Mission Basilica San Diego de Alcala is the first of the 21-mission system that made its way up and along the Californian coast. The expedition of Franciscan Friars on the Baja mission was led by Father Junipero Serra (a face you become well-accustomed to in San Diego) who established the mission on July 16, 1769. The current structure is the fifth to be built on site having fallen victim to American Indian riots, natural catastrophes, collapse from conversion into a two-level barrack by Mexican artillerymen, and abandonment. Yet in 1931, the mission was rebuilt and stands as it is today.

Akin to my previous post, there were so many stunning details at hand. The fountain in the courtyard sits in place of the cistern that once provided water from the Old Mission Dam. It was magical sitting there listening to the faint sounds – wind blowing, children laughing, footsteps wandering – as we seized the rich history of tradition and antiquity.

The best part of this mission (ha ha!) was after Chris and I infiltrated a class of fourth-graders on a grounds tour (these kids spend a whole year learning history from their native state, something I thought to be very neat). The tour guide asks, “How do you think they got those wooden beams so high without a crane?” Curbing our desire to raise our hand to suggest an answer, we discovered the width of the church is decided upon the beam with the shortest length, all others cut to size. As for lifting them so high, roughly 30-ft., after each layer of adobe was applied, builders would lift the beams up layer by layer. And all we could think was what the kids were thinking: Coooool.

And as a side note, I think San Diego has given me a case of collage fever.

A couple of hours after catching up with Chris in San Diego, we perambulated Balboa Park absorbing a multitude of incredibly pristine detail every which way we turned. As any place with such grandeur, a long-lasting history endures.

Balboa Park was once known as City Park, a dedicated public park with 1,400 acres of “scrub-filled mesa.” The lackluster landscape started to bloom in 1892 when the Mother of Balboa Park, Kate Sessions, agreed to plant 100 trees every year in exchange for 32 acres to be devoted to a commercial nursery. Yet the vitality of the Spanish-Renaissance architectural style that prevails is attributed to the First World’s Fair: the 1915-16 Panama-California Exposition.

The Cabrillo Bridge, a historic 1,500 foot-long viaduct adorned with globe lights, follows the El Prado walkway to the San Diego Museum of Man, two of the three permanent structures originally constructed for the exposition, establishing the area’s arts & culture mecca. All other existing buildings have been reconstructed as they began as wood and plaster structures.

An odd marriage between old and new was the Bell Tower of the Museum of Man with visible foghorns that rang out its bell sounds. It was the only thing that troubled and reminded me of a similar feeling I had about an image I took in Portugal (I wished for a man to be ringing the bells!). Though the further we walked, the more I relaxed into the tranquility of the El Prado walkway, and it was soon forgotten until it was time to post to this blog.

Approaching the Bea Evenson Fountain was the blissful finale on this particular stroll as we people-watched and took in the final rays at sunset. Soon after returning to our charming bed & breakfast, I proceeded to sleep for ten hours – the best medicine to cure time change.

The Deep River Theater is hidden to the average eye. In fact, I had no idea it even existed until a couple of weeks ago when I covered Jams for Cans, a benefit concert requiring three or more cans for admission that would be donated to the local food pantry. A lovely event, it was the first to utilize this hidden charm in quite some time. The structure is magnificent with its inlaid detailing, large half-round windows and a wonderful dome gracing the ceiling. Supposedly the theater is currently undergoing renovation, seeing there is some hope more groups and events will use this wonderful place.

This factory is a re-purposed building now housing marinas, restaurants and a variety of cultural things. Naturally, I was always drawn to its dilapidated state. I have probably passed this factory more than a hundred times over the years (either didn’t have my camera or was in a rush or, quite frankly, something inexcusable). The only time I regret was this past Valentine’s Day – there was the most amazing sunset with its colors, clouds and glory. I hope to see another night like that.

Experienced a brief conundrum deciding between black & white and color; it’s nice to go back to black & white once and a while.

Nearby the neighborhood of West Queen West stood this very angular skyscraper. It seems pretty irregular in design – to take a steel tower and make it look like a bunch of zany building blocks in the sky – but much of Toronto’s architecture is very creative. That was just one of the many reasons I fell head-over-heels for the city. Every time I look at this, I wish that it would move its creases and crevices.

Nearing sunset, the city shines in blocks of color. An illustrated series of lines and crossings; it takes a moment to find where one building starts and another ends. The walls speak the years of wear and tear. The modern hints almost seem out of place. It would be nicer to see them without technology, but I guess that would be hypocritical. Locals make their way through the quiet, cobblestone streets. No matter where you go, no matter how quiet, the walls are bellowing.

It would seem there was no method to the madness, but would also appear to be the standard landscape in these parts. This old city is alive because of its ruins. Every now and then you might amble across an alley that yielded a soft undertone.

Colorful linens hung to dry while fastidious elderly Portuguese ladies peep out like little mice from behind sills to assess the situation.

Oh, Porto! The enchanting city is built on a steep hill that kept us on our toes and gave me shin splints. When you arrive in place like Porto for the first time, in the middle of the night, the narrow alleyways with their slender, quiet facades resembling Eastern Bloc are somewhat formidable. There wasn’t a person in sight until we reached the Douro. Once approached by a local, the trepidation completely vanished.

The culture was fascinating. The natives were the friendliest, most accommodating, considerate souls I’ve ever come across. People there live for the good of others. Being selfless is selfish. It is a simple way of life. Laundry hangs on lines constructed out of twigs and twine were. The public laundromat is a constantly flowing pool of water. The water is colored aquamarine with an abundance of fish. There are just some observations on our venture to Gaia.

If architecture could talk, I wonder what it would say. Many of the buildings we passed were in a state of disrepair. We found out later that most of the buildings were passed down as family heirlooms, but some of the families are too poor to maintain the upkeep. If the buildings are not occupied, they’re technically tax-free. So they sit there and rot. Many of the buildings were nothing but the facade, maybe a beam or two that passed the toll of time. I found something charming in their disintegration. This one in particular had a great view:

Let it be known, if you’re looking for quality food and drink for prices you wouldn’t imagine still possible in this day and age, go to Porto. Go to their butchers and eat their meat. Go to the store and buy their vegetables. Buy their wine for one Euro (and it’s better than any other wine your ever had, seriously). You will be eternally satisfied.

And we’re back! Our second day in Madrid was filled with visual wonders as we sauntered through the city streets on the look out for ridiculously enchanting architecture, acclaimed super-ultra-modern galleries and whatever awe-inspiring character or coincidence was destined to meet our path. They say Spain is filled with hedons, but the most I could find in the day time was this sultry neon sign on some random calle.

Heading eastward from our hostel toward the galleries and gardens, I spotted this pair exiting the Retiro station with us.

After indulging in some lovely pieces of modern art at the Reina Sofia, most notably the photojournalism and propaganda from the Spanish civil war, we fortuitously wandered into Estación de Atocha which was unlike anything I could have expected from a railway station. Personally, I have found it quite uncommon to have a giant 4000-meter tropical forest in a concourse. I mean, Grand Central is nice and all, but it all doesn’t have thousands of turtles swimming around for my amusement.

You won’t find much going on in Madrid roughly between the hours of 3:00 to 9:00 PM. Most streets become somewhat of a desolate wasteland with the occasional stroller and it’s hard to tell the difference between what is unoccupied and what’s on siesta. Something you will find are street performers perfecting their act – whether that be guitar, an orchestra that relocates intermittently playing two songs on repeat, a cultural play or covering oneself in paper mache and hanging thyself on a cross like Jesus.

On this particular night, among the curious characters in Plaza Mayor, was a toilet paper castle in which the children took great pleasure in its magical floating abilities. The concocter of the castle was a considerably frightful woman who looked like she was potentially on speed and smoked one too many cigarettes.

We were nearing the end of our meal in a side alley off the Plaza, when a cheery man approached the crowd of diners excited to eat fire for us. To each their own, but he was outstanding. The street performers appeared to be very dedicated. This kind of living must be a bitch, but there’s definitely a thrill to it.

Hello Europe! We made our voyage to you in one piece. It didn’t actually hit us until we exited the metro terminal and there she was, España, in all her glory, architecture, bustling city streets and more. Spain is a very lively city; tons of people flood the city streets, street performers come together as mini-orchestras, accordian players and opera singers, the food is superb, the architecture is extraordinary and even though your Spanish might be nonexistant, the locals will work with you as long as you give is a try.

The architecture ranges in Madrid were you can witness centuries of revitalization. Colorful apartments sit quietly across from the Basilica de San Francisco. The Palacio Real, is the official home to the King of Spain.

We dined on mejillones vinagreta with a sweet house wine in the late afternoon. The city streets were shrillingly quiet because locals typically eat a large lunch around 2PM and a small dinner around 10PM. We are adjusting.

A view of the whimsical canopy on Calle de Arenal, the street our hostel is on.

Some of the most interesting characters can be found in this city. Sharp, well-dressed dancers make their way to their next performance, while chubby Spiderman instigates a brawl with an invisible nemesis in Plaza Mayor.

More adventures to come.

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