Burro-Polo

For those of you that have doubted just how rural Rota is, this post is for you. Until some of you state side folks come and visit me and I drive you through areas that closely resemble Soledad, Greenfield, or San Juan Bautista let me use burro-polo as my supporting evidence on just how rural Rota really is...

Yes burro, as in donkey.
Yes polo, as in the team sport played on horse back with mallets and a ball.

Are you really imaginging what I'm talking about?

Two 3 person teams, each member riding a donkey, holding a push broom in one hand, and the reigns in the other.

Competitive adults riding stubborn jack asses trying to get him moving, while juggling ropes and a broom AND figuring out where the Dora the Explorer ball is to hit it into the tiny goal...without falling.

So in water polo all I had to do was stay above water, which is why it should be no surprise that my one and only goal of "do not fall off" was violated within 5 minutes of being on that stubborn gray spotted animal. He was in no mood to move 2 inches closer to the ball in the dirt and well, most of you know my competitive nature so I had to trust my balance and well, there's another reason I'm back in gym mode. 

So no, team Charlie's Angels did not have a win tonight but we were looking like a team by our second game almost running plays. Yeah, that's a gross exaggeration, but we weren't dropping our brooms as much and there were a few fast breaks in which 3+ donkeys basically squished our legs together as they insisted walking side by side to opposite side of the playing field. Give us a little more time and perhaps some more tinto and I see a title in our future, especially if I convince the coworkers we need to get out there and play!

Destination: Cartagena!

Shortly after arriving in Spain I recall looking up where the closest Roman ruins were in the event that I felt "home sick" and needed to stand on something really old. Well, it's a good thing that the Roman Empire was so vast because you can track down their history nearly everywhere. Okay, maybe not everywhere, but pretty much everywhere when you think about where I've called home for the last 4 years. Needless to say when my neighbor wanted to trek all the way to Cartagena (read 370 miles away if you take the inland route, which we didn't) I was somewhat skeptical about traveling that far to see a Roman Theater when I lived with 30 miles of several back in Italy but I have been missing Italy a lot and as the saying goes...when in (ancient) Rome...

Day two of our weekend road trip finally landed us in Cartagena. Don't bother looking for this town in the Murcia region in a tour book because Rick Steves doesn't even write about it. Although a kept secret from American tourists, the large harbor and tourist city feel makes one feel like it's a "local" tourist spot. Then again maybe it could be the debate one must have if it's really on the Mediterranean Sea or not. And although I hate to admit it, further research (as in looking at a million maps) my travel buddy was right, Cartagena is in fact located on the Med and not another sea. (I really hope he's not one of my readers.)

After drinks on the Med at sunset, we entered the walled city to find people lined up along the sidewalk. My parade radar went off immediately! It's still carnival and these people love to party. With lights strung up across the pedestrian areas, music filling the air it wasn't to long before women dressed in sequins, tulle, and feathers dancing down the street in heels. Groups of school aged children dressed in costumes followed. Old people. Babies. Everyone dressed in their costumes, covered in makeup, dancing to the looping soundtrack. The parade lasted over two hours. We however did not.

An hour into it someone decided it was time to grab another drink and some food so we crossed the parade path (the senior citizens group to be exact) and tried to push through the crowd, but I think most of you know my personal bubble thing. And we weren't going anywhere so a quick about face and I marched us into a tapas bar where we bellied up to the bar ordered our drinks and tapas appeared as we listened to the music still streaming in from outside and looked around to see who we were with: Beetlejuice, clowns, and I was sitting next to a rooster.

Sensory overload (with a little help from Cruz Campo) we sat there for a while making small talk with the bartenders and anyone willing to be frustrated with my lack of basic Spanish. There's something really exciting though about not know what exactly is going on around you as you sit at a bar. It's not to not understand the conversations being spoken so you have to really rely on body language and hope it translates the same as American body language does. It's so easy to just get lost in the people watching here, especially when everyone is in high spirits as the result of carnival. We called it an early night and left the princesses, cowboys, clowns, and other dressed up people still sipping their beverages, smoking, and spilling out of bars as the niños kicked soccer balls back and forth the each other at midnight.

Again, the next morning while most of the city had just gone to bed, we put our 'sploring gear on and went driving were we weren't supposed to go. Saved my cranky knee some serious uphill walking, but I'm pretty sure I heard the lady thinking "americanos estúpidos" as she explained where we needed to head to for the Roman Theater entrance. 

We finally ditched the car at the University's lot where the garbage situation in the parking lot that was the parade staging area the night before made my heart skip a beat for its Naples-like appearance and we walked along the wall to get to reason we (and when I say "we" I really mean my neighbor because someone still can't drive a manual transmission) had driven 400+ miles to see- the Roman Theater. 

Pretty impressive right? The iron rich stone against the blue sky. The juxtaposition of ancient and modern. Natural mixed with constructed. Best part? Traveling in the off season get you places like these nearly to yourself to take it all in and really imagine what it was like when the cavea carved directly on the rocks held its capacity of some 6,000 spectators who poured into the side aditus (passages) passing past the dedications to Gauis and Lucias Caesar, Augustus' grandsons and designated successors.

Destination: Málaga

Back in Málaga again, and still finding plenty to experience in this Costa del Sol city known for being the birthplace of Pablo Picasso and Antonio Bandera...   

Malaka may have been founded by the Pheonicians, but centuries of invasions and name changes left its mark on modern day Málaga. Architectural clues mark the history of Roman, Visigoths, Byzantine, Muslim Arabic reign over the port city found today.

As in years prior, carnival once again overlapped perfectly with our President's Day holiday weekend allowing the opportunity to see how various regions of these Catholic countries celebrate the last days before Lent. Still making up for the time lost between 1937 and 1977 when the people of Málaga kept their costumes packed away and refrained from meeting to practice and enjoy the carnival tunes together on account of the strictly enforced prohibition issued by Franco resulted in loud early hours of the morning for us sleeping Americans. However, the early hours of the morning (like 0900), while the party animals slept the morning away, we explored the sun coming up over the near empty streets.

We didn't get too far until the smell of baked goods beckoned us into a panadería for desayuno in an upstairs window peering out over the street. Convinced by the steady flow of locals pushing their carts to the market and re-emerging filled with fresh produce we opted to take a lap through the market. As in hundreds of other Saturday markets occurring at the same time, vendors sat in their stalls displaying produce, olives, eggs, meat, fish for the shoppers doing their daily shopping.

Fortified with jamon y queso the meandering walk through winding calles lead us the Alcazaba, the old Muslim palace built between the 8th and 11th centuries. Standing on a hill within the city it originally defended the city from the invasion of pirates. Like most of these Islamic fortresses in Andalucía this Alcazaba has a quadrangular plan protected by an outer and inner wall, both supported by rectangular towers. Exploring the pathways, gardens with chirping birds, and exploring the different rooms transported me back to a time before cars, electricity, and the daily fear of invasion was common.

At the base of the hill, I was little more impressed with the "old stuff" coming out from the hill, as it was a 1st century BC Roman theater that was re-discovered in 1951. I'm telling you if it's not thousands of years old I'm just not impressed...Italy totally ruined me! However, as the herds of tourists started to invade on our empty attraction sites we decided it was time to hit the road.

Next stop? Another Roman Theater but WAY up the coast in Cartagena!

Juanito!

Remember that black and white kitty that found its way to my front porch? Well, its back and getting braver with each passing day. Nico sits at the door each morning letting me know that Spanish kitty is on the other side. After breakfast Outside Kitty walks me to my car and rolls around the ground.  Each evening as I come through the gate his head pops up from his guard post or he comes running down the street to collect his day's wage of kibble.

Earlier this week when I came home to find him in his spot I notice someone had left food for him inside my gate. He didn't care for it and purred for me until his bowl was filled with Friskies.The next night I apparently didn't give him enough attention passing through the door because he scratched the front door until I talked with him more.

Tonight when I got home we went though our normal routine and the Spanish lady across the street came over to talk. Please note when I say "talk" it's more like talk at me and hope I understand what she's saying. Turns out like all the other cats in the area she has a name for this guy...Juanito. Juanito used to hang out at her house all the time, until I moved in. And well, le gusta my house. I confirmed that he belongs to the street and then proceeded to listen to the fact that when all the summer visitors come in they complain about the smell of the cats? Hey, Spanish is still not my forte but I do understand cats.

Signore Nico has not warmed up to the idea of a sibling, but he may need to. I still can't decide if Juanito could ever be an indoor kitty or not and then there's the issue of if I take him to the vet he has to get chipped which means he's really my responsibility. I have no idea if he and Neeks could get along, and can't try until I make sure he's a healthy kitty.

At least I know that he does in fact have at least one other home, so if he's just my front porch kitty for my time here he's got options for when I move out. In the mean time Señor Juanito is going to be a foster kitty who will get all the love and attention he wants and we'll take it day by day to see if he can be part of our immediate family.