Ceridwyn Parr writes:
Nothing could have prepared me for the for the sight of gravestone after gravestone, after gravestone. they belong to boys aged 16,17,18 and for men aged 29, 35, 40, who landed here from 25 April 1915,onwards and mostly died here over the next few months. The marked stones lie tilted to the sun above the cool blue Aegean sea. Nothing can stop the pricking of tears to read this inscription:

1113 Private H J Burton,
died 30 November 1915, aged 18
Only a boy but died as a man for liberty and freedom
His Mum and Dad Read more

Ceridwyn writes: Florence is visual overload! I needed an antidote, and found it on the streets of Oltrano, on the ‘other side’ of the river.

The huge brick workrooms of the Antico Setificio Fiorentino, the ancient Florentine silk factory are just along from the best lunch we ate. Trattoria Sabatini , via Pisana 2/r , is a family run restaurant where the Buccioni family served us with pollo arrosto, patates arrosto, cavolo crude roast chicken, potatoes and coleslaw) and creamy stracchino cheese , and the usual glass of red wine, very cheaply . For once we were the only tourists in amongst local business people and artisans. Read more

Sunshine in the morning let us explore the fabled colours and cleverness of the Cinque Terre. From Manarola we took a walk along Lover’s Lane, or Via dell’Amore- a paved, gentle walk for twenty minutes to the next village, Riomaggiore. Far below the sea promised excellent kayaking and snorkelling on its emerald water, fringing the rocks with clean white foam. The walkway had seats to admire the view, a couple of cafes in the summer and some picnic spots. Apparently it is so crowded in the season that the ticket numbers are limited. Read more

Ceridwyn Writes: There can be few cities in the world as beautiful as Santiago founded on so preposterous a story, so says the Lonely Planet.

The legend of St James was the impetus for the growth of this city since 12th century. Read more

Ponte Sampaio to San Antoninio 23 kms.
Today Danielle joined me for a pretty walk through the tiny steep streets and old Roman roads of the villages, through vineyards and small holdings, to the beautiful city of Pontevedra. We called in at our Lady of the Camino sanctuary,the Shrine of the Virgin Peregrina, again full of beautiful flowers. When the churches are open, they look as though as wedding is about to happen.

My afternoon was solo again, and was meant to be an easy walk. Read more

From the steep hills of the sierra, we drove across the flat red plains to Seville. I had been looking forward to the wide avenues lined with orange trees, and was not disappointed.

Even though it was raining. Danielle and I took the bus to the centro urbano. (Rosemary decided to stay and catch up with her self and her emails at the hotel) A French couple from the hotel were also headed for the Cathedral and they escorted us through the narrow streets of the Juderia, the old Jewish quarter- narrow, winding lanes, with tall apartment blocks dating from 14th century. So full of character and history as in all the Spanish cities, the Jews were evicted just before Christopher Columbus set off for America in 1492.

We kept glimpsing the cathedral between the buildings, but did not grasp ts immensity till we stood in the massive interior. The biggest gothic church in Europe, embellished with dozens of ornate renaissance and baroque side chapels. Such an overload of detail in the carving, oil paintings and gold . How the simplicity of the Christian faith could have developed into this display of wealth and power! All on the site of a Moslem mosque, to emphasise the triumph of the new catholic regime.

The original Moslem tower is still intact so we walked up 37 floors, to look over the calm ochre and reds of Seville, the horizon punctuated with spires and towers.

Stamping feet, snapping fingers and tossing heads, with passionate guitar playing, and a deep gutteral wailing

Our evening of Flamenco was so much more than I expected. We were shown different types of flamenco, which had its roots in the dances and songs of the dispossessed, and is performed with an intense anguish . Three young women each danced, wearing brilliantly coloured dresses with long frilled trains. These they kicked back, as they stamped and licked their feet in complex rhythms, which were answered by guitars and loud contrapuntal handclapping.

Two men also danced, wearing dinner jackets, which they swung and held, like bull fighters. Again the clicking and stamping and tapping, not unlike river dance, the fiery head tossing, leaping and swirling.

We had seats a metre from the stage, and we watched and clapped and gasped, while sipping Sangria and nibbling tapas- paella, meat balls, cheese, hams, potato salad, bread, finishing with fruity ice-cream.

The flamenco evenings at El Arenal are held nightly, designed for tourists and great value and atmosphere. Afterwards we wandered the cobblestone streets, misty with rain. At 10pm people were walking, drinking and eating in cafes, riding bikes, wheeling babies, laughing and talking. We took photos of the floodlight ancient buildings and felt very sad to be leaving Andalucía.