Capture the Color: My favorite colorful shots of Spain

My mother recently asked me why I no longer had any hobbies. Um, sorry Nance, but doesn’t toting my trusty Canon, Camarón, around everywhere, eating my fill of tapas and following my favorite fútbol team count?

Spain is a country known for its natural beauty, colorful folklore and creative food scene, and it’s easy to feel inspired living here. As my friend Hayley said, ‘I’d sooner break my neck’ than leave my camera at home. What’s more, the colors I most associate with Spain – the pueblos blancos, the red jamón ibérico, the clear blue sky – are featured in seemingly every shot.

Last year I participated in Travel Supermarket’s Capture the Color contest, even going as far as to have an editor at Marie Claire Magazine send me a personal email about how much she liked my selection for my blue photograph. The premise is simple: you choose a personal photo in each of the colors selected, upload them to your personal blog and nominate five other bloggers. Winning is a longshot, but when you have this much fun looking for photos, who cares?

Amarillo // Yellow

Seville is immortalized in the song ‘Sevilla tiene un color especial.’ If Seville had a color, it would be the golden yellowish-orange. The sun sets over Triana to the west, sending a burning goodbye to the world.

Read more: Seville’s Golden Hour.

Rojo // Red

A loud, EeeeeeeeeH! erupts through the silent stadium, a life teeters on the fine line of death. Torera Conchi Ríos aims a curved saber at a one-ton bull, hoping her accuracy will result in a swift death for her opponent. The blood-red cape swishes, the toro lunges forward, and his artery is pierced.

The red in Southern Spain is characteristic of life and passion and death, represented by the capa and the crimson rings around the yellow albero of the plaza de toros.

Read more: Death in the Afternoon.

Verde // Green

The descent into Mondeñedo was difficult – the trail was muddy, causing my bad knee to slip around and cause problems. For the first time in 150 kilometers, I felt like I needed to take the bus to the next albergue. The pain was excruciating, and once we’d entered the small village, famous for its seminary and cathedral, I was showing signs of tendonitis. We walked along the perimeter of the pueblo, next to the rows of corn stalks and I remembered that physical pain was part of the experience and part of my Camino for Kelsey, a deceased friend. After a strong coffee, I walked up mountains, literally.

And the corn stalks reminded me of being back home in Illinois and Iowa.

Read more: Why I Walked the Camino de Santiago.

Blanco // White

Alright, I cheated – this one’s not about Spain or set in Iberia. In fact, this lichen-stained church is in the central plaza of Kotor, Montenegro, a UNESCO World Heritage city framed by bay and mountains. We visited Kotor on a road trip around the bay of the same night, marveling at the natural beauty of Europe’s youngest country and how amazingly friendly the locals are – we drank free beer all the time! One of the most memorable was at a smoky bar in the alleyway behind the church, out from a sudden rain storm and relishing in free wi-fi and strong shots of Rakia.

Read more: Road tripping through the Bay of Kotor.

Azul // Blue 

Walking through small hamlets helped mark our days on the Camino de Santiago, even if they did give us the false hope that we’d find an open bar before sunrise. While the scallop shells that mark the way are further between on the coastal route, townspeople often painted yellow arrows on their homes or taped small images of Saint James on their mailboxes to help us along. On our way to Sobrado dos Monxes, where we’d sleep in a 10th century monastery, this blue-eyed kitten stood atop an unofficial road marker.

Read more: Waymarkers Along the Camino de Santiago

I’d love to see your spin on the rainbow, expat blogging friends!

Kaley of Y Mucho Más

Trevor of A Texan in Spain

Christine of Christine in Spain

Kara of Standby to Somewhere

Alex of Ifs, Ands & Butts

Show me what you’ve got!

Places with Encanto: Barcelona’s Parc Guell

When I was a child, I used to cut up old pictures into tiny squares, scatter the fragments and look at the kaleidoscope of memories that began to collect, adorn other picture frames and end up in projects I completed for high school.

Years later, I toured Gaudi’s whimsical Parc Güell, a high-hanging oasis in the middle of a bustling metropolis. The shards of ceramic that lined the few physical structures and park benches captured my imagination much the same way that my photos had.

Originally meant to be a luxury subdivision dreamt up by Count Güell and designed by Antonio Gaudí, only two houses were ever built. The property was turned over to the city and declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in the 1960s. Despite the crowds and the uphill climb from the nearest metro stop, the park is a beautiful showcase of Gaudi’s work on a small scale, and it’s one of the redeeming parts of a city I’m not too fond of.

Have you been to Parc Güell? Which shot is your favorite?

The Harbin Ice and Snow Sculpture Festival: The Songhua River’s Annual Swan Song

Crouched in near racing positions, we listened as Vicki laid out the rules.

“You have twenty minutes. Do not spend money. Do not even THINK about running. Do not take off your jackets. See you back here in twenty minutes, or we leave you.”

My sister, Margaret, two-and-a-half years younger by birth but five older in maturity, looked at me. Something devilish in her smile told me we’d be spending money, running and risking being left in the middle of the tundra.

“Let’s go, Doug.”

As with the 19 other red puffy coat-clad girls on her synchronized skating team, Margaret took off running, her Ugg boots sliding under her as she headed towards an enormous pagoda, lit up in electric blue and green hues. I followed, suddenly relieved that the less adventurous of us had finally found some cojones. Two minutes lapsed.

The day earlier, I’d arrived to Harbin, China with my family for the 2009 Winter Universiade, an amateur sports competition. As a member of the Junior Synchronized Skating Team at Miami University of Ohio, Margaret was chosen as a member of Team USA and an ambassador of US Figure Skating, competing against teams from Scandinavia and around Northern Europe.

For me and my parents, it was an excuse for an extra stamp in our passports and a two-week break from work.

Harbin was a mind-bending mix of Chinese characters and Russian Cyrillic, as Harbin is a mere two hours’ drive  from the border with Russia. With a population of the urban area straddling 10 million, the hub of northeast China is European in attitude and character: we’d swapped dumplings for goulash and pulled on all of our extra layers, relying on taxis to take us three blocks for fear of literally freezing our buns off.

The Universiade coincided with one of Harbin’s biggest tourist draws (apparently the other is fashion, but all I saw were stouter women and unflattering coats with just the eyes and tip of the nose peeking out of the hoods). The Harbin International Ice and Snow Sculpture Festival is considered one of the top winter festivals throughout the world, with artisans perfecting their craft around the world and creating hundreds of sculptures in winter  weather that hovers just about 0°F.

Fearing my sister would twist an ankle or knee and be unable to skate, I begged her to slow down as we reached the pagoda. Margaret had other plans, as she scrambled up a set of stairs carved of snow and slide down an ice slide. I followed suit, and we ran from the pagoda to a giant Buddha, an ice castle and various other Chinese landmarks immortalized in ice that had been excavated from the Songhua River and lit up with bulbs frozen right into the blocks. 14 minutes lapsed.

That afternoon, my family and I had also toured the Zhaolin Gardens between Margaret’s training breaks. Snow from the city’s Sun Island park had been sculpted to create a replica of the Bird’s Nest from the Beijing Olympics, animals and even a gigantic spider. Like a child, I was captivated as the lights fell at 4p.m. and the statues took on an eery glow from the help of flood lights.

My sister pulled out a fistful of yen notes and waved them in front of my face. “Miami gave me bills, let’s take our picture with some Step Arian wolves.” I glanced at my watch. 18 minutes lapsed. Two fluffy white wolves, no larger than a beagle, huddled close together under heat lamps in front of a stand selling candied apples.

Vicki could shove it, for all I cared. We only had twenty minutes to witness one of Asia’s most beautiful festivals, a product of a harsh coach not wanting her athletes’ ankles rolled or muscles pulled. We handed over a few yen and squinted against the lights that set the park aglow.

Skidding into the parking lot a few minutes later, Vicki shook her head at us, but Margaret turned and high-fived me. “That was awesome, Doug.”

If you go: The Harbin Ice Festival is an annual event that takes place between December and February, with the official kick-off on January 5th. We were fortunate to be there in the first place, but our trip was towards the end of February, and some of the artwork had suffered damage and melting. Harbin is also one of the foremost producers of beer in China, and simple leaving it out near your windowsill ensures it stays cold! I lost all of my pictures from Harbin, so these shots were taken by my father, Don Gaa. For the BBC’s report on the 2009 festival, click here.

 Have you been to a famous winter festival? Leave me a message in the comments!

Seville Snapshots: Librería Babel and the Joy of Books

As anyone who has lived in Spain will know, a shop that carries the -ía at the end is a place that sells a certain kind of product.

A carnerceía sells meat, a papelería sells paper goods, though as Lisa hoped, a bar is not called a beerería, but a cervecería. Among my favorite –ias? The liberería, a place where books are stacked high and hours can be lost among the pages. I tend to avoid the big chains, like FNAC or Beta, and head to the small, musty, off-the-Avenida shops. Some of my preferred stops are Un Gato en Bicicleta on Calle Regina for its workshops and mountains of books, La Extravagante in the Alameda for its array of travel books and memoir and La Celestina near Plaza Santa Ana in Madrid.

When I can’t travel, books become my companion. I’m nearly finished with my 20th book of the year, and books about travel line my bookshelf, products of giveaways, the American Women’s Club sales and the evil one-click button on Amazon. This picture of Librería Babel, a forlorn little place right off the main tourist drag, still far enough to go unnoticed, reminds me of the Old World book, long before TV, Internet and e-readers became mainstays.

One great travel memoir I’ve read recently is Dancing In The Fountain: How to Enjoy Living Abroad by my fellow sevillana Karen McCann. She’s been gracious enough to give me a signed copy of the wonderfully breezy and fun book for my readers. Visit the original post for easy entrance, and be sure to follow her here.

What types of books do you prefer? Got any other scoops on bookstores in Andalucía? What are your prefered -ías in Spain?

Seville Snapshots: The Quiet Hours

My life has undergone a huge overhaul in the last four months. When I think about the first half of 2012, it almost makes me shudder: I wasn’t happy with my job, was barely sleeping, had a badly battered outlook on my life in Spain.

Whatever isn’t broken shouldn’t be fixed, but when something is so, so badly broken (namely, my confidence in myself and my love affair with Seville), the major overhaul is necessary.

So, I quit my job. In this economy? Being a tenured teacher? You must be crazy, Cat! they all said, but in the end, I was the one with enough guts to do it. I walked out on my last day and didn’t feel any effect, just crazy relief. Camp followed, then a five-week trip home to give me some perspective while I enjoyed central air and a new pup at home.

Since coming back to Iberia two months ago, I’ve started a new job, a master’s in PR, redesigned my blog (which is a longer process than I thought), bought a MacBook Air and have started enjoying, actually savoring, Seville again.

 

One benefit of working in the afternoon is being able to enjoy the quiet hours in Seville, when the sun paints the city center golden, before Constitución fills with people. I’ve often staked out breakfast spots by less conventional terms, like the way the sunlight spills over the outdoor tables or by quirky decor. But, sitting right in front of the Giralda with a menu boasting poorly translated English, German and French (I’m assuming) was this character.

One of the most lovely feelings of living in Seville is the sense of being transported back to another era. As I listened to the horse carriages behind me and the whirr of a coffee machine, I watched him scribble notes in a small, leather-bound book while sipping a bloody mary.

Let’s face it: I love a man who isn’t afraid to have a drink before noon.

Seville Snapshots:Centro Andaluz de Arte Contemporaneo

Well, back to sweltering Spain. After a stint at the Travel Bloggers Unite conference in Porto, I lugged my 60+ lb. suitcase back to Seville (notably missing was my laptop, which I left in a cab and have yet to recover). It left me wanting fall, a temperate and dreamy time of the year in the South. Kelly of This Blonde sent me the picture below, plunging me into reveries of comfy sweaters, Kike’s army-issued PJs and the return of boots (want black riding ones, just like the pijas!).

In my world, the season of fall always arrives with color. Bursting from the trees, running down the mountainside, heralding the beginning of my favorite season. In southern Spain, fall is a different species. There is hot, and there is hotter. There are green leaves, and there are wet leaves. While I was daydreaming of bundling up in a sweater and a scarf, in reality I was peeling layers off as the days rolled on. It was here on the threshold of the Museo de Arte Contemporaneo that I found a very familiar scene.This photo is startlingly full of fall for a December day in Seville. The thick carpet of leaves, a woman (a student?) in a full length trench and hat wheeling her bike out into the courtyard.

Seville’s Centro Andaluz de Arte Contemporáneo (Museum of Contemporary Andalusian Art) is located in the old Cartuja ceramic factory and monastery, which in and of itself is worth a visit. Reached by the C1 or C2 circulars, its hours are Tuesday thru Saturday 11:00 to 21:00 h, Sunday de 11:00 a 15:00 h. Closed Monday. Free entry on weekdays from 19:00 to 21:h; tickets 1,80 to 3,01€.

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Love taking shots? Been to Seville or Spain? I’m looking for travelers with a good eye to capture beautiful Spain and contribute to my weekly Snapshots section. Send your photos to sunshineandsiestas @ gmail.com with your name and a short description of the photo and look to be featured here!

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