He Said:

No matter what language we speak, no matter what flag we fly, no matter which alma mater we rout for, no matter who we vote for, no matter what we think of god, we're all freaks that partake in strange little rituals that probably make us look absurd to aliens but un-alienated in our absurdity . We're bound together with strands of peculiarity, and Alli and I were lucky enough to see some of it in Arcos de la Frontera.

Arcos is along the "Route of the White Pueblos" in southern Spain, and was once part of the "frontier" line created by the Catholics in their war against the Moors. It is high up on a hill with cliffs on either side, and because the buildings are white and the streets narrow, it stays much cooler than the newer parts of town below. In the heart of the old town there are two rival churches with two different stories and two different patron saints, one of whom, San Pedro, is honored with a parade every year at the end of June. This was our second day in town.

After eating breakfast with locals downstairs in the pension's restaurant, taking a historical walking tour of the old town with a personal guide, and joining in for the easily acquired tradition of Spanish siesta, we followed the townspeople to a tiny square in front of the Cathedral of St . Peter. Young, old, teenaged cutups, gossips, cigar smoke, families, soccer jerseys, local press, bells, scattered tourists, and eventually regional politicians, clergy, and the thick smell of incense all joined together in the square to await San Pedro, who eventually made his way into the evening sunlight carried atop a hefty float.

San Pedro is basically a statue that only emerges from the church once every 25 years, so the last time he saw the light of day President Reagan was in his first year of office. I watched the people applaud, heard the church bells ring, smelled the clouds of scented air, and watched with the townspeople as the rarely-seen cloistered nuns made their way to the windows all in honor of a life-size, ceramic figurine. People were cheering and applauding this inanimate object as if it was the Pope itself, and we found ourselves being almost as excited as they were. The vigor and pure enjoyment of the evening was contagious, and it seemed like everyone was enjoying it except for the members of the rival church of Santa Maria.

Like I said, the two have many differences, but there is one thing they have in common: after our journey through the Cathedral of Sevilla, there was no way Alli was going in either one of them.

She said:

Clearly, we have to draw the line and tour the best of the best when it comes to cathedrals . I mean, it's like taking a drive across America and stopping at every church and temple in every major town to see the patron saint! Nah, not for me...I would much rather enjoy the simple pleasures these small hill towns have offered us so far. Tourism has been minimal and the locals have been friendly and accommodating. We have found accommodations within our price range (without too many creatures joining us) and truly immersed ourselves in the beauty and scenic views of the towns.

Arcos de la Frontera has a new town and an old quarter. We choose the old quarter on top of yet another steep hill, so the €1 bus was well worth it to get up there. Our accommodations were wonderful. There was even a TV, where during siesta we watched Wheel of Fortune and Friends (in Spanish of course, good practice for me!). Our personal tour guide was a women that was born and raised there, and she offered a sense of pride and true love of the town she calls home. She discussed the rivalry between the churches, which explained why when we asked our pension owner about the festival, he shrugged it off. Chad and I deduced that he was a member of the other church after hearing of the "West Side Story" of Arcos.

In Arcos, we had out most enjoyable meal of the trip. The food was excellent, however, the owner and his hospitality made the meal exceptional. We arrived to an empty restaurant and inquired if they were even open . The owner and his wife happily greeted us and we sat at a table in the back and read that the place was an old dungeon beneath a Moorish castle. I translated the menu for us with the help of the phrasebook, and thank goodness for that, because we would have ordered kidneys or something. The place was truly authentic and after some of the best BBQ pork chop tapas called solomillos (their specialty), he brought us samples of his best sherry to celebrate our honeymoon (we are going to milk that as long as we can!).

Sidebar: It has come to my attention via some email responses, that my "reality" postings may be viewed as me not enjoying some aspects of the trip. I feel some clarity may be needed because, actually, it is on the contrary. These long hikes uphill to get to hostels, bug infested pensions, seven hour bus trips, etc. are all making this an experience of a lifetime for me. I imagine Chad and I over dinner with our kids in 10 years or so, and he will have them hysterical laughing at me tucked so tight in my sleep sack afraid of spiders that he couldn't even hold my hand! Yes, these are the memories we will cherish.... those who know me, know I am a blunt stream-of-consciousness speaker and writer. These postings are no different.