Filigree and Oils

Washington Irving spoke Spanish. Not only did he speak Spanish, he spoke it fluently. I never knew that. I thought he wrote the Tales of Sleepy Hollow, etc. and that was the end of the story.

Not at all.

It took me going to the Alhambra, a Moorish fortification in Granada, to learn more of his story. He lived at the Alhambra. I saw his room – a bare, somewhat ugly room: four walls, two doors, a large window, dark stone floors, plain white walls. Apparently he was ambassador to Spain in the 1800s.

But I haven’t told you about the Alhambra, have I? So silly of me. Well, it’s one of the most popular tourist attractions in all of Spain. So, naturally, I didn’t buy my ticket in advance. I didn’t know, you see, if I was going to go on Thursday night or Friday morning. Since I was too exhausted to go on Thursday night, it had to wait until Friday morning.

I was out of the house by seven. My GPS proved invaluable for ascending the mountain the Alhambra stands on, but it was no good to navigate the parking lots. I parked in the one closest to the entrance (perks of being early!) and retrieved my backpack from the trunk.

Not having bought a ticket, I had to get there early to stand in line. Line-standing is an interesting experience in a popular tourist attraction in Spain. You get to see how Americans act if they’re in a group versus how the rest of the world acts when they’re in a group. We do ourselves and our country’s reputation no favors, let me tell you.

Anyway, by 8 or so the place opened and we could buy our tickets. I was about 20 people back in a line that stretched around the ticket office, zig-zagged a good deal, and went down a hill. Another perk of being early.

According to Wikipedia, the Alhambra’s name simply means “The red one.” The origins of its name are disputed, as is pretty much everything here, but the walls are red so we think that’s one possible explanation. Also according to Wikipedia,

It was originally constructed as a small fortress in AD 889 on the remains of Roman fortifications, and then largely ignored until its ruins were renovated and rebuilt in the mid-13th century by the Arab emir Mohammed ben Al-Ahmar of the Emirate of Granada, who built its current palace and walls. It was converted into a royal palace in 1333 by Yusuf I, Sultan of Granada. After the conclusion of the Christian Reconquista in 1492, the site became the Royal Court of Ferdinand and Isabella (where Christopher Columbus received royal endorsement for his expedition), and the palaces were partially altered in the Renaissance style.

That simultaneously tells you nothing and everything about the Alhambra.

I got myself an audio guide, stowed my water in my backpack, and set off. Even in the early morning, it was a warm day, and muggy. The red dirt paths were just damp enough to not be dusty, and the clear ripple of running water provided a nice cover for the steady murmur of the visitors’ chatter.

It took a little while to figure out where I was going. The place is vast. It was, after all, a palace, a village, a garrison, and a thriving business center all rolled into one. I finally figured out where I was going, and meandered through the gardens on my way to the Generalife (pronounced hen-er-ahl-EE-fay), the summer palace of the Sultans of the Alhambra.

The generalife commands a sweeping view of the rest of the Alhambra, as well as the valleys below. It's a quiet, cool area replete with fountains and running water.

It's here that the filigree comes into play. The entire Alhambra is covered in delicate carvings and swirling calligraphy. Islam dictates that no images be used in Muslim art, so the decorations are of intricate geometric designs and verses from the Qur'an or the poets. It looks like stone lace.

By nature humans are oily creatures, and too much touching has the unfortunate result of breaking down stone and ruining the designs. (There was some intentional damage as well, but the real threat now is from curious visitors who just can't resist the urge to touch everything.)

This "Please Touch" panel is meant to cater to the compulsive touchers as well as the simply curious. I fell into the latter category until I saw the "Please Touch" panel; then, I was a compulsive toucher. I love touching things. (Touch is a weird word. I'm getting a squiggly red line under "toucher" and the whole concept of touching is seeming less and less like a real word.) 

It was beautiful. Don't let the pictures fool you: there were lots of people. I just tried to wait until most of them were hidden by the arches, and I tried to stay ahead of the packs.

The bottom right photo is of the water stair. It's a regular staircase, with upside-down roof tiles on either side. This lets water flow on either side of the stairs, falling from one roof tile to the next, the different bumps lending slightly different tones to the water. Or something like that. In any case, I liked it.

I wandered through to the Medina next, the area where artisans and servants lived in the days of the Sultans. It was a pretty place, the golden sun slanting through the trees and burning off the light mistiness of morning. It's all ruins now, all the houses and shops.





This is the gate that Ferdinand and Isabella's army poured through when Boabdil, the last Sultan of Granada, capitulated. Or, rather, it's the reconstruction of said gate. The thing lasted until Napoleon's army besieged the Alhambra with cannons and broke down the wall. I always knew Napoleon was an idiot.

         

Moving on. I turned my map every which way until I found two points to use as reference, and to my surprise I didn't get lost. I was on my way to the Nasrid Palaces, the palaces of the Sultans of Granada. On the way, I saw a bathhouse (Moorish Baths were the natural descendants of Roman Baths, but I daresay they were cleaner than their predecessors).

Channels of water run through the streets, to make washing feet easier before going to prayer. This is a staple of Moorish architecture. The channels are no wider than a person's foot. I can only imagine the logistical nightmare of creating a system of channels where the water is always running downhill at just the right angle to be slow and sedate.

This is the section of the Alhambra that is still in use, with shops lining the street and cars beeping and honking their way up and down the narrow streets. It's quite a different atmosphere from the quiet ruins and carved arches in the Generalife up on the hill.

Cats were in the weirdest places in the Alhambra,
all statue-still and slowly blinking their shrewd golden eyes.

The Nasrid Palaces could not have been more different to the Palace of Charles V. King Chuck apparently wanted a life of luxury and opulence, surrounded by pillars and overly carved Baroque architecture. And I do mean surrounded.

The palace was never lived in; it was not even completed. It's used today as a stage and as a museum of the Alhambra. I liked to see the different exhibits, but I absolutely loved climbing the wide, sweeping stairs. No one else realized they could go upstairs, and I had the upper gallery all to myself, with the exception of some workmen who were preparing for a concert.

The Nasrid Palaces, on the other hand, were light and airy - none of this heavy Baroque nonsense. The walls and ceilings were covered in tiles and carved wood.

   



In the courtyards, swifts dived and swooped. Their chirps and cries were sharp and high. Some wheeled and turned, always returning to their nests tucked into the ancient filigreed arches. They've been there for centuries.


The perfectly still water in the Court of the Myrtles reflected the carved battlements like a mirror. Two matching fountains bubbled quietly at either end of the pool, fed by the channels crisscrossing the floors. Somehow, they didn't disturb the sheet of water.




My path took me through the decorated halls, through Washington Irving's rooms, and to a small square room. The ceiling is ornate, with stone "stalactites" and a blue-and-white color scheme. Some of the decoration is damaged, a reminder of the time that Napoleon (remember what an idiot he was? Good.) stored gunpowder in it and it exploded. This is a small destruction indeed considering that he meant to blow up the complex entirely as retribution in a war he started to put his brother on the throne of Spain, but it's still a pity.

The next stop on my journey through the Nasrid Palaces was the Court of the Lions. There is a fountain in the middle, supported by twelve distinctly carved lions. The fountain feeds more channels in the floor. The entire courtyard is covered in geometric patterns and calligraphy.





















My time in the Alhambra was almost at an end. I took some time to appreciate a courtyard garden and the fantastic view from the palaces.  I found my way back to the visitor center, navigated the line of impatient tourists to return my audioguide, and figured out how to pay for parking, alongside a fellow tourist who was just as confused as I was.

(To be continued...Friday is too long to put in one post.)

Dogs and a Cat

I don’t suggest trying to see the entire city of Toledo and the Prado Museum (for free!) in one day. Like a bunch of dogs and one cat in the bed of a pick-up truck, it might all fit, but it won’t be best. At least, it wasn’t best for my feet.

I had bought a ticket for a train to Toledo that left at 6:50, but I got a bit turned around (as always) and arrived at the station two minutes after it had left. There is a reason this blog is called the misadventures of Jewel! So I got a different ticket, ate breakfast, and left for Toledo at 7:50 instead.

This turned out to be a good thing, because nothing opens until 10AM anyway.

Do you know the feeling of centuries of history weighing down on you? It’s a weird feeling for a Chicagoan, but it’s unavoidable –

staring up at the Alcazar, the fortress of Toledo

looking out from a Jesuit church tower

finding an antique shop where I got 6 coins from Roman Hispania until the late 1800s for 12€.

Over the course of my day in Toledo, I walked from the Alcazar to the Iglesia de San Ildefonso, to the Cathedral, to the church of Santo Tomé, and to the Monastery of San Juan de los Reyes, running down my iPod battery to wend my way through medieval streets and alleys. 

Ahem – wend is too nice a word. I struggled my way up and down cobblestone streets, bumpy with age, smooth from wear, and slick with the water from air conditioners (I hope). They were narrow, from the days when all traffic was by foot or horse, cool from the shade and dusky from the high walls.

I ate my lunch in the church tower before realizing that I couldn’t,
but at least I didn't make a mess.

I sweated my way down steep staircases, through dusty alleys, up steel stairs, through pristine marble halls and echoing stone corridors. 

I also saw a well-preserved human skeleton over a door, but that’s par for the course.

Kudos to the people who manage to drive through medieval streets with five corners in one place and none of them marked. And to the people who manage to avoid getting run over.

By the time I left Toledo (passing the sign that said any sharp souvenirs had to be packaged and wrapped), it was 3:30. I had just enough time to arrive in Madrid, rest a bit, and set off for the Prado Museum – walking, of course. It was only twenty minutes from the apartment.

Every day, the Prado is free from 6-8 PM. This is the time to visit the Prado for Madrileños and idiotic tourists who would rather take their chances than plan ahead. I fell into the latter category because I didn’t want to pay twice, just in case.

Having taught art in Spanish 3 last year, I had a rudimentary knowledge of what I was looking for. Of course I had to see Las Meninas, but for some reason I was looking forward to seeing Gaspar de Guzmán, conde-duque de Olivares, a caballo far more. For those of you for whom that title makes about as much sense as why aliens wear hats, here’s the painting: 

Nice, isn't it?

I also saw a Mona Lisa that had been painted simultaneously with DaVinci’s more famous, more polished one. It was painted by one of his pupils, and I personally think that for all they say it isn’t perfect, it’s far closer than I would ever be in a million lifetimes. After all, my drawing of a bus in Spanish class ended up looking like a Cardinal’s logo, beak and all. 

Cardinal buses aside, I don’t recommend walking through the Prado in high heels when your feet are already blistering. It’s worth it; don’t get me wrong. It just isn’t smart.

On my way home, I stopped by a phone store to buy a cheap phone. My $10 Tracfone doesn’t work in Europe, so if I wanted to be able to communicate, I had to have a Spanish phone. 29€ and forty minutes talking with the employees later, my phone was all set. It will only work without roaming charges in Spain and Romania. Don’t know who chose that combination; I personally would have chosen Spain and Italy. But it’s nice to be able to plug it in directly to the wall without using my converter.

I finished up my packing, while Susana went to a picnic at 9 PM. When she returned at 11:30, we each enjoyed a glass of ice-cold water, because it was still crazy hot.

Hardhats and Sand Dunes

I started the day on Wednesday by hearing my mom say, "You should get up; it's 3:30." We had to leave by 4 in order to get to Page, AZ in time to go on a rafting tour of the Colorado River.

So I rolled out of bed and stumbled over to my computer. I had to write out the directions to get to Page since part of the road had collapsed and we had to take a detour. I took one look at the clock and said, "You looked at my phone clock, didn't you? That's two hours behind. It's really 1:30; go back to sleep."

Other than that minor catastrophe, the morning started off decently. We were able to see the entire blanket of stars when we went outside. We could also see the silhouettes of the elk grazing in the hotel yard.

There was a lot of "Are you sure this is the right way?" from my mom and sister when we finally did get going. I don't blame them; we had to go through the National Park in order to get to the right highway. They didn't like it very much when I said, "I don't know."

While en route, we got to watch the most beautiful sunrise over the eastern rim of the canyon. We also got to sit behind the most beautiful orange-and-white striped barriers for about 10 minutes. But other than construction and a bit of a kerfuffle at the end about which way to turn on S Lake Powell Blvd, everything went smoothly - a definite first for the Beckett clan. We even got to Colorado River Discovery's headquarters some 4 minutes early.


I am now able to boast that I have been on restricted government property heavily guarded by homeland security. However, I arrived in a bus loaded with other people who can also boast the same thing. On top of that, I was only there because CRD has an agreement with the government that they can use the access tunnel for Glen Canyon Dam. So it's not nearly as sketchy as it sounds.

This tunnel is two miles long, with several adits (windows) blasted through to the sides of the canyon. It has room for only one lane, though it is a bit wider at both ends. There are no lights inside the tunnel, and the grade is 8%. All in all, it's very interesting. I looked up the tunnel on the internet, and essentially all the government will say about it is that it is 2 miles long and not open to the public.

When we got to the end of the tunnel, Glen Canyon dam soared up overhead - 700 feet tall. We had to wear hardhats on the way to the dock for the rafts, since the government doesn't want rocks falling on people's heads. (Sounds reasonable.)

The actual rafting trip was superb. Nate, our guide, was funny and engaging. We had 18 people total on our raft, including two of the most precocious twins out there. They couldn't have been more than six years old, but I think they were five. The boy knew all about ospreys - do you? - and nearly everything else, effectively putting Nate out of a job. The girl, when questioned about how they knew all this stuff, replied in the most genuinely confused and matter-of-fact voice I've ever heard, "I read." (Of course you do. Don't all five-year-olds? I did, so I know the feeling of complete bewilderment when people ask you how you know this stuff, but most five year olds, in fact, do not read unless it's absolutely necessary.)

We stopped for a few minutes on a beach on the river. This was in order to go to the bathroom. Yes, the bathroom. They put free-standing stalls on a beach. I don't know what would possess someone to do that, but it was a good idea.

Past the bathrooms was a wall of petroglyphs - images cut into the rock by ancient and not-so-ancient peoples, including both Native Americans and cowboys who didn't know they were defacing a future National Park. (Joy says, "It's only fair for them to leave their marks, after risking their lives to explore the river." But I think it's a case of "Kilroy was here.")


Before I go on, you must understand that the water released from Glen Canyon Dam is a steady 47 degrees Fahrenheit year-round, since it's released from the very bottom of Lake Powell. We went wading in the river, and our feet quickly felt like blocks of ice. But the coldness showed its value when Nate hauled a bag full of cans of lemonade out of the water and passed them around.

The grandeur of the canyon is not something that can easily be described, or even photographed. It's too big, and too red, and too full of history. There's a deep, pervading sense of silence even when the motor of a raft is running.

We went around Horseshoe Bend and saw people up at the top taking pictures of us. They looked about three millimeters tall. I'm sure we looked just as small to them. Nate had us all yell "Hello!" on the count of three, but I don't think they heard us. The people camping on the other bank sure did, though!

On the way back, I decided to sit on the pontoon (we were allowed to!) instead of in the raft itself. My mom told Nate to try to get me soaked with the spray coming from the bow of the raft, but he didn't seem too interested in doing that. Until the end, when a huge wall of water came up to meet me and I had only enough time to close my eyes and mouth before being thoroughly drenched. He looked ridiculously pleased with himself before apparently remembering that this type of raft tour promised that no one would get wet.

 Let me tell you: 47 degrees is cold, even on a hot day. By that time we were back at the tunnel - and air-conditioned buses. I thought I would be grateful for the air conditioning; in reality, I could not feel my feet because they were so cold.

We entered the tunnel and were zipping along when we saw the one thing no one in a one-lane tunnel wants to see: headlights. Since they had come almost two miles and we had just started, the bus began to back up until the tunnel widened enough for the car to squeak past.

We headed back to CRD headquarters and were pleasantly surprised to see that we had a free Bistro lunch. We were, nevertheless, glad we had packed our own lunch as well, as nothing gets you quite as hungry as a large expanse of water and a tremendously hot sun. They also gave us directions to get to the kayaking place.

I wouldn't say that the kayak tour on Lake Powell was necessary, but it was fun. Our mom has always said that she will never get into a kayak or canoe; she hates them and they hate her. But this time she did get in - successfully, no less - and proceeded to kayak a distance that distance-challenged Joy says was either 2 or 4 miles. I, myself, have no idea how long it was, because on the way there I was busy trying to just keep my kayak straight. (I was the only one, besides the two guides, who was in a solo kayak. Everyone else had a partner.) On the way back, I was busy squinting with one eye because my sunscreen had gotten in the other and I was having a painful allergic reaction.

Lake Powell is a water-filled canyon. Since it's warmed by the sun, the water on top is about 78 degrees - a welcome difference after the river water! The deepest point is about 400 feet. We were in an area that was only about 100 feet deep. Therefore, I put the camera in a dry-bag that was strapped to the kayak. There was no way I was going to find it if it happened to drop over the edge.

We stopped for about half an hour to swim by a little island - really the top of a canyon formation. Joy somehow managed to drop one of the cameras in the water. We are not sure how this happened, since it had been secured around her neck. She rescued it immediately, of course, but it was effectively ruined. (Incidentally, this is the same camera that has been living on borrowed time ever since she dropped it a couple of years ago into a small, water-filled receptacle generally found in powder rooms and NOT in kitchens.) The SD card was fine, though, and I was able to save all the pictures we had taken. Later, when I tried to take it apart and see what was wrong with it, I found it water-logged and rusted. Even without batteries in it, it electrocuted me twice. (Is that supposed to happen?)

Anyway, we tried to go into Slot Canyon, but there was too much gunk in the water. One of the other kayakers said it was like trying to paddle through chocolate soup. We turned around, and stopped by another island to rinse out the kayaks and get the nasty-smelling goop off of ourselves.

By this time, we were starting to get the hang of kayaking. None of us flipped over! We even managed to not be the last ones.

But our adventure was far from over. We had parked on the beach of Lake Powell. Beaches mean sand, and lots of it. We had to drive uphill in all that sand. Being Becketts, we got stuck. In all of two seconds a man in an SUV drove up, attached a rope to our axle, and tried to pull us out. We were still stuck. One of the ladies in our group got a delighted, evil grin on her face, asked to borrow our camera, and proceeded to take pictures of our mishap. Eventually, of course, they got us unstuck, because obviously I am sitting at home writing this.

On the way back, we had to wait at construction for 30 minutes, waiting for the pilot car to come get us and lead us to through the construction. We were just happy it was on the way back, not on the way there. We had barely made it as it was!

We did manage to see the sun set, though. It was spectacular, even though it wasn't really over the canyon.

Finally, our longest day on vacation ended. By the time I had finagled the waterlogged SD card into saving its pictures, I had been awake for 22 hours. That is why I am posting this now, instead of then.

And that, gentle reader, is how NOT to do a rafting tour. I suggest going on one, but not quite like that. Later on, I'll post my list of ways to have a great vacation, Beckett style.

Mercy in the Mundane

I fully intended to write a post about yesterday – yesterday. And I fully intended to write a post about today – today. But it looks like yesterday’s post will be written today, and today’s post will be written tomorrow. 

Yesterday was a day full of God’s guidance and provision. Sometimes guidance is best seen in the little things – those things that come to fruition in a short amount of time, and there isn’t much opportunity to wonder why things happened the way they did. That doesn’t mean that little things have more guidance; it just means it’s more obvious. 

Little things happened all day yesterday. First, we woke up late – which never happens, especially out here where everything is two hours earlier than we’re used to. We had been planning on visiting the Painted Desert and the Petrified Forest, but 3 hours one-way seemed a little bit much. (Even for overambitious souls like ourselves.) So we decided to stay in the Grand Canyon National Park area for the day.

Secondly, we decided to take the free shuttle bus to different lookout points farther out on the south rim. This bus line had been closed when we tried to get on it for the past few days, due to nearby lightening storms. But yesterday it was open, so naturally we visited all nine points.

Thirdly, around the third-to-last point, I started feeling sick. I don’t do well in intense light or high heat, so I was feeling faint. I had black spots encroaching on the corners of my field of vision. I had to get back on the bus right away and head back.

Fourthly, I felt better after we got on the bus, so we saw the remaining two points. When I started feeling weird again, we left.

And then everything became apparent. There were nasty lightening storms where we would have been had we gone with our original plan. So they closed and evacuated the entire West Rim, which we had just been seeing. My sickness let us see absolutely everything we wanted to, before it got dangerous to be out there.

Then it rained. It was the first big rain of the monsoon season, complete with fantastic lightening and even more impressive thunder. And we were safe, all because we had woken up a little late, and I had felt sick.

It doesn’t sound so wonderful when it’s typed out in cold, black-and-white letters, but we nonetheless saw the kindness of God very clearly yesterday, in the little things. In uncomfortable situations. In the orchestration of a day so perfect we could never have planned it that way ourselves.

Helicopters and Sunsets

There is simply nothing like a helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon. We went on one yesterday - our first helicopter ride ever. It made the Canyon come alive and become 3D. Before that, it looked so much like a painting or real-life photoshop that it was unnerving. (Incidentally, I think that's why people don't mind getting so sickeningly close to the edge: it just doesn't seem real that there's a 4,000 ft. drop beneath them. My mom says that it's a case of "shinny, shinny, shinny, shinny, bump, bump, bump, splat.")

We took off from the Grand Canyon Heliport, flying over Kaibab National Forest on our way to the canyon. A few minutes into the ride, the canyon became just visible over the trees before suddenly unfolding before us in all its glory. We swooped over the South Rim and over the mighty Colorado River, which looked like a shining green ribbon.

Flying over the canyon, we saw many different formations, most of which we hadn't been able to see previously. We saw the confluence of the Colorado and Little Colorado Rivers. The Little Colorado is the bright turquoise.

Then, we flew over the North Rim, seeing how much greener it was than the South Rim. There was a clearing where we could have seen wild buffalo, had they chosen to show themselves. But they didn't.

Finally, we flew right over our hotel, and back to the airfield. It was a wonderful experience, and I highly recommend it for anyone wanting to really experience the canyon. I'll check back in tomorrow and let you know if a rafting/kayak tour is a must as well, or if it's not absolutely necessary.





I wasn't feeling too good after the helicopter ride, and, interestingly enough, it wasn't motion sickness that did me in; it was too much heat the day before. But it turned out for the best, anyway: since we were all tired and took a nap, we could stay out to watch the sunset. It wasn't spectacular, and it wasn't what we thought it would be. However, it was also over the Grand Canyon, so who are we to complain? It was great.

Joy said something interesting yesterday. She compared Solomon's temple to the Grand Canyon. Keep in mind that Solomon's temple was only about 111,650 cubic feet, but a rough estimate of the Grand Canyon is around 386,115,840,000,000 cubic feet. That means it's roughly 3,458,269,950 times larger than Solomon's temple. And then she referenced this verse:

"Thus says the LORD: “Heaven is my throne, and the earth is my footstool; what is the house that you would build for me, and what is the place of my rest?" Isaiah 66:1.

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory!” Isaiah 6:3.