecture, run by a friendly family, filled with Moroccans laying prayer rugs and doing their ambulations to Mecca.  Also cheap cheap cheap.  Minus: squat toilets and very strangely designed showers. 

Bike Tour: Day 18: Cadiz

Took a day here in Cadiz to explore the sights, and, following the pattern of the last week, it was sunny though cool in the morning, warming and burning off whatever clouds there were in the afternoon.  I suppose, like anywhere, one could spend much longer to actually get to know the place, but the old city being so necessarily small (it being perched on a long thin peninsula), I felt I got most of the highlights in my day of sightseeing.

I started by walking along the waterfront and exploring the fortresses which long made Cadiz a nearly impenetrable stronghold.  On of the forts is out on a long spit accessible by a thin walkway over the reefs and sand, and it's easy to imagine the havoc it could wreak on any invaders foolish enough to come super its guns.  Though still impressive, they haven't gone too far out of their way to restore or explain to the visitor the history of the place- there were a few signs in Spanish that I generally got there gist of, but it seems the tide of EU historical money I have seen so many other places in Spain hasn't gotten here yet. 

It had gotten to the very impressive main cathedral in town, which apparently underwent a major renovation.  A large part of the charm of Cadiz is that most of the older buildings are constructed of a fossil-rich limestone, which over time has eroded fairly significantly, so everything seems pretty crumbly- which is great for aesthetics, but bad for giant towering highly ornamented churches.  By now suffering from inevitable cathedral fatigue, I moved on to the Museo De Cadiz.  I have been a bit spoiled so far in museums being housed in buildings as magnificent as their collections, and this one is not, but it did have a great archeology exhibit focused on the very long history of Cadiz- from pre-history, through the Phonecians (they have a pair of nearly intact sarcophagi that are awe-inspiring, considering they are nearly 3000 years old) , through the Romans (which also gave a nice teaser for Bolongia, where I was to visit in a few days), then the Moors, and so on.  Upstairs was another Museo De Belles Artes, which I have come to understand is as "religious art museum."  Sort of pearls before swine for me, since being poorly educated in art history, all the vast canvases of ecstatic saints and Virgin mothers and cherubs and Christ at various stages of the passion have now run into kind of a blur for me.   Plus, as I mentioned, after the stunning museum in Seville, this one was second fiddle.  I finished the day with some more strolling around various excellent waterside parks, eating the famous fried fish out of a paper cone (sorry England, invented here first), and soaking up an outstanding view from atop the Torre Tavira (the tallest of the hundred or so watchtowers in Cadiz). 

Sleepy from a poor night's rest there night before (thunderously loud snoring roommate), and having a big day of riding the next day, I reluctantly skipped the flamenco dancing trip that night (I would probably be more game if it started before midnight). 

Bike Tour Days 19 and 20: Cadiz to Tarifa

Day 19: Cadiz to Zahara De Los Atunes (85 km)
Weather: A little warmer: 50's in the morning , mid-60s in afternoon, Mostly sunny. 
Roads: Awful at the very first, when forced to ride along interstate, but rapidly improving as day went on, to some of best riding of trip near end of day.
Bike: Should adjust shifting.  All is functional, but could look at miking it run more smoothly.   Also considering swapping front tire with bigger spare. 

Even though the people a the hostel showed me a back road next to the railroad tracks along the South peninsula where it was possible to escape Cadiz, it looked likely to be a time-consuming challenge to navigate, and an unpleasant stretch to primitive road even when I did find it, so I just caught the train out of town, which dropped me off in San Fernando, at the mainland side of the Peninsula.  There began an unpleasant stretch of riding that, due to a large river estuary, forced me onto a European version of a freeway, which is to say, a freeway with really narrow shoulders bordered by a guardrail upon which one could not help oneself smeared should any of the speeding traffic veer from its lane by a few feet.

However, this only lasted for a few kilometers , and soon I escaped on an exit where I could follow a road along the/construction of an extent ion of the train to Chiclana (future bike tourists reading this, take the train to Chiclana), then I was on more manageable suburban roads heading out of town.  Heading west to the coast, the suburbs gave way to ritzy golf communities and upscale seaside condos.  The traffic disappeared, and I whizzed along the smooth pavement out into more parkland along the ocean and bike touring gold. 

Taking lunch at a clifftop overlook of Concil De LA Frontera, I basked in full sunshine and warm temperatures, and the first of many spectacular views along the lightly developed coast of southwest Spain.  I zoomed along the valley next to the ocean with farmland slanting down to the dying sea, until the view to landward became dominated by the dune/mountain of LA Brena y Marismas De Babarte national park. Huffing and puffing up the steep road from the deserted resort town of Zahora, I summited the mountain and cruised along the ridge, gathering sweeping sea views here and there through the pines.  If I had it to do over again, I would have taken the trail (actually a well-packed, slightly graded dirt road) to achieve even better views, but as it was, I had a delightful cruise over the top, and a thrilling descent with great views down to Barbote, where I had a late-afternoon beer at one of the beach side cafes.  Having daylight and energy left in the tank, I bumped off another 10km to find a nice campsite area near Zahara De las Atunes.  A quick dinner on the camp stove and and early night to bed, making up from a couple sleep deprived nights in a hostel full of snoring cohabitants.

Oh, and I can see Africa in the distance now.

Day 20- Zahara De las Atunes to Tarifa(45 km)
Weather: chilly in the morning (high 30's), warming (low 60s)and sunny midday, the getting cloudy later. 
Roads: A day of extremes: from steep loose jeep trail to smooth pavement with a massive tailwind
Bike: same as yesterday

Day broke chilly but sunny, and after almost 12 hours of restful slumber in the tent, I was soon packed and moving southward.  This was a somewhat significant risk, because though my road map showed the road to Altanterra as a dead end, the tablet's GPS showed a couple routes via dirt road that tied together the communities on either side of a rather prominent obstructing mountain.  There was a low road and a high road, and though I had certain knowledge of the low road going through from a friendly German in the campground, I, in my arrogance, decided the high road was superior.  This, I figured, was due to its longer length (which equalled lesser grades in my estimation), and thus I could avoid pushing the bike, as  I knew I would have to do with the low road.

This was not correct.  I huffed and puffed up a very steep twisting paved road to find a locked gate at its end, but with a bike-sized gap beside it, and tracks leading in to indicate it was travled.  However, the longer length, I found, just meant it climbed over the mountain all the more- to its 1300 foot summit, in point of fact.  The good news is now I can say I have now mountain biked in Spain, the bad news is that it mainly consisted of pushing my bike-cum-luggage cart up the side of a steep mountain. 

Lessons learned?  Arrogance works.  While the push was tiring, the views were increasingly stupendous, and upon finally reaching the summit, I was welcomed with pavement and a nice road down the other side.  The top was a strange maze of overgrown roads withe curbs and drains as if it were slated residential, but then abandoned- sort of a "Lost" feel to it.  But great views boost to the north (back toward the park with a massive wind farm in the middle distance) and to the south, where I could see all the way down to Tarifa and  in the farther distance, detail beginning to show on the foothills of the Atlas Mountains in Morocco. 

Zooming down the steep but paved road on the other side, I soon reached a major goal of the day the archeological site at Bolonia.  This excavation of an amazingly intact Roman town is special because unlike most other such sites, no civilization built on top of the site, and it takes little to no imagination to understand the layout of the settlement.  I am guessing some Euro-cash flowed in here recently, because there is a spanking-new visitor center, and very informative interpretive signs everywhere, all for the very reasonable €1.50 entrance fee (free with EU passport).  Present are sections of aquaduct, a large theater, forum, temples, houses, and a fishery.  Just amazing for anyone with a flicker of historical curiosity.  Also the valley that housed the town was a s scenic as could be, with dramatic stone spires behind, and a gleamimg beach with turquoise water. 

I did have to climb over a low pass to leave the valley, but getting back on the main road to Tarifa, I enjoyed a strong tailwind and sailed the last 15 km easily into town.  I grabbed a late lunch (generally the only type available), found the hostel, and settled in, taking on the long-neglected task of editing all my photos.  The next day is predicted to be cold and rainy, offering the perfect opportunity to take a rest day, catch up on the blog, and make a game plan for Morocco. Happily, this hostel is lightly occupied, and I got a room to myself for the price of a bunk, and the ability to sleep indoors at peace.

Decision Time

Well, the time has come for bold decision making, and it appears it is back to Plan A. 

I have worked my way down the coast of Spain nearly as far as possible, and now the decision point comes: turn east to begin the loop back to Lisbon via Ronda, Granada, and Cordoba, or... Steer south toward Tarifa and this across the Straight of Gibraltar with the bike to Morocco.  Let us examine the variables:

Weather: never certain, but favoring Morocco.  Winter comes late to southern Spain, but it's getting here- forecasts for the next couple weeks definitely favor a southern trajectory.

Personal fitness: I was initially  worried that after a  few weeks on the bike I would tire of it, but actually the trend is the other way.  Now that I have burned off the flab and I no longer creak and ache in the morning, and I see my viable range per day rising from 55km to more like 100, I am perfectly content to pedal away the rest of the trip.  Plus, I had not factored in the fact that I would regularly be stopping for a day here and there to sightsee.  Though I still get a workout walking around a city (generally 5-10 miles worth), it's different enough that my body (and let's just say it-my rear end is the limiting factor at this point)  has time to recover. 

Better Intel: By now, I have talked to a good number of people about my plans, and have gotten some much better info about Morocco. In particular, I talked at length with a British travel writer in Cadiz who urged me toward Morocco with a number of compelling arguments and assuaged most of my fears. 

Adventure:  the romantic appeal cannot be denied.  The "Lisbon to Marrakech" definitely sounds a lot cooler than the "Iberian Peninsula Loop."  The latter smacks of traipsing about Europe, while the former adds mystique, and perhaps a bit of danger.  In reality, I will say bike touring anywhere is plenty challenging, but Morocco will push the comfort envelope where I think it needs to be at this point.  Plus, as I mentioned in an earlier post, I am getting the first signs of cathedral/castle fatigue, and I believe Morocco holds a certain cure.  Finally, it seems I only get one of these trips every 3-4 years, and I wanna get the most out of this one.

Obviously, there are many compelling points to the "con" column: such as the touring is very likely to be less bike-friendly (goodbye bike lanes, hello dogs and rock-throwing children), the attendant challenges of developing world travel, logistics of getting the bike back to Lisbon, and so on. But these issues that I have dealt with before and are generally more unpleasant in the anticipation than the reality. 

So the wheels now point south for Tarifa and North Africa.  Gulp.

Bike Tour Days 14 and 15: Sevilla

Ah, Seville. It's so nice when something lives up to the hype.  Coming into town, I frankly wasn't too impressed.  Seville, pretty much a dead flat city, lacks the rolling beauty of Lisbon, as well as the red tile rooftops.  But when you get inside the city, it turns out it is all about the nooks and cranies.  I budgeted two days for sightseeing, and like Lisbon, I could have easily stayed more.  But I think I covered the must-sees.  They are no secrets from the tourists, but there's a reason.  The main cathedral of Seville is jaw-droppingly enormous (like 12 stories tall inside), ornate, packed full of priceless art and treasure, and if that wasn't enough for you, has the tomb of Christopher Columbus in the middle of it.  It was also built on the ruins of a magnificent mosque (knocked over by the same earthquake that leveled Lisbon), but the spectacular minaret (the Giraida) remains, and hiking up to the top of it is part of the tour.  The Alcazares palace is similarly amazing, particularly the moorish bits that remain, nearly intact.  There are other great sights, such as the immense Plaza de Espana (build for the very unfortunately timed 1929 World's Fair), the astounding Museo de Bellas Artes (a former convent packed with more priceless religious art from any prominent Spanish artist from the Rennessance on you might care to name) and the grim Plaza de Toros (one of the most famous bullfighting rings in the world.  Fun side note- bull fighting in real life was even grosser and crueller than I thought- apperently it was common for at least a dozen horses to be evicerated in a day's proceedings.  Nowadays, they wear horse body armor, but the event remains about the same for the bulls.) and the giant "mushroom" sculpture at the Plaza Mayor right downtown.  

But again, the charm of Seville really comes from the Medieval maze of streets that make up most of the central city.  Not a morning person's city (or country, from what I can tell), the streets burst into life in the evenings, teaming with music, laughter, and people of all description enjoying their beautiful city and each other.  It's a really treat just walking anywhere during the evenings- the energy is infectious.  Of course, staying at a hostel is an ideal way to specialize in night life, since most of the young people there are on young people schedules- stagger out of bed around noon, grudgingly see a sight or two, nap through the siesta, and then begin the evening with a Spanish-time supper (around 9 usually), then out to the bars around 11, and finish at 4 or 5.  And repeat until the next city, and repeat there, and so on till the money runs out.  I have always been a morning person, and also am a history nerd, and would never forgive myself if valuable sightseeing time were lost, and also am nearly 20 years older than most of these kids, so I only half heartedly participated, but still had a lot of fun.   

Oh, and also the women are indeed beautiful and the oranges top notch.  These things also live up to the hype.  

So that's Sevilla.  On Sunday morning, I was out long before my roommates even stirred (a shocking 9 am), and on the road heading for Cadiz.  I feel like I gave especially short shrift to the city in this entry, but this is really really one of those places you have to experince to get it.  Also I am behind on entries, so this will have to do!  

Bike Tour: Days 16 and 17: The road to Cadiz

Day 15: Sevile to south end of Dona a National Park (97 km)
Weather: 40's in the morning, warming to low 60's.  Clear and sunny.  No wind until end of day, then a steady headwind off the ocean.
Bike:no problems but I fear it took kind of a beating today with all the gravel roads
Roads: mostly dirt and gravel, maybe saw 10 cars all day.

Today's ride was mostly on gravel roads along an informal greenway along the Rio Guadalquivir- the very historic path that Colombus, among others, used to travel from the city up to the quite prosperous counting houses of Seville.  Though this route was under-developed from a biking perspective, it still was pretty popular - I saw many bikers along the way, as European as could be in head to toe neon spandex and cheerfully shouting encouragement my way.  The Guadalquivir estuary was hardly pristine, but it was very pleasant and filled with huge flocks of interesting wetland birds- cranes, herons, and if I am not mistaken, some sort of European flamingo. 

The rest days in Seville paid off and I think allowed my body to consolidate the gains of the previous couple weeks of riding.  This allowed me to beat my distance record and this time I was just a little tired.  Granted, the route was pretty much flat as a pancake the entire way, but I will give myself difficulty points for the rough surface and the late-day headwind. 

The later part of the ride was across a wide-open estuary with the wind tearing across it, so I pushed it a bit for a forested area I could see in the distance.  This tuned out to be the tag end of Donana  National Park, and its pleasant forest glade made for a delightful night of impromptu camping.  It was nice to catch up on sleep lost from the hostel- my roommates were, shall I say, on a different schedule than I , as well as prodigious snorers.  A quick dinner made on the camp stove and I was out!

Day 16: Donana National Park to Cadiz (80 km-though actually only 60 in a useful direction)
Weather: cool and sunny trend continues, with 40's during the morning, low 60s during day
Bike: Discovered a bolt had rattled out of the rear rack yesterday, was able to replace with one from water bottle cage.  Also got puncture flat from price of metal midday.  Also repaired.  Actually found a real bike shop this morning, and was able to replace bolt and buy extra set of brake pads for later. 
Roads: mostly pavement today. 

Beautiful dawn today, and a little nippy (though to judge by the native Spaniards here you'd think it was Alaska). Munched on some cereal and made some coffee, packed up the bike, and then was pleasantly surprised by having the first 5 km or so be along a lovely little bike path through the sand and pines of the park.  This spat me out right at the mouth of the now-mighty river, and after navigating through a small town just waking up, I decided to cut across the peninsula I was riding on in hopes that I might get in a bit early to Cadiz. 

After lots of bumpy gravel road yesterday and a headwind, it was a real treat to get a stretch of brand-new smooth asphalt, very little traffic, and a nice tailwind for the next 20 km or so.  Whereas my speedometer yesterday mostly hovered around a pokey 15 or 20, for a long stretch I opened the B-2 up to 30-35. 

I then began some navigation misadventures through the towns of  Puerto De Santa Maria and Puerto Real, which in my defense are made much more complicated by a twisted mess of natural obstacles- rivers and salt marshes.  By dumb luck I did stumble on yet another nice dirt bike path through yet another park this one through a very scenic estuary of the San Pedro River.

But the big stumbling block came in getting to Cadiz itself, which sits out on a long narrow peninsula, and accessible only by two narrow bridges.   I attempted my usual scheme of just blundering up to one and hoping for a miraculous pedestrian bridge, but this was rebuffed completely, and I found myself having to backtrack along a narrow shoulder on the wrong side of a freeway.  (I suppose it was physically possible to go across the bridge on a bike, but since there was no shoulder at all, I would be riding for about 4 km in the middle of freeway traffic which seemed to me tantamount to suicide). Anyway, I employed my terrible Spanish at a nearby gas station and found that my only hope was to get on the light rail train. 

More fumbling about trying to find the station (getting directions is hard for me, because it comes in rapid fire Spanish, from the generally loquatious people here- so what I understand is: "Oh, okay- what you want to do it go to the round about up there, then go left, then [unintelligible], but what you really need to keep in mind is [unintelligible], which reminds me of my Cousin Frank, old Frank, you know he always said that [unintelligible].  Anyhoo, after that third left [unintelligible], and you can't miss it."

But find it I did, and rode the slick new train into town with no further problems, found the hostel easily, and was welcomed into the fold once again.  New friends, interesting conversations, and a massive dinner cooked by a ex-pat from Alabama who I did not trust was actually an American because he had never heard of "The Empire Strikes Back." Calories replenished and blog updated, sleep came easily. 

Bike tour: Days 12 and 13- The Road to Seville

Day 12- Huelva to Matalascanas (60  km)
Weather continues in perfection- :70s and sunny
Traffic: generally pretty light other than leaving city
Bike- : all good, seemed to have goosed a few more days out of current brake pads.

Today brought a decision: either go hell bent for leather to Seville on a long unpleasant day of about 100km next to the freeway, or split the trip in a more indirect but much more pleasant route.  Of course I chose the latter, and for the first day anyway it was a great choice. 

The way out of Huelva looked to be a really unpleasant slog through a long industrial zone, but once again the bicycle guardian angels/city planners showed up, and I was able to follow a pleasant desperate and well marked bike lane through the city right out to another arm of the Camino  erode that had aided me so much yesterday.  The industrial zone was turned into a delight with a wonderfully landscaped greenbelt bike path  adjoining a long estuary reclamation project.  From that perspective, all the huge container ships and cranes and so on were just a cool backdrop.  The fun ended at the bridge across to the road leaving town, but I was grateful for all the rest it did give me. 

A spooky ride on a narrow pedestrian lane over a bridge later, and I was an even heavier industrial zone.  Fortunately, in the middle of this bleakness was the very nicely preserved momestary of El Rabido, the very place where Columbus and his captains assembled their crews, took their last mass, and then set sail across the ocean blue in 1492.  Of course Columbus ended up being a little murdery for today's tastes, but that aside, it,s pretty amazing to stand at the site of one of the most important moments of world history.  The monetary is very well preserved and beautiful, and nearby there is a little museum that contains full-sized replicas of Columbus' fleet of ships.  The latter museum was a little cheesy, and the museum's treatment of the Native Americans on Hispanola downright cringe-worthy (apparently Spain lacks the second thoughts Americans do re: CC), but the boats were neat. 

Back on the road along the seashore, I rode past a massive oil refinery, but then things got much nicer as I got into a national park, and what do you know, my old friend the Camino Verde showed up again.  For half the way to Matalascanas, the bike path was paved and even veered off away from the road to offer a quiet natural experience for 15 km or so.  For the last half, the path went to gravel and dirt, and since there was zero traffic and a huge hard shoulder, I went back to the main road and zoomed along the flat straight asphalt an pt an excellent clip towards the campsite at Matalascanas.  

As I have mentioned before, this could not be any more the dead season for these resorts, and the campsite indicated on the map wasn't even open.  Not a giant deal, however; since tent camping seems to be more or less unheard of, and non-car camp in even less so, I was able to secure a spot under a lighthouse overlooking the ocean just steps from the beach and a 3- minute walk to town.  It helped that the resort was so dead, but just alive enough for a few restaurants to be open.  So, after walking the beach for a while and contentedly reading a book in the sand, I had a nice dinner at seaside place and then an enjoyable time tasting wine and exercising my awful Spanish as the only guest at very friendly wine bar.  This was an ideal immersion scenario: these guy's English was as bad as my Spanish but everyone was really nice and enjoyed the practice.  Plus, I learned all about dried pig leg and many other topics!  Good wine, too.  I think this guy was pouring me the good stuff just to be nice. 

Then back to the tent, where I write this while listening to the surf pound the shore below.  Tomorrow I make for Seville!

Day 13- Matalascanas to Seville (90 km)
Weather: excellent, with only exception being 10-20 mph headwind all day. 
Roads: mix of busy road shoulder, dirt road and bike path.  Mostly light except approach to Seville.
Bike: all well

A longer day than first expected, made longer by a persistent headwind that beat mercilessly on the flat front face of my bike.  With the panniers, the B-2 is hardly an aerodynamic masterpiece.  But It was definitely a nice start, waking up as I did beneath a lighthouse on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Munching cereal and sipping coffee was mighty fine at dawn watching a fishing fleet ply back and forth, filling their nets with what I imagine were sardines or anchovies.

The general plan of taking the long way to Seville generally worked out, in that most of the way today was pleasant country roads (including another section of another "camino Verde"- though this time it was just a dirt road shortcut). I speculated that some of the middle section, though a national park, must have been originally Roman, because for 20 km though a pine forest the road was flat and unerringly straight as an arrow. 

The main sight today along the way was a beautiful town and cathedral at El Rocio, where apparently there is a huge religious festival to celebrate a miraculous statue of the Virgin Mary, which, Excalibur-like, refuses to be moved from the town.  They do parade her all over town, together with thousands of horses, ox-carts, and apparently half a million people.  They town was more or less deserted when I passed though, though, but the cathedral there displayed her very proudly. 

The approach to Seville had none of the charm of Huelva, and I was not rescued by a miraculous bike path on the way in again (not to say there is not such a route- I just don't know it).  Instead, as I feared, it was an unpleasant slog through the suburbs on a busy road, which mercifully had a wide shoulder, but a very stiff headwind, and the a huge barrier of an elevated freeway and a river which I had to go far around to enter the city. 

But I have worked out a procedure for such situations, which is to plug in my headphones (which normally I avoid as to not isolate myself from the experience), hunker down, and slog. As usual, the unpleasantness proved to be temporary, and once across the river I soon found the network of blessed red-painted inner city bike routes, and navigated to the hostel I had researched previously.  I hit the place in late afternoon pretty tired from the mileage, but pleasantly surprised by it being cheap (my days of solo rooms are long over, but sharing a room with an amiable Canadian was not that much of a hardship), possessed of piping hot showers, and as I returned to the common area to relax/and socialize, free sangria hour.  Viva frickin Espana.

Exhausted from the riding, spent the evening relaxing at the hostel making new friends and swapping stories.  Nice to get to bed early, for tomorrow and the next day I go into more traditional backpacker mode and take in the sights of Seville.