Dear Adventurers,

  Of Global Interest:
The Of Global Interest Random Acts of Kindness Fund now contains $1,091.00 (!). During my next trip to Nepal (Sept. 23 - Nov. 17), my trekkers and I will spend this on random acts of kindness and worthy causes! The Fund benefits children and families in Nepal.  

Final Adventures from Spain:

Seville, May 2003
The sun is shining and the sky is clear. Colors are vivid and all the Spaniards are dressed impeccably. Some weddings seem to be happening. At every church, rose petals pave the stone steps by the main doors. At one church the bride and groom stand arm in arm. The photographer doesn't work hard to keep them smiling.  

There are so many oranges, bright orange dots in the orange trees lining almost every street. The main cathedral looms large in the central plaza, sprawling historical bliss, architects of the past eager for us to call them mad! And that they were indeed, designing such an indoor and outdoor space of darkness with light, every nook and cranny made of stone! This one in Seville is the largest in all of Europe, so some books say.   Inside this stone cathedral, two columns seem to be held together with scaffolding that towers to the ceiling. One hopes such things don't fall while one is there. Earthquakes are an instant concern as well. Perhaps those columns have several more hundred years worth of engineering value in them, but should they crack or crumble, one small chip means disaster -- a nervous prospect when the ceiling is 200 feet above one's head.  

While you're there, you must climb high into the bell tower, up the ramp, just wide enough for a horse to pull a cart. This was how the HUGE bronze bells got to their perch. The view from the top is nice!   We see Christopher Columbus' tomb, a dark casket guilded with riches from the new world, held high in the air by four bronze pallbearer statues, one at each corner. The toes of these figures are polished so clean by the visitors like me who value the supposed good luck attained when rubbing them.  

Every time I am in Seville, I find myself strolling the promenade along this river near the Moorish minaret. The Rio Guadalquivir, I can hardly pronounce it, is famous. This was the river that Mr. Christopher Columbus himself came up with a ship full of treasures! Your history books won't tell you he brought solid objects of heavy gold in the shape of corn-on-the-cob and beans and other important symbols of food, gifts from the Incan gods. At one point long ago in Spain, someone melted that corn to create the intricate, ornate chalices, crowns and Christian crosses that decorate all Spanish cathedrals today.   I like spending most of my time exploring alleys in an attempt to connect familiar courtyards and plazas in the old neighborhoods here. Seville is a very magical and romantic city this way. Leisurely walks are the best form of entertainment. You'll find yourself in gardens belonging to palaces, along boulevards and in parks and more often, sipping Schwepps Limon in the sunshine at outdoor cafes.  

Then one day we're on the high speed train, gliding basically on air, hovering over the tracks. The eight hour journey from Seville to Madrid by car, takes only two on this train. It is a futuristic link. We are going ahead in time.   Madrid was just like it was when I lived there a few years ago. I was happy to know my way around so well. The same streets jogged my memory. I had fun walking on my own. We visited the usual sights, the big museums like the Prado and the one that has Picasso's Guenerica. This time, while gazing at this super large work of art, I was thinking. Mostly gray and white, this painting tells the horror story of the Basque town in northern Spain that Hitler bombed with fighter planes -- as target practice in 1937.  

I organized two tours to Spain last May. Both were a success. While on my own between trips, I explored the Pyrenees, the mountains in the north of Spain. After a long train and bus ride, I found the town I was looking for. It was small and NO ONE was there, much like a ghost town! According to my guide book, there was a Refugio (a Trekkers' Lodge in Spanish) near the French border in this town of Torla. So quaint, I want to take you there.   At the Refugio I was the only visitor and slept in the bottom bunk of one of eight bunk beds that were in that particular room. There were more rooms and several more beds elsewhere. I had the bathroom all to my self, five shower stalls, four sinks and four toilets.  

I could only imagine the clunking of large hiking boots going up and down the wooden stairs and the muddy tile floors and the snores all night long in that Refugio during the high season. But on this night I was alone, all alone, somehow happily alone.   The next morning, I visited the small grocery store in the alleyway outside the Refugio. I bought some lunch, fresh bread, cheese, a tomato and some interesting-looking trail mix with dried banana slices. I ate that up right away.   After asking a few locals and referring to my guide book, I found the trail to Ordessa National Park. This area had been recommended by a Spanish friend, and it was my dream to be here finally. Every book, brochure and mountain guide said, never hike alone. They said there could be severe storms at any moment, and I was thoroughly advised to take rain gear, hiking boots and other equipment -- just in case. Did I listen? Not exactly.  

Sure enough, when I was at least four miles from civilization and in the midst of the most beautiful cliff-faced mountain canyon, the thunder cloud eased its way in and settled directly over my head. It seemed to follow me, to be going my same speed, to be after me in some way. Lightening almost struck a little too close. I could see the light, as if a physical object were there -- then gone in the valley next to me.   And yes, I found some lasting thrill in this. At first, I kicked myself for not heeding the warnings. Even the huge sign at the park entrance said, "Enter at your own risk!" in Spanish. I entered, and I suffered only for a second. Then I was bravely skipping freely through the storm.   I wrote poems in my head about walking with the river. It was loud and rambunctious at my heels when I started and then it dove down to the valley floor as I danced along the trail. Ascending higher, I thought I had lost my river friend, when it reappeared again next to me, along side my trail. I took one short detour to witness the raging waterfall that lifted it so quickly. The river and I were side by side the rest of the way. Beyond the trees, the trail led to a large parking lot.  

I pondered hitchhiking back to my Refugio. There were not too many cars but some. The drivers all looked at me with pity as I was drenched head to toe, but no one stopped to offer me shelter. The rain was letting up, and I was hoping the sun would shine. It didn't.   For a while, at the crossroads of some very spectacular mountains and valleys, I paused under a picnic roof. The floor was gravel, no picnic benches, why? Just gravel. I sat anyway. The cars didn't seem to notice me. I smiled a few times, then gave up. I had walked here, about six miles, traveling on my own two feet through the pouring thunder clouds. Should I hike six miles back on the trail? Maybe it would stop raining.  

After passing several giant finger-size slugs! on the trail, and by the time I was at least a mile from the parking lot, the rain and thunder began to pound, full force again. I decided to make the most of my journey. I soaked up all the rain, shook my hair like a dog and skipped like a school girl without a care in the world -- all the way home -- at times flinching as lightening cracked so loud and near.   When I was within sight of the village of Torla, the sun was finally shining again, birds chirping, sheep grazing. This was the Spain one reads about. Mountains in the backdrop, a cobblestone trail gurgling along a beautiful stream, rolling green fields dotted with colorful wild flowers and parting clouds in the sky that looked like the sheep in the fields. I was happy my cameras were still functioning even after all the rain. I was soaked.  

Back at the Refugio, I put my wet clothes on the radiator that was blasting out heat. I put on dry clothes and went out on the town. I had two dishes of Spanish olives and one dish of Spanish almonds for dinner that night all alone at a bar. It was the only place open in town. I paused to savor a very satisfying feeling.

Heather O'Neal
Of Global Interest LLC Adventure Travel
Ann Arbor, Michigan
(734) 369-3107
www.ofglobalinterest.com

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