Ovenight in Seville

It’s time for a final retrospective post about my backpacking adventures in Spain in 1990. Regular blog readers will recall I spent three months travelling through Europe on a Eurail Youth Pass with my friend Dean, an Australian sheep farmer. You can read more about our Eurail odyssey here.

After spending four days in Northern Morocco, Dean and I caught a ferry across the Strait of Gibraltar from Tangiers to Algeciras on the morning of 11 October. Two hours later, we docked in Spain, where we leveraged our Eurail ticket to buy a discounted ticket to Seville. We stayed overnight in Seville before continuing to Paris via Barcelona in a single marathon journey covering more than 2000 km.

Seville was a last-minute addition to our itinerary. I added it in part because it offered the most efficient route for getting to Paris. At the time, we had just two travel days left on our flexible 15-day Eurail pass. I worked out that we could catch an overnight train to Barcelona, then transfer to Paris, arriving early evening the same day. At the time, Eurail rules let you catch an overnight train and only count the following day on your ticket, provided you didn’t change trains before midnight. This meant we could spend two days travelling north while only using one day on our Eurail pass.

This itinerary also meant we'd finish our time on the road near the English Channel and the UK. We both had British Working Holiday visas, which had to be endorsed before the end of October. We debated options for squeezing in a second stop along the Spanish or French Atlantic coast. However, we decided to head for Paris and use the last remaining day on our Eurail pass to visit the Netherlands. Dikes and windmills ultimately held more appeal than anything in regional France. In hindsight, had we been a little more prudent with our time in Scandinavia, we could have squeezed in a stop in Bilbao, San Sebastian or Bordeaux. Decades later, I’ve yet to visit any of these cities.

Dean and I both agreed in hindsight that if we had known more about Seville in advance, we’d have allowed more time here. At the time, Seville was preparing for Expo 1992, an international exposition celebrating the 500th anniversary of Christopher Columbus's arrival in the Americas. As part of its preparations, the city had refurbished many of its stunning tourist attractions. It was also building plenty of new infrastructure, including two soaring, sculptural road bridges: the Puente de la Barqueta and Puente del Alamillo.

Both bridges span Canal de Alfonso XIII, a manmade diversion of the River Guadalquivir, which divides the inner city. Puente de la Barqueta led directly into the Expo's main entrance, while Puente del Alamillo carried traffic past the site's northern boundaries. The images above were pulled from the web to illustrate this post. The first shows the Barquet Bridge, followed by the Almaillo Bridge. Both were still under construction during our visit, so I've yet to see them in their finished form.

Dean and I spent barely 24 hours in Seville.  We stayed overnight in a cheap youth hostel in the heart of Santa Cruz, the city’s historic neighbourhood. This bustling, rambling district is filled with character. It was once Seville's medieval Jewish Quarter until its residents were expelled by royal decree in 1492. You could spend days exploring its labyrinth of narrow streets, whitewashed houses, and orange tree-lined squares.

For example, on our first afternoon in town, the stunning Baroque facade of Iglesia Colegial del Divino Salvador caught my eye. Translated, its name means the Collegiate Church of the Divine Saviour. It’s Seville’s second-largest church, surpassed only by the city’s famous cathedral. It sits on the edge of Plaza del Salvador, a central hub in Santa Cruz. I love the Lonely Planet’s description of this quirky building, “Its Mannerist red-brick facade masks a cavernous, light-filled interior crowned by a soaring dome and filled with extravagant gold altarpieces.” I couldn’t have said it better myself.

The following day, Dean and I explored as much of central Seville as time would allow before catching a train late in the evening. This included the iconic Parque de María Luisa, a public space created for the Ibero-American Exposition in 1929. The park includes two major plazas, the iconic Plaza de España and the Plaza de América, and several monuments and museums. Plaza de España was breathtaking. This semi-circular plaza is marked by tall towers and a series of benches covered in painted tiles dedicated to the 48 provinces of Spain. The overall experience is unforgettable, as you can see from the image opening this post.

Equally memorable was the Lonja Palace. Parts of this 16th-century building are still used by the Spanish royal family. Inside, a series of publicly accessible rooms is filled with maps and documents relating to the discovery of the New World. It was fascinating to see these yellowing parchments on display, including some created by Christopher Columbus during his four voyages to South America and the Caribbean. It's hard to believe that the world map, filled with continents and landmarks we take for granted, was once completely unknown. 

Next door to the Palace stands the Cathedral of Saint Mary of the See, colloquially known as Seville Cathedral. It’s considered the largest Gothic cathedral in the world and one of the largest cathedrals in general. The main nave is 126 metres long, and its ceiling rises to a dizzying 36 meters, while its bell tower is an impressive 105 metres high. As with many other religious structures in Southern Spain, parts of the city's former Almohad mosque, once its primary mosque, have been integrated into the current structure. For example, the cathedral's prominent bell tower, the Giralda, was once the mosque’s minaret, minus the Renaissance-style bellfry added in the 16th century.

Inside, much to our surprise, we discovered the ornate tomb of Christopher Columbus. As you can see, the tomb is an impressive structure, sitting in Capilla Antigua (or Ancient Chapel) alongside the central nave. For many years, there were questions over its authenticity. His remains were moved multiple times over several centuries, travelling from Valladolid to Seville, then to Santo Domingo, Havana, and finally returning to Seville in 1898. However, DNA analysis in 2006 finally confirmed that the remains in this tomb are truly his.

As is traditional in many Spanish cathedrals, Seville's cathedral features a verdant, immaculately maintained internal courtyard filled with orange trees and other citrus fruits. It's another of those repurposed elements from the original mosque. In this case, the sahn, or traditional Islamic courtyard. I recall how wonderfully calm and contemplative its surroundings were, in stark contrast to the inner-city hustle and bustle beyond its cloister walls. It was a memorable way to end our time in Andalusia.

Follow this link to read about our week exploring Paris and nearby Versailles. 

Running on Swiss time

I had the good fortune to visit Switzerland twice while backpacking in Europe in 1990. At the time, I was travelling with Dean Keiller, an Australian sheep farmer from Portland, Victoria. Our first visit occurred in August. At the time, Dean and I were part of a group that had just completed a three-month odyssey through Eastern Europe. One of the minivans we’d used for transport came from an organisation in Einigen, a picturesque Swiss village on the shores of Lake Thun, known locally as Thunersee.

Six of us returned the minivan to Switzerland, arriving in Einigen on 6 August. Most of the group departed for Frankfurt, ready to fly back to Australia the following day, while Dean and I set off for Berlin on 8 August. This was the first leg of our Eurail backpacking adventures through Western Europe. You can read more about our time in Einigen here.

Chris and Rosie Frey, a Zurich-based couple in our group, had organised the loan of our vehicle. However, they weren’t with us when we returned it. They’d travelled with the second half of our group in another minivan borrowed from an organisation in Vienna. They then continued home to Zurich once the vehicle was returned.

Dean and I promised Chris and Rosie that we’d visit them in Zurich at some point. We eventually made good on our promise, arriving by train from Pisa on the evening of 26 September. We spent two relaxing nights with Chris and Rosie before boarding a train again on 28 September for a marathon journey to Barcelona. 

Chris and Rosie were gracious hosts. While we were in town, they had an appointment in Thun, a lakeside town at the foot of the Swiss Alps. They offered to drive Dean and me to Bern, the nation’s capital, for a day of sightseeing on 27 September. We were then tasked with getting ourselves back to Thun, where we’d catch up with our hosts and return to Zurich.

Chris and Rosie kicked off our day trip to Bern with a scenic drive through rolling hills and valleys of the Bernese Oberland, rather than taking a more direct, less picturesque route. Like all of us, they were keen to share the best of their local area. We drove through village after village, stopping several times to soak in the view, explore postcard-perfect hamlets and admire more than one iconic Swiss chalet. 

I loved the elegant Räben Bridge, a covered wooden bridge spanning the Emme River. It’s been standing here, about 20 minutes from Thun, since 1892. While researching content for this post, I discovered that dozens of these wonderful old bridges still span rivers between Zurich and Bern. The Räben Bridge is one of the more accessible structures. However, it's still off the beaten track. We'd have missed it without our host's local knowledge.

In the decades since, I’ve come to appreciate the breathtaking scenery, quaint (and sometimes, quirky) traditions and laid-back vibe of life in the Alps.  Regular visits with my brother and his family in the Austrian mountains let me experience it time and time again. Therefore, I can say without a doubt that Chris and Rosie did a superb job of ticking all the boxes with our drive through the countryside. 

For example, we encountered a farmer relocating his cows. Each animal was fitted with an iconic cowbell. As is the tradition, the lead cow, often called the Kranzkuh, wore the largest and most resonant bell. That's what you're looking at in the image above.

Bern proved equally memorable. Dean and I loved the medieval Old Town and its views across the Aare River valley. If you look closely at the image above, you'll see that Bern Minster (Berner Münster), the prominent Gothic cathedral with the tall spire on the left, was undergoing a major renovation. The spire, constructed in the 19th Century, is Switzerland’s tallest church tower.

The spire’s restoration was part of a long-term campaign addressing sandstone deterioration caused by air pollution. This long-running project involved replacing degraded sandstone on the 100-metre tower with fresh stone, while original sculptures, including those on the main portal, were moved to the Historical Museum of Berne. Incredibly, the restoration work continued for another 24 years. According to online reports, the scaffolding was finally removed in 2014. The second image above, pulled from the web, shows you what it looks like today.

However, some memories of our day trip weren't so positive. The city’s German name translates as “bear”, or the City of Bears. At the time, a group of the city’s namesake mascots were kept in an enclosure in the heart of the Old Town. This medieval bear pit was a rather barren, stone-clad circular hole in the ground. It featured little in the way of stimulation for the animals beyond a tiered stone platform and a rectangular pond. It was a rather sad and cruel affair. 

In the decades since, the bears have been relocated to an open park along the banks of the Aare River. The bears look much happier than they've probably been for more than 500 years. The bear pit is now empty, serving as little more than an arcane tourist attraction. I've pulled the image above from the web to give you a sense of this forlorn pit and its austere surroundings.

After exploring Bern and its old town, we hitchhiked back to Thun. Chris and Rosie assured us it was safe to hitchhike in Switzerland. This was the third and final time Dean and I hitched a ride in Europe. Seven weeks earlier, we’d hitchhiked to and from Berlin.  We squeezed in a leisurely walk along Thun's idyllic lakefront (that's the image opening this post) before joining Chris and Rosie for the drive home. This time we took the faster, non-descript motorway route. 

 

The following day, we spent our time exploring Zurich, including the old town and its picturesque lakeside. As darkness fell, a living statue street performer caught my eye. This was my first encounter with this kind of street performer, and thus, a photo of the experience earned a place in my final Eurail photo album. These days, you see them everywhere.

After dinner, Chris and Rosie surprised me with a birthday cake in honour of my 25th birthday. Later that evening, they dropped Dean and me at the Hauptbahnhof, where we caught an overnight train bound for Milan. We transferred in Milan the following morning and carried on to Barcelona via the French Riviera. 

In all the decades since, this is the closest I’ve ever been to visiting Monaco and Nice. On this occasion, Dean and I enjoyed fleeting views of the wealthy principality as our train stopped briefly in Monaco. However, we didn't get off. You can read more about our 20-hour train ride and our time in Barcelona here. This includes an opportunity we passed on: spending a week sailing across the Mediterranean.

Coming up next

In August last year, we decided to take advantage of a hotel deal in Vanuatu. Airfares were also on special at the time. As a result, we've booked ourselves into the Eratap Beach Resort, near Port Vila, for some beachside R&R in early June.  We've booked a beachfront villa for 11 days.  If the real deal looks anything like the images online, it'll be a welcome break. 

Our package includes airport transfers, breakfast, a couple of massages, and an AUD150 meal credit we can put towards lunch or dinner.  The resort also has a complimentary daily shuttle bus to Port Vila. After our recent, rather expensive, excursion around the world, I'm glad we booked and paid for most of this holiday in advance. 

I've recently discovered that the land diving festival is in full swing on nearby Pentacost Island. These are the world's original bungy jumpers, who leap from ramshackle timber towers with nothing more than vines tied around their feet. The resort says it may be possible for us to book a day tour to see this death-defying rite of passage in action. Watch this space.

Once this vacation is done, we have one more domestic excursion to plan. We agreed to do Christmas in July with friends in Alstonville, near Ballina. We've yet to finalise the details.  However, I imagine we'll end up scheduling an extended weekend or similar, and share the driving to get there and back in a single day.  Then, once this trip is done, we have nothing more planned for the rest of the year.

Earthrise revisited

The Artemis II mission is heading home after successfully looping around the moon over the Easter weekend. Two days from now, they’ll splash down in the Pacific Ocean, off the coast of San Diego. NASA has been sharing images taken by the four astronauts on board Integrity, the mission’s gumdrop-shaped capsule, as it passed behind the moon. This includes a stunning Earthrise and a dramatic solar eclipse (featuring a cameo appearance by several planets).

These images have rekindled the hope and wonder inspired by Apollo 8, the first crewed mission to visit the moon. At the time, much like this week, another Christian festival was underway. It was Christmas Eve 1968. As the Apollo 8 astronauts orbited, they watched the moon’s grey and desolate, crater-pocked surface passing below. Then, something unexpected happened.

The Earth began rising above the horizon. This delicate, blue marble was beguiling. It sat alone in the vastness of space. A fragile, spherical island of life in the inky darkness. Every aspect of the Apollo mission, including a photography timeline, had been planned well in advance. However, nobody had anticipated this moment. It caught everyone by surprise.

The Earthrise photos taken by Apollo 8 inspired a generation and kick-started the environmental movement that endures today. Once again, Artemis II captured Earthrise, reminding us of our human frailty. Apollo 8 astronaut Jim Lovell talked about a moment in flight when the simple act of raising his thumb in front of him was enough to hide the Earth.

“Everything you’ve ever known is behind your thumb,” he said. “All the world’s problems, everything. It kind of shows you how relative life is and how insignificant we all are here on Earth. Because we are all on a rather small spaceship here.”

 

One American wrote a simple message to the astronauts shortly after their return. “You saved 1968”. It’s all too easy to forget that 53 years ago, America had endured a chaotic and violent year. Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy had both been assassinated. Race riots had caused many American cities to burn. The Vietnam War was in full swing, and the protest movement against it was growing. Lyndon Johnson had dramatically decided not to seek reelection.

Step forward 53 years, and history seems to be repeating itself. America is embroiled in an increasingly unpopular war. The nation is deeply polarised. A looming threat of recession hangs over the global economy. Once again, our world feels harsh and the future uncertain. Then, a tiny spacecraft circling the moon sends back an image of hope. Once again, we’ve left Earth only to look back and rediscover it anew. This is why I love spaceflight. In its finest hour, it gives us hope for the future.

UPDATE:  11 April 2026

The Artemis crew has just splashed down safely in the Pacific about 100km off the coast of San Diego. Humanity's first flight to the moon in more than 53 years has delivered a textbook landing. The live coverage beaming from space as the Orion capsule entered the atmosphere was extraordinary.  

Incredibly, we watched the capsule separate from its service module live, and then saw the first glow of reentry happen in real time. In an age of AI, the vision was surreal. At times, it honestly looked fake. How sad it is to think that AI is tarnishing the magic of life's momentous events.

The Rock

It's time for another retrospective post from my Kodak-era photo albums. Gibraltar was one of those slightly quirky bucket list destinations I set out to visit while backpacking in Europe in 1990. My friend Dean and I squeezed in a quick overnight stop on the way to Morocco. We caught an early morning train from Ronda, a spectacular town in southern Spain, to the Mediterranean coast, on Saturday, 6 October. We then transferred to a local bus for La Linea de la Concepcion, a bustling town on the border between Spain and Gibraltar.

The bus terminated at an interchange located less than 500 metres from the border. It took us barely six minutes to walk to border control.  The duty officer gave our passports a cursory flick through before stamping them. We’d arrived on British soil for the first time. It is all too easy to forget that the same crossing had reopened only five years earlier after being sealed by Spain for more than twenty years.

From the border, we walked two rather sweaty kilometres into Gibraltar’s central business district via Winston Churchill Avenue. The main road into town is rather unique. A couple of hundred metres beyond the border, it crosses the main runway at Gibraltar Airport. The runway extends the full width of a narrow isthmus linking The Rock and the Spanish mainland. 

Temporary boom gates block the road whenever a plane is scheduled to land or depart. I recall standing in the middle of the runway, weighed down by our backpacks, with the white painted centre line extending in either direction toward the sea. Ahead of us, the Rock rose in a dramatic silhouette along the airport boundary. It was an extraordinary experience, made all the more surreal after waiting at the boom gate for a plane to take off.

Dean and I booked ourselves into a rather spartan youth hostel in the centre of town and then set about exploring The Rock. Our first destination was the summit, or thereabouts. We walked there by tracing a narrow road zig-zagging its way up the Rock’s rugged and rocky western slope towards the Douglas Lookout. As we neared the top, we followed a walking track up the final slope, weaving our way through building-sized granite boulders. What happened next was one of the most enduring, indelible and visceral travel moments in my life.

As we rounded a final boulder, a breathtaking panorama of the entire Mediterranean coast came into view. Immediately ahead the Rock’s eastern flank dropping steeply into the sea. As we stood stunned by the unexpected view, the wind hit us full force. In an instant, we’d gone from a calm, nondescript trek to one that stimulated every sense. Nothing could have prepared us for the sudden sensory overload. 

Perhaps one of the more intriguing aspects of this view was the rainwater catchment area. The Rock’s eastern flank features a massive sloping sand dune. For centuries, the prevailing winds have deposited layers of airborne sand along its base. Beginning in 1903, the locals progressively cleared the steep and sandy slope, covering it with a timber frame capped by corrugated iron sheets. This massive platform, covering nearly 250,000 sqm, collected rainwater and channelled it through a tunnel to reservoirs on the Rock’s west side 

Despite its dramatic appearance, the catchment was never very effective in supplying the territory with fresh water. In 1991, just months after I visited Gibraltar, the system was abandoned, and desalination plants began supplying all the territory’s fresh water. I count myself lucky to have seen it while still in operation.

The remainder of our time was spent tracing the Rock’s spine along Signal Station Road. It was here that we were entertained by the bold and brash Barbary macaques living on the Rock. These creatures, originally from North Africa, have lived here for centuries. Local legend has it that for as long as Gibraltar Barbary macaques exist on Gibraltar, the territory will remain under British rule.

Later in the afternoon, we toured the Great Siege Tunnels that weave their way through the northern face of the Rock. These are a series of tunnels carved by the military through solid rock high above the surrounding area. The complex included numerous caverns equipped with cast iron cannons pointed towards the Spanish mainland. These days a spectacular view across the airport and along the Mediterranean coast is the main attraction.

The following morning, Dean and I crossed back over the border and made our way to the Spanish port of Algeciras. Our next destination was Morocco, where I took my first steps on the African continent.

I've illustrated this retrospective post with images taken in 1990 and more recent ones from a visit Garry and I made to Gibraltar in October 2008.

Feeling a little Moorish

My first time in Andalusia was one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences. I travelled through the region in October 1990 while backpacking in Europe with Dean, a sheep farmer friend from Victoria. At the time, we were making good use of a 15-day Eurail Flexi Youth Pass. Our Andalusian adventures kicked off when we arrived by train in Cordoba on the evening of 2 October.

Our trusty Let's Go Europe travel guide had recommended this provincial capital. It’s home to the Mezquita-Catedral de Córdoba, otherwise known as the Great Mosque of Córdoba. The current structure was completed in 785 on the orders of Abd al-Rahman I, the Moorish leader who founded the Islamic Emirate of Cordoba. Over time, his successor progressively expanded the complex, adding a minaret and a highly ornate mihrab.

The mosque was subsequently converted to a cathedral after Christian forces drove out the Muslim invaders in 1236. In the 16th century, a Renaissance cathedral nave and transept were constructed in the centre of the building. This quirky Christian structure remains in place today, surrounded by a vast hall of striped twin-tiered arches commonly found in mosques the world over.

The Cathedral of Our Lady of Assumption, as it’s known today, was one of the oddest places I’d ever seen up until that time. Its exterior is almost as exotic as its interior. Thanks to its arched interior, the external roof is defined by row upon row of distinctive barrel-like grooves. Its distinctly Islamic minaret has been repurposed as a bell tower, while its traditional central courtyard is filled with citrus trees, a common feature of Christian churches throughout Spain. The bell tower can be seen in this post’s opening photo, along a horse-drawn cart we encountered in the narrow streets surrounding the cathedral.

One unexpected highlight of our time in Cordoba was a haircut I organised with a local barber. It had been several months since my last cut, and my hair was getting rather shaggy. The entire service was conducted using sign language as neither of us spoke the other’s language. The old man then proceeded to cut my hair, wielding his scissors with the most dramatic and unnerving sword-like flourishes. I’m sure he was putting on a show for the tourists.

Our Eurail ticket gave us access to heavily discounted tickets on local Spanish trains. As a result, we decided to make good use of this by buying tickets to Gibraltar via the medieval town of Ronda. Once again, our trusty travel guide delivered the goods. Ronda was recommended for several reasons. First, it’s home to one of the world’s oldest bullfighting rings, and second, its old and new town districts sit on opposing sides of a deep ravine. They’re linked by a spectacular stone arch bridge.

 

Dean and I absolutely loved Ronda. It was the kind of out-of-the-way place you always hope to discover while travelling somewhere new. We stayed two nights in a hostel a few blocks up from the town’s iconic bullring and spent a full day exploring the town from top to bottom. We toured the bullring, walked the clifftop path that offered breath-taking views of the valley floor hundreds of metres below, and explored the New Bridge from top to bottom. 

This spectacular bridge, as its name suggests, is not the original span linking the old and new town. The original “old bridge” sits about a hundred metres upstream and crosses the Guadiaro River canyon at a lower level, while an even older Roman-era bridge can be found a little further on.  We walked across all three just because we could.

Without a doubt, Puente Nuevo, "New Bridge", is the town’s most iconic attraction. This sturdy arched structure stands 120 metres above the canyon floor. The term "nuevo" is something of a misnomer, as construction began in 1751 and took until 1793 to complete. The old town it linked to was equally captivating, with narrow, winding cobblestone lanes and historic whitewashed buildings. I loved every moment of it. So much so that I insisted Garry and I visit Ronda while touring Andalusia in 2009.

Garry had the same "aha" moment that Dean and I experienced in 1990.  Your encounter with the cliff edge overlooking the river below is unforgettable.  One moment, you're walking surrounded by solid ground.  The next moment, the ground suddenly falls away, dropping more than 100 metres down a near-vertical rock face to the valley below. The dramatic drop always catches you by surprise.

In case you're wondering, two of the images above were scanned from postcards I collected in Ronda. This is always a good indicator that a place has captured my imagination. As a backpacker, money was tight, so I rarely bought anything as indulgent as a postcard without a very good reason.

I still recall how magnificent the town's magnificent bullring was when Dean and I visited it in 1990. It was built in 1784 in the Neoclassical style by the architect José Martin de Aldehuela, who also designed the Puente Nuevo. According to Wikipedia, it’s not the oldest bull-fighting ring in Spain. However, it is one of the first constructed entirely of stone, rather than a combination of stone and brick.

The architecture is also unique in that all seating in the ring is covered. It is considered a relatively small arena with only five thousand seats. However, the bull ring itself is the largest in Spain. When added together, the building’s unique features give it a wonderfully memorable vibe. Decades later, it’s still the only bullring I’ve ever visited.  And before you ask, no, we didn't witness an actual bullfight.

One final fun fact. According to our Let's Go Europe travel guide, Orson Welles' ashes were buried on a bull farm just outside of town. At the time, the farm was owned by a famous bullfighter called Antonio Ordóñez, who was a longtime friend of the deceased movie director. 

On 6 October, Dean and I loaded our backpacks and caught a morning train to Algeciras, the port city overlooking the Strait of Gibraltar. I distinctly recall the local train winding its way through the scenic Guadiaro River valley at a very leisurely pace, stopping from time to time at the most obscure and remote villages. This is a part of the world where the concept of time has a completely different meaning.

The example above was possibly one of the oddest stops we made during our entire time in Andalusia. This is the station at La Atalaya, a tiny village about 30 km north of Ronda. As you can see, the roof of the station building had long since collapsed in 1990. However, the train between Cordoba and Ronda still stopped here. A quick look at Google Maps shows that not much has changed in the last 35 years. The second image above was published online in 2024.

Follow this link to learn more about our visit to the Rock of Gibraltar and our subsequent adventures in Morocco.