Battuta, the Beach with some Immigrants and Gypsys Thrown In

Sometime ago they built a tramline up here, hoping that it would bring tourists up from the beach... it didn't work. The imposing castle tower, once clustered around for protection, long ago lost its luster to the inviting sea that shines in the distance. Back in 1350, Ibn Battutah spoke of a mighty mosque  (whose minaret now forms part of the Santa Maria la Mayor church) and thriving neighborhood, each long since emptied out. But as locals and tourists flock to the shore, the sound of flamenco meshing with riffing ouds echoes off the whitewashed walls of Velez. These ancient Arabic lanes are filling up once again with North African immigrants, who pick the fruit that grows so easily in this valley and also the Roma who sell it. The uneasy-feeling truce makes for interesting strolling and if you're on your way to Granada, forget the four lane highway and enjoy the song.

#architecture #history #smalltown #coast #castle #getaway #church #medieval #muslim #flamenco #mediterranean #islam #mosque #immigrants #offthebeatenpath #tower #culturalcrossroads #islamicarchitecture #gypsies #gitano #minaret #roma #fortification #arabic #spanishhistory #northafrican #ibnbattutah #atalaya #islamicspain

Originally published on Trazzler

Profile as Director of Studies of the Instituto de Lenguas Modernas, Extremadura

In between travels, I spend my time looking at English through another lens, that of the learner. I'm currently the Director of Studies at the Instituto de Lenguas Modernas de la Universidad de Extremadura. Onestopenglish decided to do a profile on the centre and the Continuous Professional Development program that we run. Click over here for a look.

Ibn Marwan on the Lamb in Alange, Spain

Imagine the Caliph's entire army hot on your tail and you with around a hundred guys on your side. Where would you want to hole up? The answer is here. High atop a mountain smack in the middle of one of Spain's most productive wine regions lies the ruins of a castle where, back in the 9th century, a Christian convert to Islam, Ibn Marwan, held off all the Caliph's men for three months only to be forced to surrender due to lack of water. History has its irony as today the castle ruins overlook one of Spain's largest reservoirs. Climb to the top to enjoy the spectacular views and then come down and pamper yourself in another unexpected quirk, the luxurious spa, Balneario de Alange at the bottom of the hill, which has been soaking tired bones since togas were the local fashion.

#spa #history #religion #reservoir #lake #hiking #view #mountain #castle #getaway #ruins #medieval #muslim #muslimarchitecture #rural #islam #winecountry #soaking #roman #irony #9thcentury #siege #balneario #ancientrome #medievalcastle #spanishhistory #caliph

Originally published on Trazzler

Spanish Sunday Afternoons #10

And just where do you think you're going?

A Desert in Canada?

Des(s)ert in Canada isn't only Nanaimo bars and maple taffy at the cabane a sucre. Up here in the notoriously cold Great White North, the very tip of the long tongue of the Great Basin Desert sneakily licks up across the border from its birthplace down in the Sonoran Desert in Mexico. The town with the slogan "Canada's warmest welcome" isn't lying, with summer temperatures easily reaching 100 degrees. Perched up on a hill on Osoyoos Indian land is the Nk'Mip Desert Cultural Centre, a beautiful eco-friendly building of rammed earth, where interactive displays describe the endangered desert flora and fauna that abound along the walking trails that surround the centre. And if the heat gets to you, there is always ice cream for dessert in the luxurious hotel next door.

#spa #luxury #desert #museum #nativeamericans #cold #summer #reserve #hotel #tour #dessert #green #trails #eco-friendly #educational #ethnic #indians #flora #fauna #natives #hills #endangered #hot #localculture #habitat #exhibit #reservation #display #firstnations #guided #threatened #greatwhitenorth

Originally published on Trazzler

Number 2 is...well, number two.

Teaching isn't a competition but it's nice to have your ideas recognized sometimes.

The picture drew me into the idea...

It was worth it...

Click over to Cambridge's site to see.

Onestopenglish Lesson

One of my interests, other than traveling and music is teaching...and teaching English. Around this time of year (Christmas), teachers are often looking for something seasonable but perhaps without the mistletoe. Here I try to combine my three main interests. Macmillan International published one of ideas recently on their teaching site, Onestopenglish.

Ibn Battuta and the Almohad Walls of Marbella

Mention Marbella and what automatically comes to mind are gaudy images of Saudi princes, building-sized yachts, Ferraris, and the sweet smell of... corruption. This is the poster child of the infamous concrete Spanish coast where, according to who you believe, more than 30,000 buildings lack the proper permits. Golf courses grow where it rarely rains, stag parties ply the "entertainment clubs" and billboards in English for breast augmentations populate the roadsides. The biggest surprise? It's actually rather nice! The center is still the maze of winding lanes that the great traveler Ibn Battutah walked back in 1350. Pedestrian streets so narrow that not even the fastest Lamborghini could fit in and if that isn't enough, a bet on sunny short-sleeve weather in December is a more sure-fire win than blackjack at the casinos.

#beach #history #resort #coast #getaway #medieval #muslim #port #mediterranean #sun #oldcity #concrete #touristtrap #islamicarchitecture #onthebeatenpath #corruption #citywalls #walls #islamic #juxtaposition #brits #britishinvasion #ibnbattutah

Originally published on Trazzler

Referendum Neverendum

Writing in the local paper. Local Issues with a global take. I never translate literally and the editor trims at will to make it fit. Here's my version, then theirs.

I’ve lived through two referendums in my life. I may have been too young to fully realize what was happening during the first and it’s true that the second found me a spectator living on the American side of the fence, but as a Canadian, I have always been aware of the Quebec question. 

Since the day I learned to read, I have seen that all packaging in Canada comes in two languages and even before that I would have heard the national anthem sung in both. Quebec has been and will be an unresolved question, even though it is around three thousand kilometres away from the richer, oil producing region where I was born. And that’s the point, these types of things won’t go away by pretending the law will save us. Small mindedness is a difficult bug to eradicate and common sense seems to be a scarce commodity. 

As I write this, the outcome of the hijacked election eight hundred kilometres from here is uncertain but that’s not the point. No matter what side was chosen, the vacancy sign out here in Extremadura should have been hung out and lit up long ago. Where are the delegations from Caceres and the rest of Extremadura rolling out the red carpet for the Catalan companies who might have to soon pay duties on products they sell in Zaragoza? Sales pitches really have rarely been easier. Keep your factory Martorell and watch as each car costs you a fortune in taxes as you move them into Europe or relocate to the cheaper stretches of open spaces we have around us. Worried about finding workers? No worries, we have plenty of people who would love to join your team and I imagine that more than a few of your current staff would love to return to the land of their ancestors. 

I feel sorry for the Catalans whose right to choose has been hijacked by a false pleblicite but if they still insist on exchanging their Euros for Pujoles, that’s their choice. I don’t see why Extremadura can’t capitalize on their folly. Be it this one, or those to come.

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Are your Toothpicks Ready to Race?

Just when you thought you were getting the hang of the way Spaniards lisp their Cs, they go and change the language on you. More discreet than their more famous Catalan, Basque, and Galician cousins, speakers of Mañego in this hidden green valley have been 'falaing' (falar=hablar=to speak) their curious mix of Spanish, Latin, Gallego, Portuguese (and a couple of dead languages thrown in for good measure) since the area was populated during the reconquest. San Martin de Trevejo is the most beautiful village that none of your friends have heard of, even though celebrities like Pedro Almadovar use it as a paparazzi retreat. Cool streams run smack through the middle of the shady lanes. Don't forget to keep a few toothpicks from the local tapas that you enjoyed in the bar and race them down the hill.

#hiking #smalltown #mountains #retreat #village #getaway #medieval #rural #almodovar #latin #pueblo #language #remote #portuguese #languages #linguistics #dialect #archaic #finicial #gallego #mañego #pedroalmodovar #habla #falar

Originally published on Trazzler

Of Kings, Taxi Drivers and (Surely) Well-Meaning Thieves

Writing in the local paper. Local issues with a global take. I never translate literally and the editor trims at will to make it fit. Here's my version, then theirs.

It was long after the British were forced out of their toehold in Arabia and about a decade before the Saudi bombs began to rain down indiscriminately among both sides of Mohammed's followers. It was around Christmas time and I remember it was hot. Mind you, in Aden, it’s always hot. We flagged down a taxi and braced ourselves for the accumulated filth that years of poverty and unending working hours contribute to the beat up interiors of taxis across Yemen and indeed across much of the developing world. 

But as soon as we climbed in, I noticed a difference. 

Not only were the holes in the seat darned and mended with care, but I could actually distinguish the color of the floor. A bigger surprise however came when the rather old driver with a kind, wisened face turned to me and asked where we would like to go in an English that would have made his ex-colonial ruler proud. 

As we spoke, I found out that the spry old fellow had worked for the English before they were expelled in the late 1960’s and hadn’t forgotten a word since. As he fondly reminisced about how much better life had been under British colonial rule, I couldn’t help but ask if he didn’t prefer living in the current, albeit flawed democracy. “Democracy!” he spat as we passed what looked to be a nine year old boy driving an SUV full of women. “Give me a king like they have in Oman or the Emirates or even our old ruler the Queen of England any day.” 

The anti-monarchist in me needed to find out why, even if it meant that his driving got even more erratic as he got more and more excited. “But doesn’t the fact that your children or perhaps even great-grandchildren could never become head of state bother you? Don’t you prefer to choose?” I asked, as he swerved around a man selling a chandelier in the middle of the road. “Kings rob at the beginning of their rule but as they get comfortable, they let some crumbs fall to the ground for the common people. These ‘democrats’ however, only get elected for four years and in their timed greed, steal everything but the kitchen sink and leave nothing behind for us!” 

I look around at all of the recently elected governments that surround me here in Spain and hope that old man isn’t as wise as he looked.