Southern Girl Gone Global

Southern Girl Gone Home for the Summer

July 14, 2015July 14, 2015Cindy McCain

At my school in Morocco there were a couple of other US southerners on staff, but apparently my accent was the most pronounced. Locals thought I was from Texas, and my students imitated the way I say Wifi with a long i. (It’s pronounced with a short i there.) The chorus of a popular song in Morocco I first heard sung by one of my seniors, Ismail, asks, “Why, Why, Why…” Since I was on a mission from Day 1 to get working Wifi on campus, even students not in my classes sang what morphed into the “Ms. McCain version”: “Why, Why, Why…why is there no Wyyyy Fyyyyy?” (We have it now.) One of my ninth graders begged me to bring back my cowgirl boots this fall. They’re packed.

This blog is about what we all crave– adventure, beauty, and relationship. It’s about appreciating other cultures and embracing our own. Twenty -five flights since leaving Nashville almost a year ago, this “Southern Girl Gone Global” is happy to be home for a spell. I’m so thankful for what I’ve experienced in Morocco and nine other countries visited in 2015 (more blog posts on these destinations to come), and I am also excited to share my summer vacation in Kentucky and Tennessee with readers. Consider this an invitation to those traveling to the US to check out all Nashville and the surrounding area has to offer. We’ll tour some of my favorite neighborhoods for those wanting not only must-see tourist attractions but also tips on where to do life like a local.

Some say language is home. True. But the heart of the home is definitely the kitchen. Expats in Marrakesh heading to native soil for the summer began in late spring talking about what they’d eat first when they landed. Top of my list was Mexican food, grilled meat, and barbecue. One night I literally dreamed of bacon. So for this lake lover, arriving for July 4^th weekend when focus on family, friends, and food is at fireworks proportion was a very good thing. Lunch from a cooler on the boat…potato salad, baked beans, my sister’s blackberry cobbler, and Red Stripe. Dinner at Barkley Lodge‘s seafood buffet where I ate my weight in frog legs and catfish. Dinner the next night at the marina for burgers and live music. And on the way back to Nashville, a family reunion at the home of my cousins, Brock and Laura, where we ate Rutland’s Bar-B-Q (my dad worked for the Rutlands when I was a child).

Independence Days are celebrated in over 170 countries, and I observed Morocco’s last year as a new resident as well as Colombia’s, Chile’s, France’s, and Mexico’s as Nashville’s Latin Dancing Examiner. I’ve celebrated my US holiday in diverse ways, but it was so good this year to return to where the 4th was spent when I was a child in Kentucky. I love food and family. I love summer. Always have. Always will. Because for someone who has been in school since she was five, summer vacation means freedom.

St. John’s Eve in Vigo: Midsummer Night’s Dream

June 25, 2015June 29, 2024Cindy McCain

He will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair.–Isaiah 61:3

Trust your heart if the seas catch fire; live by love though the stars walk backward.—E. E. Cummings

Someday, after mastering the winds, the waves, the tides and gravity, we shall harness for God the energies of love, and then, for a second time in the history of the world, man will have discovered fire.—Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

When I met my friend, Monica, in Nashville many years ago, she invited me to her hometown, Vigo, Spain. She visited me last fall in Morocco, and I met Alessandro and her in Tarifa in March, but I saved my visit to their city for this week. I wanted to be here on June 23 for La Noche de San Juan (St. John’s Eve). This year it finally happened. As we picnicked in the sand before bonfires blazing, flames dancing to the tide’s tempo, I joined a celebration observed throughout Spain and in much of Europe and Latin America– a night to remember and release what we need to forget.

St. John’s Eve and Day June 24 commemorates the birth of John the Baptist, born six months before Jesus that first Christmas. John said he baptized Christ with water but his cousin would baptize believers with fire and the Holy Spirit. The event of water and fire coincides with Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year, which begins my favorite season—summer—a time of freedom. In Italy celebration for Saint John, patron saint of Genoa, Florence and Turin, lasts from July 21-24. Likewise, last Saturday when Monica and I met in Porto, Portugal, the city was starting what some say is the world’s biggest celebration with live music echoing through the hills surrounding the Douro River.

Moni, Ale, and Vesa, a UK student studying/living with them in Vigo

Staring into the flames and glowing embers that warmed us, I thought of fire as a symbol of passion and a means of purification. I thought of the healing powers of the sea’s salt and was warmed by old friendships and the night’s invitation to new beginnings. By tradition some jump over bonfires for good luck or swim in the ocean after midnight for cleansing, renewal, and energy. Students burn school notebooks to celebrate the end of the school year. Participants of all ages write on a slip of paper what they want to purge from their lives—something holding them back or pulling them down– and throw it on the fire. I watched as the flames turned the napkin I’d written on into black, curling crepe paper, then devoured it completely. I thought of God’s promise in Isaiah 61:3 to make beauty from ashes. He has, and He will.

Luxury Tent Experience…Camping in the Country

June 17, 2015February 10, 2020Cindy McCain

Whispers within as lanterns flicker, casting silhouettes on white canvas. Stars without, winking from an ebony sky at the palm grove beneath. All is silent but green leather leaves rustling in a restless breeze.

Since I was a child, Hollywood has fueled my love affair with tents. Though Tarzan never slept in one, the adventurous women on African safaris did. So did leading ladies in my favorite romantic movies–Beyond Borders, The English Patient, Lawrence of Arabia. At Manzil La Tortue my adult fantasy of nomadic nesting made chic by sheiks was finally fulfilled. Merging my love for camping and country (Dad’s only idea of vacation involved a campfire, and our grandparents took us every Sunday to visit relatives on farms), my stay at this rural retreat was heaven. As Paula (see video below) said after welcoming me with mint tea, “This is our own little piece of paradise.” I’m so grateful they shared it with me.

I had booked a Sunday pool and lunch day with friends the weekend before. My fish was delicious, the molten chocolate cake amazing, and the pool was perfect.

I couldn’t wait to return for a weekend stay when I’d wander and photograph the property. When I arrived last Saturday with my friend, Jasna, who photographed me for this post, Paula walked us past the herb gardens. Outside our tent we could smell the orange and lime trees, but the breeze also carried mint, thyme, lavender, rosemary, and scented geranium which reminded me of home.

As we passed the hen house I thought of my cousin, Sonjia, who showed my sister, Penny, and me how to gather eggs. I remembered my cousin, Brock, who showed prize rabbits as we passed the thatched area where bunnies were munching on breakfast.

We passed through a gate to a private area where our tent awaited. I hadn’t looked online to see if because I wanted to be surprised. My mind flashed back to last fall when my friend, Monica, and I rode camels to a campsite in the Sahara Desert. I had expected a white canopy cloud blowing in the instead. Instead our guide disappeared to fetch dinner so we stumbled by the light of my phone into a pitch-black tarp where we slept on 2- inch burlap mattresses tossed on the sand.

As I walked inside, I was stunned. By contrast, Manzil La Tortue provided so much more than I expected… glamping at its finest.

Tour the deluxe Koutoubia tent in the video below– an immense 61 square meters/656 square feet. Waking up to morning light illuminating the colorful canopy was as delightful as falling asleep to the wind’s breath causing the canvas to rise and fall.

The rest of the weekend I felt like a kid again in my own secret garden.

As a Southern girl who values beauty breaks in bucolic settings and family, I love that this peaceful place is owned and run by a team of great people: Fouad Housni and his wife Meriame, manager of two companies, Unitours Moroc and Morocco My Way, providing excursions for guests; Fouad’s mother, Paula; and two adorable girls, Lina and Salma. I enjoyed hearing Paula’s romantic story (video below) of passing through Casablanca in 1970 headed to Canada but never making it. She moved to Marrakesh with Fouad in 1981.

Tents of many sizes are available as are rooms in the villa or even “camper cars” for those who want to rough it.

Breakfast is included, and half board and full board is also available for lunch and dinner. As a mom who grilled nightly on my deck in Tennessee and a girl whose dad grilled on every camping trip in Kentucky, I was excited to try their specialty, Planchas, plates of food grilled by guests at the table. Not quite sure what to do with so many olive oils and spices, I was assisted by Brahim, the waiter, then Chef Abdelhaq, who showed me how it is properly done. From Abdessamad, pool tech and security, to Naima who served breakfast, the staff made us feel welcome.

Beef fillet with mashed potatoes, apples, and apricots

Marrakesh is a frenetic place–a speedway of honking taxis and zooming motorbikes. Malls and even grocery stores blare “disco” music, and at my last pool in the Palms, the speakers that hung over every lounge chair vibrated from a DJ who made relaxation impossible. Sometimes we need wide, open spaces…especially when the road ends here. Fouad can assist with transportation.

Manzil La Tortue, thankfully, is a No Noise Zone. All I heard were brilliant blue birds singing; fat, white doves cooing; and hens clucking. Whether your “tent thing” is Gatsby, Game of Thrones, or a childhood version in the backyard, here you can play.

Lina and Salma watching a child’s program on a tablet

For the Manzil La Tortue picture gallery, go here.

Thank you, Manzil La Tortue, for a wonderful experience!

Discovering Costa Brava: Part V

May 29, 2015December 22, 2019Cindy McCain

The best thing for being sad…is to learn something…That’s the only thing that never fails… That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting…Learn why the world wags and what wags it…Look what a lot of things there are to learn.― Merlyn to Arthur, T. H. White, The Once and Future King

Plunge boldly into the thick of life, and seize it where you will; it is always interesting.— Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

A secret buried beneath the floor, a scene from Ghost (though first it felt more Lucille Ball than Demi Moore),dungeons and dragons, and a magical meal. I expected beauty and adventure from Costa Brava but was surprised by Catalonia’s hidden treasures, creativity and community.

When exactly St. John of Bellcaire (Sant Joan) was built is a mystery given the Roman exterior but nave’s architecture which dates earlier. For the whole story on churches and history in the area, free lance expert Nik Duserm (below) is the guide to get.

Beneath its floor lies the remains of a Roman temple built before Christian missionaries came to Spain. We were invited to explore the ancient base in the earth’s belly.

The parking lot outside was built on a former cemetery. Though the remains were supposed to have been moved, it is thought that human bones are mixed in the gravel.

Around the corner and up the hill is the 13th century Bellcaire Castle. Within are government offices and the Parish Church.

Always remember, it’s simply not an adventure worth telling if there aren’t any dragons.--Sarah Ban Breathnach

War, famine, and floods once plagued the area, but proud of their survival, locals now share stories of their ancestors’ tenacity.

Above, behind the houses of Bellcaire under fog is the Montgri castle (below). Feudal lords from both castles kept an eye on the sea and each other for attacks.

A cannonball hole patched in the Bellcaire Castle.

At La Bisbal, capital of Emporda, Girona bishops lived and ruled. Touring the castle of a Medieval Square, tourists learn history and see education in action–children’s artwork displayed.

During the Spanish Civil War, the castle was a prison. Above is the dungeon. A region known for wine, below is where wine was made within the castle.

Where I create, there I am true. —Rainer Maria Rilke

At the School of Ceramics of La Bisbal we were shown how to take a spin on a potter’s wheel.

A man practices the art of adventure when he breaks the chain of routine and renews his life through reading new books, traveling to new places, making new friends, taking up new hobbies and adopting new viewpoints. — Wilfred Peterson

Our amazing trip culminated with our last night together at Mas Masaller, a 13th century farmhouse owned by Joan and Marta, veterans in the restaurant industry. They offer half-board (European for breakfast, bed, and dinner) and picnic lunches on order. A decade ago I fell in love with agriturismos in Italy and escaped yearly, my first solo travel experiences, to a B and B called The Edgeworth Inn in Monteagle, Tennessee. The iron bed and quilts reminded me of their and my home. Being at Mas Masaller with a group was fun; we watched soccer in the living room, then laughed around the huge table at dinner.

After a delicious salad, Cocina de la Tierra, greens picked from the garden that day and cooked with sausage (what we call “country sausage” in Kentucky and Tennessee), was served. Seasoned and smoky, it was the best vegetable dish I’ve had since moving abroad last August.

It was so good we assumed it was the main course. When Marta (below) brought out a huge kettle of chicken and we told her, she said of her husband, Chef Joan, “Not in this house! We have to have plenty of food.”

Joan also showed us how to drink the local wine properly.

So Nick tried.

And then there were four…desserts. A fitting end to a sweet trip!

The closest airports to Costa Brava are Girona (GRO) or, farther south, Barcelona (BCN).

If you missed Parts I-IV of this series, check them out for more details on what Girona has to offer at links below:

Part 1: Discovering Costa Brava: Spain’s Medieval Coast

Part 2: Discovering Costa Brava’s Medes Islands

Part 3: Discovering Costa Brava’s Bounty

Part 4: Cycling Through Costa Brava’s Medieval Villages

Thank you to Catalunya, Costa Brava Pirineu de Girona, and El Consell Comarcal del Baix Empordà for an amazing stay and introduction to all Costa Brava offers! Note to readers: the opinions on this 5-Part series are all my own. I recommend only travel experiences, destinations, services, accommodations, and restaurants I personally enjoy and would love to revisit.

Cycling Through Costa Brava’s Medieval Villages: Part IV

May 28, 2015April 26, 2016Cindy McCain

“The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.”—St. Augustine

Photo by Alba Plana of www.costabrava.org

No history text or virtual tour can compare to cycling through Medieval hill towns in a land where BC structures and prehistoric cave paintings remain. Nor can a classroom feel like wind tangling my hair, smell like lavender abuzz with bees, or taste like fresh bread in an olive grove. Such was my escape to Emporda, Spain.

Each time I leave the classroom to travel–to breathe history, literature, life–I return a better teacher.

I”ll never forget finally touching the wall William the Conqueror built in 1066, commencing the Medieval age of castles, chivalry, and courtly love. Homer and Sophocles were beside me when I climbed a hill in Athens to the Parthenon and roamed the Coliseum in Rome. As a teen I’d studied about partygod Bacchus and Christian Paul. But blushing at pornographic paintings in Pompeii VS standing in an amphitheater in Ephesus where the latter preached faith over religion made what I know to be true feel even more real.

Last month while in Catalonian countryside, I saw a wall older than all but one of the ancient edifices I’ve experienced. Built only one century after Delphi’s Temple of Apollo, Ullastret was the first Iberian establishment raised in 6^th century BC in Girona.

In the following centuries, as Romans, Visogoths, and Muslims invaded, more walls, castles and towers would be raised for protection from attack.

Sentries watched for pirates, but even when the coast was clear, in the wetlands below marshes bred malaria which claimed lives. Today, Costa Brava still isn’t tame though locals no longer fight to survive. It is a place of adventure and natural beauty. Here one can thrive and feel alive.

Rather than a trusty steed, I powered through stone villages and past poppy fields on a burricleta, an electric bicycle named for its burro-like benefit of providing horsepower to handle high altitudes.

We began our journey (see our route here) in Gualta.

First stop was a famous bridge, rutted from wagon wheels.

We pedaled our way through Fontclara, Sant Feliu de Boada, Peratallada, and other towns. Five hours later we parked for lunch in Pals.

20150505_111953 — Cycling Through Costa Brava’s Medieval Villages

The plowed fields reminded me of Kentucky farms where I grew up.

Chef Jordi, of Hotel Mas Lazul met us in the grove after rising early to bake loaves for the tasting and for us to tote home. The master baker formerly worked alongside Santi Santamaria, chef of 3-star Michelin restaurant, Can Fabes. We sampled six types. My favorite was the dessert bread with pumpkin and raisin. He said children are given bread with wine and sugar as a treat. Each recipe takes 24 hours counting the rest and rise times. While he taught, our hosts made fresh aioli. The bread and spread…delicious.

Riding buddies, Heidi and Patti, above, Rachel and Betsy below.

Lunch time in Pals

Discovering Costa Brava’s Bounty: Part III

May 23, 2015March 18, 2019Cindy McCain

Catalan cuisine is something to celebrate. Below are two must-eat restaurants of Costa Brava.

Marc Genes of Visit Emporda and Alba Plana of Costa Brava Tourist Board introduced my group of travel bloggers to locals excited to share their tables brimming with goodness. Outside the Museu de la Mediterrania we sampled raw and cured sausages prepared as they were in the 14th century; brunyols, fried, sugared dough similar to beignets; local apples, bread, tomatoes, and wine.

Our one day in L’Estartit meant sink or swim to manage two big events– snorkeling the Medes Islands and a meal. Why we all didn’t sink after lunch at La Gaviota is a mystery. Located beachfront, it was my favorite restaurant of the eight delicious days I spent feasting on Costa Brava. From Lloret de Mar through the Baix Empordà region, nature’s bounty of foods locally grown and freshly caught made tasting experiences simply exquisite.

La Gaviota. L’Estartit

Restaurant La Gaviota in L'Estartit — Restaurant La Gaviota in L’Estartit

Deciding from all the choices was difficult.

Seafood lovers, this Poulpe a la galicienne (Octopus Galician style) is the best dish I’ve ever had. It could have easily been my meal rather than the starter.

Ratafia ice cream…Ratafia is a liqueur of lemons, nutmeg, cinnamon, clove, mint, rosemary, and anise.

Whiskey frozen cake (Tarte galcee au whisky)–as a Kentucky/Tennessee girl I couldn’t resist.

This wine (below) was wonderful.

Even the water was stylish.

Thanks to the staff and our gracious host. owner Lluis Pigem.

Antic Casino, Pals, Emporda

South of L’Estartit was the most beautiful restaurant of the tour, a once-casino and terrace under a magnolia tree that reminded me of home. The presentation of starters; their signature dish, Pals rice casserole; and the best macaroon dessert I’ve ever had relaxed us so much after a bike ride we needed a double expresso to continue our journey.

Nice wine , fun friends

Classy food, classic place

We wondered if this was the casino’s safe in bygone days

Scallops with cream of leek and truffle oil

Rice casserole made with local rice and seafood

A fine finish…hazelenut and raspberry praline macaroon with Ferrero Rocher ice cream

Discovering Costa Brava’s Medes Islands: Part II

May 21, 2015August 12, 2015Cindy McCain

Medes Islands--photo by www.visitestartit.com — Medes Islands–photo by http://www.visitestartit.com

Of all the adventure and beauty planned for my “Discover the Medieval Coast” tour, I was most excited about snorkeling around the Medes Islands, the richest natural reserve in the western Mediterranean Sea.

Since before Johnny Depp donned an eye patch, I was swooning over swashbuckler movies with my mom. Going to a pirates’ playground dating back to the Middle Ages would be great fun.

The archipelago is located a mile off the shore of Estartit of Torroella de Montgri in the Baix Empordà county in Catalonia. The largest islands– Meda Gran and Meda Petita—were first home to Ancient Greeks and Romans. But in the 15^th century, pirates moved in, motivating King Martí Humà to fortify the area, resulting in castles clustered along Costa Brava today.

PAT037 — photo by http://www.visitestartit.com

Ottoman corsairs, or Barbary pirates, from North Africa occupied the islets next. And though French soldiers took them in the 17^th century, during the war with Napolean they were defended. Today the area is protected above and below, making the real appeal of the Medes Islands what lies beneath.

photo by www.visitestartit.com — photo by http://www.visitestartit.com

I’ve always loved the ocean. Maybe because my sign is the fish or because I loved Jacques Cousteau. Since he dove the area exploring lush layers of red coral, sponges, sea grass, starfish, sea bass, eels, barracudas, rays, fan mussels and red mullets, divers have followed suit. Now I would, too.

NAT063 — photo by http://www.visitestartit.com

ALP/41 — photo by http://www.visitestartit.com

Onshore I stuffed my first wetsuit into a bag remembering movies I’d watched as a child, thrilled when a giant octopus put a submarine in a chokehold.

But as we pushed through the fog, then stopped in the middle of it, I thought of Open Waters and all the Jaws marathons I’d watched with my son. It was the kind of chill thrill–an excitement and dread–I’d hoped for.

I’ve been asked how I had the courage to move to an African country I’d never seen. The short answer is, “It felt right.” Putting on a scuba mask, however, never has. Dodging cobras in the square while being chased by henna hustlers is my new norm. Breathing through a tube still isn’t. I’d snorkeled in Florida and Honolulu, and though the mask made me feel smothered, I knew if I panicked, my flippers could plant firmly in the sand. Not so this time.

The air temperature was 65 degrees and I knew the water would be cold.

After stuffing, then zipping myself into my wetsuit and posing for pics,

the girl who slowly lowers herself into pools in 108 degree weather in Morocco dreaded plunging into the freezing sea.

“Hold your mask, count, and on 3, step off,” I was instructed. I was a kid again on my neighbor’s diving board trying to get the nerve to jump. Almost every time, I’d climb down, walk to the ladder, and lower myself into the pool. But I’d come too far–not because we’d driven from Lloret–but because living abroad started with a solo trip to Costa Rica. I’d called it my No Fear tour. I’d learned over the last nine months that the real No Fear tour isn’t a trip; it’s a long journey called life.

One, two, go.

As water rushed into my sleeves and up my arms, members of the group shared support, body heat, and a floating ring if needed. I’d spent the last ten months keeping my head above water, a fish out of water, a mermaid in Marrakesh. In Puerto Viejo I’d finally floated on my back without my feet sinking… by relaxing. Face up, I’d smiled at the sun. This time, if I wanted to see beauty, I had to relax, but with my head down, submerged in a world where I can’t breathe.

I stopped fighting the waves with my fins. I depended on the mouthpiece, the tube, and my arms to keep me afloat. I relaxed, listened to my breath, and I looked. I released the ring, knowing I could swim. I could breathe. A school of grouper and a meadow of sea grass waved me on.

Check out the fabulous blogs by my expat friends living in the UK and the Netherlands: Shobha, of Just Go Places, and Rachel, of Rachel’s Ruminations.

Heidi (3rd from left below) is a Belgium blogger who worked at an aquarium and dreamed of seeing a sun fish, a mola mola, in open waters. On our way back to shore, one made a special appearance just for her. — Heidi (3rd from left above) is a Belgian blogger who worked at an aquarium and dreamed of seeing a sun fish, a mola mola, in open waters. On our way back to shore, one made a special appearance just for her.

Thanks, MEDAQUA, for the adventure!

Check out all Torroella de Montgri, l’Estartit, and The Medes Islands have to offer here: CATALEG_GB

Epic Adventure on Spain’s Wild Coast: Game of Thrones and House of the Dragon

May 16, 2015March 1, 2025Cindy McCain

Adventure, beauty, relationship…basic human desires. Spain’s Costa Brava (Wild Coast) fulfilled them all. Between Barcelona and Jimmy Buffett’s Coast of Marseilles, I snorkeled in open waters, biked through Medieval hill towns, and laughed over meals and a pottery wheel with bloggers from Canada, the US, and Europe. I’m a romantic. I’ve always loved the Middle Ages and the sea. My first fling in Spain in 2009 made me a Gaudi Girl, but I later fell in love with the country’s beaches. I also value independence, freedom. So when I received an invitation to “Discover the Medieval Coast,” a sponsored trip to familiarize travel writers with Catalonia, Spain’s autonomous community, this castle-craving pirate princess was on the boat ready to ride. Day One began with a walking tour of Lloret de Mar. I tweeted that it felt very Game of Thrones (and discovered later that the fantasy series was filmed here and so was the prequel, House of the Dragon). See links to the 5-part series on Costa Brava below.

The former fishing town with Iberian and Roman ruins was transformed by fortunes made in Spanish-ruled Cuba and was the site of the European Travel Bloggers Exchange — TBEX — held days earlier. We followed the seaside promenade to the 11^th century Castle of Sant Joan, a defense against sea attacks. Though all but the tower was destroyed in 1805 by the British navy battling Spain and France, I climbed along the wall, each turn a new view of waves crashing into coves and crags below.

The natural beauty of Spain’s Wild Coast birthed free spirits, Dali, Picasso, and Gaudi. Surrounded by sea and mountains, I was energized. Inspired. And once perched at the peak, I remembered writer Madeleine L’Engle’s words about artists. The Wild Coast made me feel — more than anything — free.

Artists have always been drawn to the wild, wide elements they cannot control or understand — the sea, the mountains, fire. To be an artist means to approach the light, and that means to let go our control, to allow our whole selves to be placed with absolute faith in what which is greater than we are. —Madeleine L’Engle

L'Loret de Mar, Spain — Lloret de Mar has oceanfront hotels and bars. It’s the largest resort town on Costa Brava.

I loved my stay at Hotel Santa Marta for its spacious grounds and secluded, private beach. Hotel Miramar and Hotel Marsol are less expensive options with beachfront balconies and easy access to restaurants in the hub of town.

L'Loret promenade — Lloret de Mar Beach has a 300-meter long red sand promenade surrounded by palm trees like those in colonial Americas.

Stunning Coastal Trail

Get inspired below to do this wild walk where Medieval meets Mediterranean. A Romantic’s dream! Though the actual medieval castle in Lloret de Mar is St. Joan’s Castle, built in the 11th century, Castell d’en Plaja (below), constructed in the 1930s and 1940s, is a majestic, magical landmark.

view of Lloret de Mar from the coastal walkway

Costa Brava’s longest seafront walkway has challenging areas with hills and many steps.

Steps to the sea — After reaching the summit of the coastal walk in Lloret de Mar, our tour group opted not to take the stairs down to this tiny beach in the bay.

Cindy McCain, Southern Girl Gone Global, at Lloret de Mar

Getting to Lloret de Mar: The closest airports are Barcelona (airport code BCN), 90km (56 miles) away and Girona-Costa Brava (airport code GRO), 30km (19 miles) away. I flew RyanAir from Marrakesh. My flight there was approximately $50/return $21, then took the Sarfa bus, which runs approximately every 30 minutes. Tickets may be purchased at the airport bus office or on the bus for around 10 Euro. See latest transportation modes and prices here.

Thank you to Catalunya, Costa Brava Pirineu de Girona, and El Consell Comarcal del Baix Empordà for an amazing stay and introduction to all Costa Brava offers! Note to readers: the opinions on this 5-Part series are all my own. This blog contains affiliate links. I recommend only travel experiences, destinations, services, accommodations, and restaurants I experienced and truly enjoyed.

Discovering Costa Brava: Spain’s Medieval Coast, Part I

Discovering Costa Brava’s Medes Islands, Part II

Discovering Costa Brava’s Bounty, Part III

Cycling Through Costa Brava’s Medieval Villages, Part IV

Discovering Costa Brava, Part V

A Night to Remember at the European Travel Bloggers Exchange

May 2, 2015March 25, 2017Cindy McCain

The European Travel Bloggers Exchange (TBEX 2015) kicked off Thursday, April 30th with an Opening Night Party at Santa Christina Beach. Thank you, Costa Brava, for giving me a night to remember. Thanks to last night’s hosts– Costa Brava Pirineu de Girona, Catalynya, and Lloret de Mar–and to TBEX for a great gathering this weekend.

The boat bucked and sprayed waves past rugged cliffs into the beautiful bay. Candles flickering in the sand and strung lights blowing in the breeze were our sentinels after sunset. The food and wine was fresh, local, delicious. I especially loved the Cava, cheeses, fresh anchovies, grilled sardines, and strawberry basil sorbet. The mayor and other tourism board members welcomed us followed by a human tower, live music, and even Marvin Gaye. Best was releasing balloons with tweets. As if a giant pearl necklace has been broken, they scattered, then rose toward the moon.

Best was meeting kindred spirits–fellow writers who share gypsy souls–now new friends. Like Janice Chung. A retired educator, the Canadian blogger has been to France 24 times and is my new go-to for advice. Her Francetraveltips.com is especially timely since today one of the travel reps offered me a press trip there. We also met Camille Rumani, Co-founder of Viz Eat. The site is to home cooking what airbnb is to home stays. I’m excited about finding her host houses for authentic meals in Marrakesh, then this summer scouting southern cooks to entertain tourists in Nashville.

Today I enjoyed Gary Bembridge and Heather Cowper‘s advice on moving from press trips to paid campaigns. Thanks to the folks at Eurail for hosting the rooftop sangria and tapas party tonight. Can’t wait to see what I will learn and love tomorrow.

A New Perspective

April 25, 2015August 12, 2015Cindy McCain

“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.”–Henry Miller

Sundays are delicious days. Finally, the work-weary can feast on time. We say of Monday, the most unpopular day of the week, we’ll “hit the ground running.” We lament that until the weekend we “won’t have time to turn around.” But today I do. And I did.

In Nashville, Sundays began on my deck under my grandmother’s quilt. In the trees I’d rest, recharge and remember. There God lifted my gaze from problems to possibilities. I’d later walk Ella, ready to face the world again with faith, love, and hope. As if she’d never seen the familiar greenway, she’d strain at the leash leading me. I’d, too, with new eyes, see panoramic beauty on our path.

In Marrakech, today began on my balcony in a handmade chair delivered on the back of a motor scooter. My feet propped on a pouf under a Moroccan wedding quilt, I was reminded in my quiet time of the same promises. But this time my chair faced a different direction.

Last August when I stepped on my new balcony, I took a quick look down the alley both ways. At one end I saw cluttered buildings and satellite-covered rooftops. On the lower end, nearer my apartment, I saw pretty palm trees, green space, and hills in the distance. I loved that view and have looked that way each time I stepped outside since.

But today, I looked the other way.

I couldn’t believe it. There they were. My favorite site in Marrakech–The Atlas Mountains–strong and beautiful, peered back at me as I stood, amazed. Though hidden behind summer heat and sand when I moved in, they must have shown themselves last winter. They had been there all along. For months I could have enjoyed them on clear days, if only I’d looked a different way.

Two years ago, my friend, Kim, gave me this Marcel Proust quote on a porcelain plaque. Neither of us knew I’d be moving to a French- speaking country: “Le véritable voyage de découverte ne consiste pas à chercher de nouveaux paysages, mais à avoir de nouveaux yeux.” Translated, it means, “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”

A friend asked yesterday what I’ve learned most since the move. I said I realize now that understanding people and places takes time. That just when I couldn’t be happier and think I have this thing of living cross-culturally “all figured out,” a situation or person disappoints me and I feel I’ve slipped back to square one. But if I take a breath–my yoga class helps with this–release, pray, I realize I just need to step back. To wait and watch. To be patient with circumstances and others. And with myself.

Sometimes we find beauty, as I did, at the end of the street and are satisfied to stop looking for more. Contentment is good and being thankful for what we do have even better. Settling is not. Knowing the difference is hard. Sometimes we aren’t ready to see something even better–wouldn’t recognize it–even if it appeared. Others we scan the horizon in faith, in expectation for a vision for our life, a deep desire, a dream planted in our hearts long ago to be fulfilled. Today before stepping outside I was reminded though parts of the vision I have for my life tarry, to wait. What I desire may be years away or right around the corner. In the meantime, I’m thankful for my destiny and this day.

I’m still thankful for the pretty patch of green at the end of the street that continues to soothe me. The sun sets there. But I’m amazed to see today that it rises over the majestic Atlas Mountains, symbols of strength, gifts of beauty, within my vision. With patience, they revealed themselves when I looked up in a new direction. When I could see.

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