Istanbul: The Megacity is Mega-pretty

Istanbul is a city with roots that unfurl deep into history. The city's long and varied history simmers just below the surface, causing the ripples in its cobblestone paving and the twists and turns in its labyrinth of winding streets.

The only city in the world to straddle two continents has been home to Roman, Eastern Roman, Latin, and Ottoman Empires.

Dusk in the city.



A dear friend of mine, Jenn, put us in touch with a friend of hers, Kate - a British ex-pat who has been living in Istanbul for three years. Kate and her boyfriend (Shane and I shamefully admit we have forgotten his name - eek!), our kind and patient hosts, showed us a great night out and gave us their own personal edit of this epic city.

After they picked us up, they treated us to a mini-boat tour of the Bosphorus and then we rode on the oldest subway in the world (the original carts were pulled by horses).

Sunset cruise!


Next, a dinner so delicious it is going down as one of my top 5 dinners of all time.

Artichokes, I love 'em. Apparently Turks don't eat the "meat" off the leaves of the artichoke, which I've always done by scraping my teeth on the inner side. Fully embracing my inner tourist I chowed down on juicy roasted leaves of a stuffed artichoke first, before digging into the innards.

Other dinner highlights include: artichoke bottom with some kind of light cream sauce and veggies, red peppers stuffed with a spicy rice mixture, a red pepper/walnut paste (about the consistency of hummus), a variety of salads and roasted vegetables. I can't tell you the name of any of these dishes but I know they are all pronounced the same way "Mmmmmmmmmm."

During dinner, Shane underwent Raki initiation. Raki is a traditional Turkish alcohol (45%) flavoured with anise. Turks seems to be as particular about their Raki ritual as the British are about their tea.

First get a narrow glass and put ice in it. Then, pour in the clear Raki. Next, add water, which turns the clear alcohol a milky white.

Take a drink of the Raki and chase it with a mixer of your choice, which can include Salgam Suyu, a non-alcoholic fermented purple carrot drink that's quite salty, and tasted to me like juice from a pickle jar. I couldn't handle more then a few sips, but then again, I wasn't drinking the Raki.

Then came desert. Our hosts ordered three dishes and had us try and guess what they were. In North America this would have been no more difficult than determining cheesecake from pie, but in Turkey, it was a different story.

All the deserts were semi-translucent and sat in small pool of syrup. After many incorrect answer the truth was revealed.

They were: (drumroll please!) walnut (shell and all), tomato, and pumpkin. All three had been soaked at length in some kind of sweet honey-like syrup which disguised their taste and altered their texture. Delicious! I don't think Turks have a hard time getting their kids to eat their veggies if they taste like that (alright, alright, I know technically those are all fruits but you know what I mean)

Whooping it up in the big city after our walk through the bar-district.



Our pension in Istanbul was fabulous. We were in the Sultanahmet district, very close to the Topkapi Palace, Aya Sofia, and Blue Mosque. Our room had a great terrace overlooking the Marmara Sea, and we enjoyed a great introduction to Turkish breakfast. A big spread of cheeses, yogurt, veggies, fruit, breads, and olives. The olives make me think of my Mom every morning. No one would have loved these salty treasures at breakfast time (or really anytime) more than my Mom.

At night we walked along the seawall of the Marmara sea. People were fishing, picnicking on the rocks (imagine a nice big flat rock set up with a tablecloth, beer, and dinner - it was hard not to invite ourselves to the table).

Didn't pack a picnic? No problem.

Vendors were constantly roaming the seawall with corn on the cob, nuts, and watermelon.

Catch a fish? There are also makeshift restaurants set up to cook it for you. A simple grill, some prepared toppings, and a few plastic tables and stools.

Seawall at night. You can pay to shoot at the balloons.


Olives in the Bazaar.


Spicy times.


Chora Church/Kariye Müzesi was built by the Byzantines in the 4th century, then converted into a mosque by the Ottomans, and then finally in 1948 it became a museum. The church/mosque/museum is filled with frescoes and mosaics in various states of decay due to earthquakes and age.

Shane was particularly moved by the piece below. I don't know that I've ever seen him tear up in a church before.


Some figures had their eyes scratched out during the Iconoclast period.


View from Pierre Loti Cafe:


One of Istanbul's many street kitties - perhaps the sweetest one!

Hotsprings, Caves and Islamic Grandeur: Exploring the Giant Pomegrante

From Tarifa we headed to Granada, our last destination in Spain.

After returning the car we headed to the hostel and checked in.

We immediately signed up for the nightly excursion to a local hot spring. That night the driver picked us up along with our new friends, Linette from Langley (Holla BC!) and Beth from Ontario. Luckily, Beth studied in Costa Rica and had excellent Spanish speaking abilities. The driver talked non-stop as he drove us out of the city and down some dirt roads in his hatchback. Beth was able to translate for us as he told her all about the hot springs.

It was a natural hot spring pool, out in the bush. Popular with the locals, but essentially deserted whenever there was a football game on. Some hippy-types even had a quasi-café on one side of the hot springs constructed from salvaged siding and tarps. He told us older people come in the day and coat themselves in the mud from the hot springs because it's good for your skin.

When we arrived at the hot spring it was a lively place (meaning there was no World Cup game on that night). It felt amazing to be out of the city and see the stars while soaking in the hot pool.

The next three days were spent exploring Granada (translation: Pomegrante). There is a lot to love about this place.


The Albaicin is the old Islamic neighbourhood. The neighbourhood itself is a UNESCO world heritage site and contains well-preserved medieval Moorish architecture that was spared during the Reconquista.

Cars are heavily restricted in the Albaicin. Which is no small wonder considering there are more staircases here than roads. If you live there and want a car your name is put on a waiting list. Also, the roads vary in width from end to end. What starts as a wide road (and wide in Europe means a one lane North American road used as a two lane European road) can get narrower and narrower as you go along until finally you'd be stuck between two buildings.

Beautiful terrace in the Albaicin.




Kitties napping by the river.



Sacramonte is the gypsy cave neighbourhood, also home to many Flamenco clubs. Our guide told us it's the neighbourhood for people who want to live a rent free "alternative lifestyle." Built way up on the hillside, along the city walls, it offers great views of the city below and has many curious caves dwellings in various states of development. Shane and I spent an afternoon exploring up there.

Cave terrace:


Granada is known for free tapas when you order a drink. You could subsist solely on tapas in this town and forgo full meals altogether. However, this tapas led to some awkwardness on our part when we received tapas containing meat or fish and then had to tell the waiter that although we like free food, we don't like meat or fish. We decided to address this issue prior to ordering our drinks but that's really just as awkward. "Hey, hypothetically speaking, if you were to bring us some free tapas, can you make sure it's not fish or meat?" It felt as if we were ruining the unobligatory generousity of the bars/restaurants with our preemptive discussion regarding our vegetarian diet.

We took a long hot walk up to the Alhambre (mid-14th century Moorish palace), which was maybe not the best idea at two in the afternoon on a hot day. We had not heeded advice to make sure we had a bottle of water before we attempted the climb so we were unreasonably hot and absurdly parched upon arrival.




Shane says he's ready to move in.



Other highlights from Granada? A World Cup donut diorama!



Finally, on July 1st we said goodbye to Granada, tapas, and the now pseudo-comfort of our Spanish speaking skills, ready to start phase two of our journey.

Cracking the spine on another language book and Lonely Planet guide, we were ready for Turkey, and more specifically, Istanbul.

Medetereano and Atlantico or Tarifa, Tarifa, so glad I got to meet 'cha

Early the next morning we left Ronda and headed south. Destination: Tarifa.

On the way, we stopped at Cueva de la Pileta and had our minds blown. For real. It's a cave that was discovered in 1905 containing drawings that date back 30,000 years ago. Let me say that again. 30,000 years ago. That's an unfathomable amount of time. Investigators posit the cave was inhabited from 30,000 years - 4000 years ago, which makes it significant within the canon of really, really, old things.

Our guide (who was the great granddaughter of the man who discovered the cave) led the group through via kerosene lamp, showing us the living quarters, fresh water supply, and cave art along the way, and even a 70 m drop where human and animal remains were found (investigators speculate they may have been sacrificed). It was absolutely incredible. Again, I say, mind-blowing. Seriously.

You can't take pictures in the cave (because the flash would damage the drawings) so this was taken in the entrance.




After that, we headed onto Tarifa, but with a few kinks along the way. Val (again, Val was the name we christened our GPS navigator) had been acting strangely all day. Taking us on unnecessary loops back and forth across the highway, inviting us to turn onto roads that didn't exist, etc. At first we were sympathetic. After all, there are a lot of roads in the world and surely new ones are being built and old ones are being destroyed at a rate that even a computer cannot keep up with.

But our sympathy for Val disappeared entirely when we arrived in Tarifa.

Admittedly Tarifa was different than we imagined. For one, this "seaside" town was in fact, way, way up on a hillside. I had a hard time imagining anyone describing this as the place where people take the ferry over to Morocco and wondered why anyone would even associate those far off beaches in the distance with this town. Yet Val insisted that we had in fact "arrived at our destination." Usually I like to verify the street signs with Val's screen but in this town, I had trouble finding any street signs, like anywhere. Weird.

It was Sunday. Sundays are notoriously sleepy in Spain meaning most of the town is closed, so I had trouble finding someplace open to ask about directions. Eventually we caught up with someone walking their dog and when we asked for directions and pointed to our Lonely Planet map he informed us that we were in Facina, not Tarifa. Ohhhhhh...

Val was still insisting that we were in front of our hotel (in someways I have to admit I admire her steadfast conviction in the face of utter global positioning failure), but Shane and I were both angry at her. No more excuses for Val. We were 15 km away from Tarifa and she had misled us.

I punished Val by putting her on "mute" (read: GPS strangulation) and kicking her down by my feet where my stinky socks were that I had peeled off after caving earlier that day.

We drove on to Tarifa the old fashioned way after that - following road signs - and arrived grumpy, tired, and about an hour later than scheduled.

Eventually after convalescing briefly in our room, we headed out to the beach (the real Tarifa is actually seaside and we did see the ferry to Morocco).

We swam in Mediterranean side and the Atlantic side, enjoyed the breathtaking views of North Africa a scant 14 km away, and wandered through the old Islamic town.

Regrettably, we did not venture over to Morocco because the schedule didn't allow, but it's now on the "to do" list for future travels.


Tarifa, is the wind capital of Europe.




Me on the Atlantic side.

Shane on the Mediterranean side, (excuse the big water spot on the lens).


Climbing up a ruin.
Relaxing, mid-climb.


View of Morroco.


I love the idea of being at a junction. Where Atlantic meets Mediterranean, where Europe meets Africa.

Ronda: Gorge-ous!

Next on the agenda was Ronda, a town in the Malaga Province. Ronda is known for its dramatic location. The town is perched on either side of the 100 metre El Tajo river gorge.

The gorge divides the city in a stunning fashion but one that had my thoughts alternating between "Is this really safe? Is there such a thing as a town-sized handrail that could be installed here?" and "A precipice is such a pretty place to build a town. Shane and I are for sure going to live on a cliff."

Pure genius or pure insanity. View the pictures and decide for yourself.



The view you are rewarded with should you choose to live on this cliff.

We made the trek down (and I mean DOWN) la Mina. La Mina is an Islamic-era hidden stairway of over 300 steps. The steps take you down to the bottom of the gorge via a very steep, very damp, and very dark stairwell. The staircase allowed the people of Ronda to supply water in times of siege. I pity the person whose job it was to haul endless buckets of water up those stairs as I was barely capable of getting myself and my camera bag back up those stairs much less a heavy bucket of water.

Sidenote: Shane had the camera doing double-duty operating it as a makeshift flashlight in the particularly dark areas - yeah, he totally Macgyver-ed the camera.

The river as seen from the bottom of the steps.


We walked around town and saw the historic bull fighting arena - which is said to be the oldest bullring in Spain. Apparently Ernest Hemingway and Orson Welles both spent many a summer in Ronda because of their interest in this bullring, and Orson Welles' ashes were spread there.

The bullring at night.


More nighttime Ronda.

Pretty sunflowers on the way to Ronda.


Kick-Ass walnut, goatcheese & mango salad, courtesy of Ronda.


Puppies! Yet another reason to move to Ronda.

Baza: Caveman and Cavewoman

Shane and I stayed one night at Al Jatib's Cave hotel. The hotel is located in a rural area outside Baza which is northeast of Granada in the Andalucia region.

By rural, I mean like really rural. Like the kind of rural that doesn't have a street address. Or at least not the kind of address that Val (the name I have nicknamed our GPS system in honour of one of the charming barkeeps we met in the only English-speaking bar in Baza) could understand. The website just listed a number, and then the town, but no street.

I assumed that the town had one main drag, and obviously the hotel was on it.

Nope, not the case. The hotel was about 15 minutes out of town, down a dirt road, that is literally unnamed. There are actually quite a few cave hotels around this area. I know this because I got all excited about the first sign I saw that said "Cueva" and so we wound up 10 minutes down another dirt road at another cave hotel. When we were "off-roading" on the dirt road I was feeling quite pleased with myself for coughing up the extra dough for the no-deductible insurance on the rental car.

Eventually we made it our cave hotel. Beautiful white caves built into the hillside. Complete with a pool and a beautiful patio for viewing the rolling Andalucian hills and fields.

It was hot, hot, hot outside. But our cave stayed cool all day. Our cave was fully equipped with a kitchen, bedroom, bathroom - and even a washing machine. All the appliances were "hidden" behind textiles so I actually didn't even know we had a washing machine until after I had hand washed most of our clothes in the bathroom sink. It even had 2 fireplaces - outdoor and indoor, but when we asked about the free firewood they mentioned on the website they said no fires. I guess most people don't want to light fires when it's been 30-ish degrees that day. Imagine that.

This cave hotel is also known for its Haman Bath. The bath is in a pair of caves (duh). One of them is hot and one is ice cold. The cave bath rooms have holes punched through them forming a crude lattice that allows the sun to stream in a way that almost made want to risk bringing our camera into a steamy water-filled room to capture it.

Cave Sweet Cave:

Shane is actually sitting in the fireplace in the above photo.

Alicante: Light my Fire

When we left Valencia, we decided to rent a car. Over the last few days the conversation about renting a car had gone like this. Shane would suggest we rent a car. I would refuse. Shane would suggest it again. I would try and talk him out of it. Then Shane suggested it again, and finally, I agreed. I knew it would give us more freedom and allow us to visit some more rural locations. But that’s not to say I wasn’t nervous about driving in Spain.

I was nervous for two reasons.

First reason: Driving. Seeing the way the Spanish navigate the four lane roundabouts and streets so narrow that you have to turn in your side mirrors is enough to make my whole body cringe and tense muscles I didn’t even know I had.

Second reason: Parking. Cars are crammed in blocks like sardines. People tend to do things like this:



My informal poll found the percentage of cars with bangs and dents on them was about 60%. We’re talking some serious scrapes. If we were renting a car, we were definitely buying all the insurance we could get.

We headed south down the coast. We decided to bed down for the night in Alicante, and as we rolled into town we realized we had hit another festival. We saw temporary food stands set up, road blockades, and many people milling about.

Great! Our uniformed traveller’s luck had struck again and we learned we had arrived for Hogueras de San Juan. During the festival various artists are commissioned to build giant paper mache statues, one for each of Alicante’s 86 barrios (neighbourhoods). We strolled through the streets, eating churros, and looking at the different colorful statues. The statues are massive. Shane wondered aloud where they could be kept all year round.



Since we were bagged from the previous night’s excursion we decided to head to bed early. We were cosy in bed and flipping through the various channels on the tv when we caught a news station. The station was showing footage of one of the statues we had seen earlier…in flames! The news broadcaster didn’t seem shocked by the flames at all, instead, the whole thing seemed planned, the flames joyous, and the party seemed far from over.

A quick google search revealed that starting at midnight the organizers begin to burn down the statues as firemen move from neighbourhood to neighbourhood to orchestrate the blaze.

We could see a statue from our hotel room and decided we needed to see the burning for ourselves.

I think it was around 2am when a crowd started to form around the statue. The firemen arrived and set up all the firehoses so they could control the burning.

We could see the statue was wrapped with strings of firecrackers. Suddenly, the street lights were turned off, and the crowd began to cheer. The firecrackers (loudly) started to ignite the statue, and when the smoke dissipated enough, you could see the flames begin to engulf it.






Finally, when the flames were low enough, the fireman extinguished them. You’d think that would be enough excitement for the day, but not for the Spanish!

At this point, as is customary, the crowd began to shout insults at the firemen, taunting them and provoking them until finally they turned the hose on the crowd. And we’re not talking a light sprinkling here folks, we’re talking full super soaker action!



As the spray began to near us Shane covered our camera with a scarf hoping to shield it from errant droplets and shouted “RUN”!.

And run we did, back to our hotel, exhausted from another night of fire.