Spain was beautiful. We stayed at a resort right on the Mediterranean. After our day trips to Rondo, Cordoba, Marbella, or Morocco, we'd head back to the resort and go straight to the beach or the pool followed by a late dinner. And from my parents' deck, we could see Africa across the sea.
My brother-in-law lived in the southern part of Spain for two years while serving a mission for our church. One night that week, we went over to dinner with a few families from the church where he served. Even though I only understood about 20% of the conversations that night (all the men in our group- Jason, my dad, my brother Sam, and my brother-in-law Ben- speak Spanish, so none of the conversation was in English), this was one of my favorite things that we did. The food was delicious and the conversation was incredibly lively.
One evening, while walking through San Pedro, we happened upon an awesome parade of some sort. There was a huge band following a group of men carrying... I'm not even sure how to describe it, but it was large. And there was swaying. I noticed that all of the kids a certain age (8? or 10?) were all dressed in white. The girls in dresses. The boys in sailor suits. I thought it was maybe in celebration of their first communion? Anyone know anything about that?
While in Morocco, my dad made a friend. This friend really wanted to sell him an ugly elephant carved out of wood. He followed him around for at least 20 minutes. After about 527 "No thank you's" from my father, the man offered the elephant to him for free and tried to stick it in my dad's pocket. I'm not sure what his intention was with that one. We all got a kick out of watching this guy's persistance.
And now for the wrap up: Go for the sites, not the food. The very best meal we had was actually at an amazing Italian restaurant. But the traditional Spanish food didn't blow me away. Unless you really really love paella. Then you're set. Or tortillas de patata, which I'm pretty sure Ben had every single day.