Perhaps you've been following the site; perhaps you've been wondering why it hasn't been updated for so long. Like, really, what the hell happened to those two! Did they get lost in The Alhambra? Were they spirited away by a traveling band of gypsies and forced to join their circus parade? What exactly is going on here? Is the adventure over? Are they dead?....

Brugge is even lovelier and more romantic than I’d remembered and although I’m glad we picked this gorgeous city as the last leg of our travels before heading back to London tomorrow and then catching a flight to Chicago the following day, I’m very much looking forward to going home.

Granada, with its proliferation of hippies and homeless drunks littering its squares was just too much for me. It seemed that everywhere you looked were expat American, Spanish and British college grads lounging around in their grunge outfits and oversized headphones trying to do as little as possible. It reminded me...

We’ve been traveling at a quick pace throughout the smaller Andalucian cities making it difficult to keep track of everything we’ve experienced much less find an internet café capable of handling uploads to the site. The last few days have been a whirlwind so I’m grateful that we’ve decided to skip the long drive to Barcelona (and anyhow, we’ve both already been) and sticking to just the Southern part of Spain.

Since Seville, we’ve been to Arcos de la Frontera, Ronda and Nerja before landing here in Granada. Again, each city seems unique, with differing weather, terrain, religious and cultural influences and most importantly, food and drink offerings. Speaking of driving, Chris is an absolute terror behind the wheel. I white-knuckled my way all over Andalucia with Chris driving 170km/hour over twisty roads (and still being passed by little old ladies)!...

I woke up to a gloriously sunny day and as I write, I’m taking my morning coffee in a charming outdoor café on the tree-lined boulevard aptly named Calle de los Reyes Catolicos (the Street of the Catholic Kings). We are staying in the ritzy part of town at the comfortable Hotel Becquer and like those strolling down the street, the café is riddled with well-dressed middle aged men and women decked out for a morning of people watching. They sit in rows calling out to passersby and when they spot someone they recognize they are encouraged to join in a morning of coffee sipping. The group just grows bigger and soon, one table grows to two and by noon, it will be three tables....