Andalusia has been the main destination in Spain for Americans since Washington Irving wrote “Tales From the Alhambra” while living in the great fortress that was the last stronghold of Moorish rule in Spain. This is the land of bulls, flamenco, and olives that have come to mean Spain to so many.

The ancient Romans were already “aficianados” of bull fighting when they found the bulls in Andalusia to be the most fierce and agressive breed. Added to being the most superbly muscled beast (there is reason to say, “as strong as a bull”) and the Romans found the perfect specimens for this “sport.”

Flamenco music has its roots in Arab music. Its plaintive sounds and its staccato dancing have captured the attention of audiences around the world. I call it “flamingo” music since that is the English version of “flamenco.”

The journey begins at Madrid´s Atocha Station which is a tourist sight in its own right. The old main hall of the station has been turned into what may be the largest indoor tropical garden in the world. Man made mist keeps humidity high while the temperatures are kept warm.

Leaving Madrid one enters the vast meseta that forms the center of Spain and is known as “La Mancha,” the “Spot.” The landscape usually varies between tan and brown but in spring is green with sprouting plants and budding trees highlighted by the blossoms of fruit trees.

As one nears Cordoba he begins to see vast fields of olive trees. These are the source of almost all green olives eaten or dropped into martinis in the USA. And there are millions of trees.

Of the major cities of Andalusia, I like Cordoba best. This was the site of the Caliphate of the West or Cordoba. It ruled from Spain to Egypt where the Caliphate of the East held sway. The great mosque of Cordoba was the largest west of Medina. One gets a good idea of how large the mosque is by the fact that the Cathedral of Cordoba has been erected in one part of the mosque!

Back on the AVE train one quickly arrives in Sevilla which is a larger city than is Cordoba. This was the capital of “Los Reyes Catolicos” or Ferdinand and Isabelle when the royal pair sent Columbus on his voyage of discovery. And the gold and silver brought back from Spain´s colonies in the Americas landed in Sevilla. Evidence of Moorish rule is the “Giralda” or massive minaret that has been turned into the belfrey of the Cathedral of Sevilla, the largest in Spain. The other main Moorish monument is the royal palace that I believe outshines the palace within the Alhambra.

From Sevilla one takes a regional train to Granada, and it is slow, with a change in the middle of nowhere. The countryside is still dominated by olive trees distinguished by their leaves, dark green on the sun side and silvery on the obverse. In the distance are the mountains that separate the meseta from Spain´s Costa del Sol or Sun Coast. These mountains are the home of the gypsies who have developed flamenco music to its current status.

While the palace within the great fortress called the Alhambra or “Red Fort,” may be outshone by the one in Sevilla, there is no more impressive sight in Spain than the massive red walls of the complex cast against the Sierra Madre Mountains which are usually snow capped. Wandering around the Alhambra one can almost hear Washington Irving wispering about its wonders.

I don´t usually recommend places to stay but within the confines of the Alhambra is the Pension America that, once a humble inn, has been turned into a really special botique hotel.

This time I chose to do the trip via one of Germany’s great train trips, the Rhine Express. Officially known today as the West Rhine Railway, it is the easiest way to gain a good understanding of this country in one trip. I boarded the train in Koln or Cologne, home of “cologne water” and perhaps Germany’s most impressive cathedral.

The train hugs the river for much of its journey, passing through villages, towns and cities. Since it goes through the very heart of each burg one gets an intimate view of German life. Whenever I see a window from a train I always wonder what lies behind the shades? Each window has a tale to tell and, on this train, one sees lots of windows.

A short distance from Koln the train passed through Bonn and the picturesque town of Koningswinter where I remembered one cold, snowy day having climbed the Drackenfels (Dragon Rock) near there for a view of the at-that-time capital of Germany. Wonderful scenary.

The Drachenfels reminded me in turn of Wagner’s great opera, “The Ring of Nibelung,” or more popularly known as, “The Ring.” It was on this “mountain” that Seigfried slew the dragon Fafner to retrieve the magic ring through which one could rule the world. The music from the opera sounded in my mind.

Then there was the famous rock, the “Lorelei,” home of the “Rhine Maidens,” the famous sirens who lure boats to their fatal embrace. One easily imagines Siegfried being lured to this promontory by the “Rhine Maidens” seeking to regain the magic ring from him.

I had a comfortable second class seat but decided to go for a real old fashion first class dining experience. The dining room was right out of a movie. Linen covered small table by the window with one of those little lamps that seem only to appear in train dining cars. Real china and crystal tableware. I slowly ate my meal while I watched the passing show.

I felt a bit of loss as the train neared my station to make my change to the local one going to Kaiserslautern. My “Rhineland Reverie” was coming to an end. My only consulation was that I knew I would be there again.

Nota Bene: My original said Drakensbergs instead of Drachenfels. The Drankensbergs are mountains in South Africa which I have also visited. I have corrected the mistake.

At the time I was living in Kiev, Ukraine so decided to take the overnight train to Moldova. As with my other train trips in Ukraine, I boarded the train in the evening, went to my cabin where the bed was already made, and drank some of the vodka I brought with me, along with some spoons of cavier, the traveler’s staples in any former Soviet State.

About midnight I was wakened by border police demanding my passport, first the Ukrainian police. A while later the Moldovan police, at least that is who I assumed they were, came aboard checking passports. I went back to sleep. A few hours later I was once more wakened. This time by more border police. I thought to myself, Ukraine and Moldova share a border so there should only be one checkpoint. But here was a second and we were surrounded by military units. I gave the intruders my passport. A short time later still another border police detail boarded the train and once more I showed my passport. They left me to muse on what had happened.

Then it hit me, the train had passed through the breakaway, self proclaimed, “Republic of Trans-Dniester,” one of those enclaves of Russian speaking peoples scattered across the newly independent states formed from the old Soviet Empire. The latest ones to hit the news were South Ossetia and Abkhazia in Georgia where Georgian and Russian troops duked it out for a brief spell last year. I added another name to my litany of countries visited and went to sleep again.

I awakened the next day to a living fairyland. Chisinau, the capital of Moldova, was an intact, perfect example of an old Soviet city. I stepped 50 years back into history. Wide streets arranged in a seemingly random pattern sparsely populated by old Russian cars and trucks, chugging along at a liesurely pace. Lots of trees, but few shops and other signs of commerce. My hotel was right out of Soviet utilitarian design.

I wandered around the town eventually finding the Peace Corps Office where I called on the staff to ask them to encourage the volunteers to join the National Peace Corps Association when they came home, since at the time I was on the board of the Association representing RPCVs who had served in Eastern Europe. I also met with a few volunteers to make the same pitch.

I then found a fantastic restaurant with a menu the size of a small town phonebook, exquisitly bound in real leather. I ate and drank all I wanted for maybe $3. I finished off my first day by spending time at the town’s casino where I made a few bucks or rubles or whatever the local currency was.

Next day I was off on my main mission, to buy wine. I visited two wineries that day. Walking around the first one I saw something that stopped me in my tracks and is still etched in my mind. Wineries have lots of pipes running from building to building and to storage tanks. But the pipes here were different - they were made of glass! Imagine seeing a 200 meter glass pipe running about 12 feet over your head fillled with purple wine slushing along at a fast pace. And here was a whole industrial site with glass pipes filled with wine running hither and yon. I asked my hosts, why the glass pipes? They responded that the winery was built in the 1950’s when they had no stainless steel, which is the usual material used. They had to use glass.

After visiting the two wineries I found one wine that merited import into the USA. This varietal is named Feteasca and if you ever see it, buy the white version. It is a fabulous white wine.

The next evening I boarded the train back to Kiev. This time prepared for two border crossings.

We went to the Chinese tourist office in Hong Kong where we were informed that our visas only took us to Canton or Quangjo (pronetıc spelling). They said that perhaps we could get permission to go further there. So on to Canton by train, a short, comfortable trip without adventure, unless listening to ‘Edelweıss’ sung in Chinese on a TV was adventure.

Canton was worth the trip, but we wanted more, so off we went to the tourist police station. We walked in and I placed my 1+ year old daughter on the counter and said, ’she wants to go to Beijıng.’ Well we got the police to laugh and they told us to return later. When we got back they produced an elaborate booklet with what I understood was our names and permission to go to Beijing and Shanghai. I say, ‘understood,’ because that is what the police told us.

Then to the airline office to get plane tickets. This is no lie, we told the man at the counter that we wanted to go to Beıjıng. He took out a manifest, erased two names from the list, and inserted the word for ‘American’ twice. I told my wife if we got on the plane it would be a miracle. But board we did and we spent a few days exploring the capital city and the Great Wall.

Now for my wife`s main objective, Shanghai. I said why not take the train so we could see the countryside? She reluctantly agreed. I found that there were two fares, ‘hard’ bunk and ’soft’ bunk. When they said the fare for ’soft’ was twice that for ‘hard’ I booked two for ‘hard.’

We got on the coach and found that we were the only non-Chinese ın ‘hard’ bunk. And true to their word the bunk was a thin cushion on a bunk. But we then saw that the ’soft’ bunk car loaded with foreigners had a broken airconditioner while the one on our ‘hard’ bunk car worked like a charm. You don`t want to travel without airconditioning ın Central China in the summer.

The actual trip was a bit boring, mile after mile of rice fields broken by the occassıonal canal or river. The real action took place on the train. It seems our toddler daughter with her whispery blonde hair was fascinating for the Chinese and for the whole trip she held court while one after the other of the other riders came up to see her and touch her hair.

At my wife`s insistence, we flew from Shanghai back to Canton and took the hydrofoil boat back to Hong Kong.

I`m not sure the Chinese still have ‘hard’ and ’soft’ bunks on their trains. Anyway, the real adventure is on the train, not the scenary outside.

We began our trip in Chihuahua, the strong hold of the legendary Mexican revolutionary, Pancho Villa, whose real name was “Dorothy.” Imagine, that most macho of macho Mexicans had a girl’s name. The town is also known for the Mexican expletive, “Ay Chihuahua,” which is short for “Ay Chihuahua, cuonto Apache sin huarache” (Oh Chihuahua, how many shoeless Apaches), and refers to the several times the town was laid waste by the Apaches and other Native American tribes.

After touring Villa’s home and museum, we boarded the train with our van in a box car. I do not suggest boarding a car you really like since it is a tight fit and subject to mishaps.

The first day was a pleasant ride along a cold desert plateau until we came right to the edge of the amazing canyon. Think of the Grand Canyon and add some. We stopped overnight at a marvelous inn perched on the edge of the canyon. It was New Year’s Eve and after dinner we all went to the main sitting room where the assembled group sang Mexican folk tunes in front of a massive fire place with a blazing fire. Even more impressive, the whole front of the room was a huge picture window with a view over the main part of the canyon. We watched the sun set over this stunning vista.

We awoke the next morning to find that it had snowed that night and my two young children took me out to build a snowman. It was that cold at the top of the canyon.

Later we began our descent into the canyon with the train literally hugging the side of a cliff overlooking an abyss. Definitely not a trip for the faint of heart.

The canyon is also known as being the home of the Tarahumara Indians who are famous for their long distance running abilities gained by running up and down the canyon. We actually saw some of them and their simple settlements as we descended.

What a trip! We actually descended some 8000 ft on a hair raising ride. In the process we watched the land change before our eyes from bare desert to oak and pine forests, to tropical jungle, with the temperature changing from freezing temperatures to 90 degree heat. And all the time catching glimpses of a people little removed from the stone age.

You can, of course, take the train up the canyon and see the reverse. However, I don’t believe going up the cliff would be a nail biter like the trip down. Your choice.

One of the great achievements of the Soviet Union was the nation´s rail network that spread far and wide across the “Socialist Empire.” Fittingly the Soviet rails were wider than in most countries and the locomotives were massive powerhouses. While the rail net was a key infrastructure for the nation´s economy, the real monuments built by this system were the impressive train stations. They are architectual icons blending Soviet style with local touches.

And Ukraine was blessed with one of the best systems. Rail lines cover the country and still provide a main feature of its economy. They also offer an offbeat travel adventure.

The Soviets apparently scheduled trains in Ukraine to leave Kiev Station each evening for all of the major cities, that arrive the following morning in time for a day of business. Trains return from all these cities to Kiev each evening and arrive the following morning. Thus a person could eat dinner at home, take a train to his business apppointment and return in time for breakfast two days later.

For the tourist this is a great way to see all the country. Buy a ticket in advance at the station. I suggest second class sleeper. You share a compartment. I can sleep on trains but found these to be the easiest to sleep on. I will never forget the pillows, they were perfect and, try as I could, I was never able to buy them.

Buy some provisions at the station since there is no dining car on the train. However, the train attendants will serve you tea. The trains are meant for sleeping, so the beds will be made when you board. There is no shower room, but you do have a sink in the compartment and toilets down the passageway.

My first trip was to Kharkiv on Ukraine’s eastern border. If you ever had a desire to see a real Soviet style city this is it. The main square, “Freedom Square”, one of the largest squares in the world, has a massive statue of Lenin, reputedly the largest one still on public display. I visited in the winter and felt the bone chilling cold that one remembers being so vividly portrayed in “Doctor Zhivago.”

I also took the train to Lviv on the western border. What a treat, an entire city named for me, since Lviv means Leo or Lion. Here you find the vestiges of Polish rule over western Ukraine. Go to the opera which is very inexpensive and fun.

Another historic destination is the Crimea, the location for the 19th Century war that pitted Turkey, France and Britain against Russia. This is the site of the famous, “Charge of the Light Brigade,” the military move that epitomized senseless loss of soldiers´lives.

Perhaps the most interesting trip is to Odessa where you can walk down or up, if athletic, the staircase that leads from the upper city to the docks made famous in “The Battleship Potemkin,” the grand propaganda silent film in which the “savage” soldiers of the Tsar slaughter civilians. One can visualize the scene where a baby carriage goes crashing down the stairs amid the bodies of the fallen.

The train trips are reasonably priced and fun. A great way to tour Ukraine. Funny though, the old train station in Kiev was the least interesting of all.

Leo Cecchini
July 2009

The railway never got to Mecca. Construction reached Medina where the First World War and the fall of the Ottoman Empire brought it to a halt. The halt was mainly caused by the insurrection of the Arab states against Ottoman rule led by T.E. Lawrence, or “Lawrence of Arabia.” His main tactic for the insurrection was to destroy the railway.

Although the railway never made the complete link from Istanbul to Mecca, it does survive in parts, and there is a Hejaz Railway Commission that seeks to eventually build the complete route.

I ddn´t ride the actual Hejaz Railway since when I was there it was mostly in ruins. However, I did ride the railway that started in Damascus. My companion and I boarded the train in Aleppo, the city in what is now Northern Syria, that is built around an old Crusaders´ Fort. Fascinating town that is often overlooked by visitors to Syria.

We had stayed at a venerable old hotel whose name I have forgotten. It served as Lawrence´s headquarters for a while. Legend has it that when he arrived he rode his horse right into the lobby of the hotel. However, by the time I stayed there the place had definitely deteriorated. I don´t believe the sheets on my bed had been changed since when Lawrence left.

We got on board the train and into our compartment which was a marvelous wood paneled room with plush seats. We shared the room with some men from Jordan. We watched the semi-desert countryside go by until we reached a desolate border post marking the frontier with Turkey. As we waited at the outpost, I asked one of our Jordanian companions what the saying inscribed over the door to the outpost said. He responded, “It is written in Turkish which I don´t really speak but I believe it is a saying from Ataturk which means, `It is hard to be a Turkey.” I laughed.

We then went in to dine. The dining car was fabulous, right out of all the movies I had seen of train travel in the 19th and early 20th Centuries. The table was covered in linen and the place settings were real china and crystal. The intial impression soon suffered when we found the plates to be covered with a fine layer of soot. The waiter cleaned the plates and we enjoyed a fine meal.

The soot came back to haunt us. We soon found that, since the train had no air conditioning, the windows were left open to let in the night air. All went well until we started to go through a lengthy series of tunnels through the mountains of Central Turkey. The locomotive was an old steam one burning coal in its firebox. As we went through the tunnels the smoke from the coal fires had no where to go but through the open windows into the train cars. I spent the night opening the windows as we went out into the open and closing them as we entered the tunnels.

We arrived in Ankara, the capital of modern Turkey, the next day covered in soot. My powder blue shirt had become dark gray. We decided to do the Ankara to Istanbul sector by bus.

I have subsequently lived in Ankara on two occassions and have done some travel on the trains. They are now electrified in most parts and the rest run with diesel engines. I can recommend the trip from Istanbul to Ankara but would leave the rest of the lines to the most avid train travellers.

In the meantime, we can wait for the Hejaz Railway to be one day completed.

Leo Cecchini
July 2009

So why was I looking for this train? I was wandering back from the war in Vietnam, not as long a journey as Ulysses’ back from the Trojan War, but far more widespread. I had come to Casablanca, not for the waters, but to fill in the space left in my mind by the classic film with that name.

No, there is no “Rick’s Cafe Americain” there. In fact Casablanca is a rather humdrum sprawling city. The most interesting site in the town is the Hassan II Mosque, reputedly the largest in the world of Islam, but I am not sure. Unfortunately when I visited the mosque was still under construction, so it only offered a vision of what it would become.

So on to the exotica I had expected in Morocco.

I found the station which at the time was a very spartan affair. Bought my ticket and borded a very plain Jane train. Not the old-fashion train I had found on the Hejaz Railway but one probably built in the mid-1950s with lots of chrome and vinyl.

The trip itself was not very long but interesting. The countryside was definitely not the forests of Vietnam or the corn fields of the US Midwest. Dry is the word if not arrid. But there were animals grazing on sparse fodder and irrigated fields still tilled mainly by hand tools. The villages were mostly mud-walled affairs with most color coming from clothing hung out to dry. So far Morocco had not served up the romance and adventure I had expected.

All that changed, however, when we pulled into Marrakech. At last I found the images I had expected. An entire city with walls of a color somewhere between ochre and burnt umber. No wonder it is also called the “Red City.”

My introduction was exceeded when I found the “Djemaa El Fna,” the large plaza which is usually translated to mean, “Place of the Dead,” and indeed public executions were once held there. Today it is far from being dead. By day it bustles with commerce, performing Barbary apes, snake charmers, and colorful water sellers dressed in traditional costume. By night it adds food and drink sellers, dancing boys, storey tellers, magicians and other entertainers.

Extending from the plaza is the souk or bazaar. The most lasting impression was the richly colored skiens of wool hanging in the passageways to dry. Not sure what I bought that first time, but over the years I have purchased rugs, inlaid tables, copper pots and other such handicrafts from this bazaar.

After seeing all this how to end the day? I found the casino where I played some cards and then went to see the show which featured what I later came to learn was a famous bellydancer. What a woman! She was a geat dancer, but far more important, more beautiful than any bellydancer I had seen before or since. Here it was, the romance to complement the exotic surroundings. No, I did not meet her, but subsequently saw her dance in Fez and Tangier, so I guess I could consider myself to be her “groupie.”

Yes, the Marrakech Express takes you to another world. From a modern, developing world metropolis to a city that reeks of exotic adventure and romance. An amazing introduction to what I call the closest exotic country for Americans to visit. I have been there at least five times and have never been disappointed.

Do see Morocco which in 1777 became the first country to officially recognize the newly independent United States of America.

Leo Cecchini
June 2009