Our Second Nephew

Almost one year to the day after the birth of our first nephew, our second was born, this time on the other side of the family - Bruno Hugo Salvatore Perry! We got to spend Thanksgiving with him (see pix). He mostly just eats and sleeps, but he was still the main attraction at this year's holiday feast.

"Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!" (2 Corinthians 9:15)

Rhonda and Morocco

Rhonda

Our little car climbed the winding mountain road to Rhonda the very next morning. No respite for this couple…It’s vacation! Time to go, go, go!

Driving through the gates of the city brought us back in time and into an Arabian fairytale. We drove over a 300 foot chasm to cross into the heart of Rhonda. What a gorgeous gorge! (please say this with your worst Boston accent). Immediately, we fell in love with this city. The quiet, calm and peaceful atmosphere of the town was so inviting.

The beautiful walled city hid many treasures of the past. An ancient Moorish bath house, with ingenious plumbing, cathedrals that are so old they shouldn’t still be standing, a historic bullring and the most magnificent bridges I’ve ever seen. All set on cliffs and in the hills beyond—simply breathtaking.

As we strolled around this city we understood why writers such as Orson Welles and Hemmingway spent time here. Rhonda is the home of Pedro Romero, the father of bullfighting on foot, and Hemingway’s inspiration for his famous bull fight stories. It sure inspired Mark to take several pictures of a bull statue.

It was difficult to leave Rhonda, but when the sun set we knew we had to make our way back to the coast.

Morocco

From relaxation to constant aggravation—hello Morocco. “We take you to the camels, then the snake charmers, then the marketplace where you can haggle for goods, then…” Oh my goodness, this trip was exhausting. It took four hours to get there, four hours in the city and four hours to get back to the resort. A fast-paced, aggressive adventure to be sure.

Morocco is a different Africa than I know. As an Arab nation, it has a different feel to it than my beloved southern Africa. The people seem sad, living a lost life without the hope of Christ. We were jostled, constantly heckled and followed by locals trying to score Euros from easily persuaded tourists. (They didn’t want anything to do with the Dollar—even they know Euros are more valuable.)

I am exhausted even thinking about this day trip across the Strait of Gibraltar—here are some photos to help describe the journey.

Spain—Days One and Two

Oct. 2007-- The whirlwind vacate we affectionately call “Spain” started with a 30+ hour flight from Boston to Malaga, including two missed connections and a reroute. But once we got there and got some well deserved sleep, we hit the ground running. Seriously—running. The maxim for the trip was: “We can always rest when we get home.” Or collapse, which is what happened.

With two adventurers in the family it is not hard to fathom how much we saw in six short days.

Every day included a new destination and a new set of spectacular vistas. The first night, a bull fight in Torremolinos on the Costa del Sol. We found the art of bullfighting beautifully choreographed but the brutal reality of the evening difficult to stomach. Four bulls died that day in the name of entertainment. What an experience to be a part of. We sat idly by drinking orange flavored sodas and eating caramelized popcorn while the artistic slaughter of four beasts—two of which were mild and uninterested—colorfully unfolded before our sensitive foreign eyes. Chalking it up as an experience we moved on to our next expedition—Seville.


DRIVING IN SPAIN

Driving around in our little boxy Mercedes proved to be a challenge since street signs are nearly impossible to decipher while moving quickly. I firmly believe that the signs were meant for helping those on foot or buggy—not a motorized rolling vehicle. Needless to say, it was the biggest challenge to navigate without getting the driver upset (I say while smiling through gritted teeth).

Once on foot, we were able to explore and discover the beauty of a tile rich city. The pathways, staircases and parks were exquisitely decorated with hand-painted colorful images on tile. The World’s Fair took place in Seville in 1929 for which the Plaza de España was created to showcase Spanish-Moorish architecture in a massive semi-circle. Every single town in Spain is represented through a grand tile montage. Simply spectacular.


THE LOST ITEM

The biggest scare, and most memorable part of our Seville tour was leaving my backpack purse in the bathroom of the largest Roman Catholic cathedral and Medieval Gothic religious building in the world—the Seville Cathedral (a.k.a. Catedral de Santa Maria de la Sede). After about 100 shutter snaps, an hour and a half, and halfway up the winding cathedral bell tower, I realized I did not have my bag—leading to a few unprecedented curse words.

Although the view was amazing, I couldn’t stand lingering more than a few moments. I needed to know if my bag was lost forever or if by some miracle it was turned in. We fled down the spiral ramp/staircase, raced across the cathedral sanctuary and breathing heavily checked the notorious stall of the women’s bathroom. No surprise there. The bag was not dangling from the hook where I left it. So we proceeded to the entrance to see if some honest bathroom-going female turned it in. And so she did. Everyone seemed to know exactly what I was looking for. The universal signing of “backpack purse” was obvious. The lady in the audio tour booth smiled and warned me to be more careful as I clutched my bag grinning with relief.

We continued our tour of the narrow, winding streets of Seville feeling blessed beyond measure.


THE CAMERA EPISODE

Mark and I love pictures—artsy, creative shots. We take time to zoom-in, angle, sharpen and take the perfect photo every time. So when we screw up and erase all of our day one and two pictures we get a little upset. Standing in line for the world’s worst boat tour proved to ruin our day in Seville when all 130 pictures were “reformatted” and wiped from our camera’s memory. So the only photos we have of Seville are the ones taken from the boat and the ones that I snuck in when Mark was not looking. Like the bull’s tail meal that we ate at the end of the day.

We drove back to Costa del Sol with mixed emotions.